I cut my hair off yesterday, about five inches or so... drastic, dramatic and much needed. The act of changing some physical aspect of yourself with one swift action, with no real premeditation, with no concern for what anyone will think... liberating.
Three years ago, I went to Vegas for my 40th birthday and I went alone. I had offers for parties and what not and a couple of good friends offered to go with me, but, in the end, I told Tim what I wanted. I wanted to wake up when I wanted to, I wanted to sit at the Blackjack table when I wanted to, I wanted to eat when I wanted to and for one weekend I didn't want to have to answer to anyone or to have to organize anything. I wanted to lay by the pool, get a massage, read my book and I wanted to sit by myself. And so I did and it was one of the best experiences I have ever had on vacation or, for that matter, on one of my birthdays. My flight home left around 7 pm and I was spending the afternoon walking through the mall, shopping, just biding my time when I decided, impetuously, impulsively, to get a tattoo. I had considered it for awhile, but the longer I thought about it, the more reasons and excuses I would come up with for why I shouldn't, why I couldn't, why I really didn't NEED to...
Being impulsive has its benefits. Spontaneity abounds when impulsivity is present. Some of the best sex that Tim and I have ever had is the kind where there is no premeditation and that has been difficult raising three children who seem ever present in the house. I have always touted myself as a "fly by the seat of my pants" kind of girl. So I suddenly found myself in a tattoo parlor, perusing, gasping as some of the clients who were lying prone on tables showed me their new "art." The girl in front of me was having two lines from a Shakespearean sonnet tattooed along her hairline from ear to ear. I was both impressed and in pain from watching the needle strike her neck. I was so engaged in what I was watching that I didn't hear the man behind the counter ask me if he could help me. I looked up. I know I was 40 and he was probably 25, but he was what I would have called, "smoking hot." I know that has no real relevance to the story, but it made the thought of him permanently marking my body with ink all the more appealing. I regained my composure and once I started talking, I realized hottie was just like anybody else, just doing his job. We talked about what I was "into" and what part of my body I'd like to have done (pause here for effect). I'm kidding. I decided on a Kanji symbol and there were many that I liked. He touched the computer screen in front of the counter and turned it toward me. We chatted about the meanings and putting more than one symbol together and finally I decided on the one that means Strength. I liked the double meaning, strength, both internal and external. Easy enough.
My back has always been my favorite body part. I am built just like my Dad and I am a physically strong person, but even back when I was a teenager, I liked my back. That's where I wanted the tattoo. Just below my neck, at the top, maybe even so I could add something else later. I told hottie tattoo guy, he said great and led me over to the chair. I sat down facing away from him and I swear, in the space of a minute or two, the top of my sweater was pulled down, covered and he was sketching on my skin...
It's a small tattoo, about the size of a silver dollar, in black of course and I LOVE it. It summed up everything that was fantastic about my 40th year and every time I see it in the mirror, I think independence, freedom, power, love - it leads me to all kinds of stories that were told within the scope of that year. I ran my first marathon that year, I turned 40, I lost 25 pounds; there were many things about the whole experience of beginning a new decade that were and are wrapped up in that little black symbol...
So cutting my hair, really, I've had short hair before, but the symbolism of it is the same as that of the tattoo - a new direction while not caring about anything other than who I am and what I want. I've given this notion quite a bit of thought over the years, especially being the kind of person who can often come across as indifferent or arrogant or however people have seen me in certain situations. The thing is, change, physical or otherwise just speaks to that part of my personality that lets other people know that I don't care what anyone else thinks; I mean that. I don't care. I don't care if people like me, I don't care if they hate my clothes. I don't care if they think I'm a shitty parent or a bad wife. I don't care because unless my actions or my behavior affect someone else's life, or their children or their marriage, then they have no right to comment on who I am or what I choose to do. And I was very tired of people trying to do that. I realized, some time ago that it's okay to not like someone and to not want to be their friend, doesn't mean that I have to be cruel or talk about them behind their back. Nope, just no thank you and off I go. And I'm raising my children to be the same way. I believe that self confidence comes from the simple idea that "one shouldn't give a fuck what anyone else thinks." Of course I care about my family and friends and their opinions matter, but they love me unconditionally, they accept my weaknesses and my flaws and I choose carefully who I allow into my "inner" sanctum. So, I expect that their opinions and comments will often not jive with my own and that's okay because I care about them and who they are in my life. Everyone else can jump ship.
I don't believe in placating or pacifying people just for the sake of being the "nice" guy and I also don't believe in doing something for the sake of doing it. I don't go to parties if I don't like the person who invited me and I don't shop at stores where I don't like the products being sold. That seems fairly logical to me. Ty gets a lot of boo-boos. He is 5 and an active boy... enough said. One of the important lessons that I've learned as a mother, from watching other mothers do the exact opposite of what I do, is that when Ty cries, even if he isn't physically hurt, let's just say he cries because he is sad that someone won't play with him or share a toy or because he got punished, whatever the reason,
it's okay to let him cry. I will hold him and I will kiss his face or whisper soothing words, but I just let him cry. For the LIFE of me, I cannot understand how parents can get mad at kids when they yell, "Stop crying! Stop being a baby!" or even if they just say, "Don't cry, come on, stop crying, it's okay." I don't get that. Just let them cry; teach them that it's okay to cry, it's okay to let it out. It's okay to hurt, to feel bad, to be sad. Otherwise, don't they just end up keeping it in? So I hold Ty and I let him work it out for himself. That is what my family and friends do that acquaintances don't - they let me be who I am, haircuts, tattoos, chubby, thinner, marathons, no marathons... whatever.
Sometimes being dramatic just means making a change. That change could be small, could be huge or it could simply be looking at something and saying, that's the way I see it, end of story.
You cannot care what other people think because if you do, you will spend your life trying to please them and that never works out. As a teacher, I don't do anything to jeopardize my job and as a mother, I don't do anything to harm my children, but if I believe in something and I want to do it... I'm doing it. I hope my children take that lesson to heart; I hope they leave our home one day and approach the world as a buffet and that they purposefully stay away from the foods that will ultimately give them diarrhea. Instead, I hope they feast on those that flourish and are lovely and giving, those that will help them to thrive instead of poisoning them and I hope they will have learned enough to know the difference between the two...
It was time for a change... another change. Remember, it doesn't matter what you look like or what you wear - it really is who you are, how you carry yourself, standing by your beliefs... self confidence matters, patience matters, kindness and loyalty, honesty and experience matter. Everything else... that's negotiable.
Friday, August 24, 2012
Tuesday, August 21, 2012
Working it Out...
Ah, what can be read into that title; I suppose that is why I chose it. Last week I went to Zumba class for the third time. There is an ongoing class on Tuesday nights at Alta Vista park that a friend introduced us to and which I've been able to attend three times now. When the class was over last week, I took a few extra minutes, drove down to the beach, got out, sat on one of the walls alongside the Esplanade and considered the day, the class, all of it.
When our ParT2 to Coronado team finished the Ragnar Relay in April, I swore to myself that I would "keep it going;" that I would keep running and look for the next race, enjoying what I had done in LA and at the Ragnar, but alas, I did not and after Zumba last week, I thought about why I hadn't. The ironic thing is that I LOVE to exercise. It might not always look like that on my face, but the tougher the workout, the better I respond. I especially step up to endurance activities that require me to be as mentally fit as physically fit. Running had never been my favorite activity, but in the past couple of years, it has steadily become one of the staples in my "active" life. I suppose I could chalk it up to the daily day to day of my life, the time crunches, the kids, insert other excuses here. Steadily I stopped running, stopped going to yoga and stopped working out at the gym. And then, vacation came, for three weeks I did nothing but camp, eat, drink and have fun. When it came time to do something, I knew that I needed some help. Enter Matt, one of the trainers at Elite Fitness.
I believe that just because you want something badly enough, that is not enough to make it happen. Maybe you believe that too. The desire to get it drives you, but you have to have a plan. Jerry and Rachel have taught me that. You have to have a concrete goal and a real plan and you have to accept that there are going to be bumps along the way, obstacles to keep you from getting to the end of the road. And, that at some point, you have to ask yourself if this is something that you really want or if you are simply just giving it lip service. Either way, if the feeling persists and there is a nagging feeling that something is out of sorts, then you can only ignore it for so long.
Tim and I are having problems. We've been together for 22 years now, married for 19 and although people tell me that it's normal, it's bound to happen with two people who have been together for a long time, I am still struggling with it and I know that he is too. Maybe this too is ironic as marriage is certainly an endurance activity... I guess I think of it in terms of how much I get out of doing something that is good for me and that makes me feel good and for awhile now, that something has not included Tim. The same things plague our marriage that plague my health/fitness goals: time issues, laziness, selfishness, narcissism, exhaustion and the list goes on. So, in order to conquer some of these issues that are driving a wedge between us, we probably need an objective third party. Just like Matt, my trainer was; someone who will look me in the face and say, "HEY! Don't eat that!" or, in the case of our marriage, "HEY! Stop being such a bitch." Well, the therapist probably won't say that, but he/she will certainly think that sometimes.
There is a continuity in exercise that bends the will, in an activity so challenging that you cannot focus on anything else while you are in the throes of doing it. Marriage should be the same. Sure, there are distractions; people open a door, someone coughs, a weight gets dropped, a car honks, kids scream, the phone rings, bills arrive in the mail, family members become ill, jobs are lost... at the end though, when you stretch it out, when you say goodnight, isn't what we feel then a kind of relief? A kind of releasing of good feelings, both physical and mental? If exercise releases endorphins, so too does having a real bond with the person who is closest to you. I talk about marriage now because I am married, but I see this issue between friends, lovers, parents and their children, really anyone who loves someone else and who is as concerned about their well being as their own.
I want to keep moving forward; I want to be better, stronger, happier and I want Tim to be there with me. At some point, we all have to acknowledge that we are who we are because of the people in our lives and even with all of the things that bother me about myself, I recognize that the person I am, the goodness that I feel and the woman that I have become, in large part is due to his commitment to me - to his desire to help me be whoever I was going to become when we first got together. He accepted that and he has helped me to do that. Don't get me wrong, he is a major pain in the ass too, but that part of a marriage, that kind of thinking comes with the territory...
Matt has helped me to get back on track. He is a fun, motivated and cruel (not really) trainer and he will be there, or Jerry, or Rachel, or Kelsey, when and if I need to go back. Well, I do need to go back, but I am going to try to move forward on my own here. I'm learning, even though I knew this, that the journey is made up of MANY helping hands and that crossing the finish line only means that there is another one, not too far beyond it. And, that no one gets there alone.
Marriage is a marathon, maybe an Ultra marathon and we're at Mile 18. We just need to get past the wall...
When our ParT2 to Coronado team finished the Ragnar Relay in April, I swore to myself that I would "keep it going;" that I would keep running and look for the next race, enjoying what I had done in LA and at the Ragnar, but alas, I did not and after Zumba last week, I thought about why I hadn't. The ironic thing is that I LOVE to exercise. It might not always look like that on my face, but the tougher the workout, the better I respond. I especially step up to endurance activities that require me to be as mentally fit as physically fit. Running had never been my favorite activity, but in the past couple of years, it has steadily become one of the staples in my "active" life. I suppose I could chalk it up to the daily day to day of my life, the time crunches, the kids, insert other excuses here. Steadily I stopped running, stopped going to yoga and stopped working out at the gym. And then, vacation came, for three weeks I did nothing but camp, eat, drink and have fun. When it came time to do something, I knew that I needed some help. Enter Matt, one of the trainers at Elite Fitness.
I believe that just because you want something badly enough, that is not enough to make it happen. Maybe you believe that too. The desire to get it drives you, but you have to have a plan. Jerry and Rachel have taught me that. You have to have a concrete goal and a real plan and you have to accept that there are going to be bumps along the way, obstacles to keep you from getting to the end of the road. And, that at some point, you have to ask yourself if this is something that you really want or if you are simply just giving it lip service. Either way, if the feeling persists and there is a nagging feeling that something is out of sorts, then you can only ignore it for so long.
Tim and I are having problems. We've been together for 22 years now, married for 19 and although people tell me that it's normal, it's bound to happen with two people who have been together for a long time, I am still struggling with it and I know that he is too. Maybe this too is ironic as marriage is certainly an endurance activity... I guess I think of it in terms of how much I get out of doing something that is good for me and that makes me feel good and for awhile now, that something has not included Tim. The same things plague our marriage that plague my health/fitness goals: time issues, laziness, selfishness, narcissism, exhaustion and the list goes on. So, in order to conquer some of these issues that are driving a wedge between us, we probably need an objective third party. Just like Matt, my trainer was; someone who will look me in the face and say, "HEY! Don't eat that!" or, in the case of our marriage, "HEY! Stop being such a bitch." Well, the therapist probably won't say that, but he/she will certainly think that sometimes.
There is a continuity in exercise that bends the will, in an activity so challenging that you cannot focus on anything else while you are in the throes of doing it. Marriage should be the same. Sure, there are distractions; people open a door, someone coughs, a weight gets dropped, a car honks, kids scream, the phone rings, bills arrive in the mail, family members become ill, jobs are lost... at the end though, when you stretch it out, when you say goodnight, isn't what we feel then a kind of relief? A kind of releasing of good feelings, both physical and mental? If exercise releases endorphins, so too does having a real bond with the person who is closest to you. I talk about marriage now because I am married, but I see this issue between friends, lovers, parents and their children, really anyone who loves someone else and who is as concerned about their well being as their own.
I want to keep moving forward; I want to be better, stronger, happier and I want Tim to be there with me. At some point, we all have to acknowledge that we are who we are because of the people in our lives and even with all of the things that bother me about myself, I recognize that the person I am, the goodness that I feel and the woman that I have become, in large part is due to his commitment to me - to his desire to help me be whoever I was going to become when we first got together. He accepted that and he has helped me to do that. Don't get me wrong, he is a major pain in the ass too, but that part of a marriage, that kind of thinking comes with the territory...
Matt has helped me to get back on track. He is a fun, motivated and cruel (not really) trainer and he will be there, or Jerry, or Rachel, or Kelsey, when and if I need to go back. Well, I do need to go back, but I am going to try to move forward on my own here. I'm learning, even though I knew this, that the journey is made up of MANY helping hands and that crossing the finish line only means that there is another one, not too far beyond it. And, that no one gets there alone.
Marriage is a marathon, maybe an Ultra marathon and we're at Mile 18. We just need to get past the wall...
Thursday, June 28, 2012
Coming Home...
Escrow closed on our house today. Well, it is no longer our house. It now belongs to a lovely family with 5 children, who, are thrilled to have found it and who, I know, without a doubt, will make it their own, their home. So I sit here thinking about home and all that the word implies... home.
Tim and I bought our first house 14 years ago, a small, 3 bedroom, 1 bath house with a huge yard and a lot of potential. We borrowed the down payment and we signed on the dotted line and, for 8 years, we loved and played, grew our family and even, got a dog, in that house. In year 9, we were ready to expand and so began the remodel that became the house that stands there today: 3091 square feet, 5 bedrooms, everything brand new, chosen with a specific intention, a floor plan borrowed from my brother's former home; it became an incredible, beautiful new house, not even slightly reminiscent of the former building that sat in the same spot. It took a year to build and a month after moving "back" in, our third child came along, occupying a new nursery, in soft green with zoo animals and a view of the city lights out of the large picture window.
While things have changed for us dramatically in the past year, the financial changes have been the most frustrating and sometimes difficult to deal with; strangely, the boys have not been all that upset by the sale of our house and, now that we are in a "new" house, renting again (sigh), they seem fine with the transition and all that it has brought in the last month. The stress of moving and of having to pack up 14 years of life is never easy, but downsizing along with it has made it so much more stressful. It takes an interesting and creative means of looking at a situation to really find the gem in it. That's when you call in your friends and beg for help. I could not have made this transition without them, without their objectivity...
I guess at the end of the day, it would be really simple for me to say that is doesn't matter, that we all have our health and our family and a home is where you are and not in the "place" where you live and while I do believe that, 98% of that, there is also a small part of me that will always belong at our old address. There is a part of who I was and who the children were when we began the process of owning a home there, of Nick taking his first steps there, of Jake playing with our first dog Riley there, of bringing Ty home to the only house he has ever known. There is a huge part of me that will long for the babysitter swing in the backyard and of all of those summer days when the neighborhood kids used to come and jump on the trampoline while I squirted them with the hose. There is a part of me that wishes that we could leave the tent up all summer and just sleep in the backyard every night and there is a huge part of me that will miss decorating that beautiful house for Christmas, all lit up with soft white lights, sitting in front of the fire, watching A Christmas Story on a 24 hour loop while everyone else has gone to bed. I will miss the stairs; I know that sounds strange, but I didn't mind going up and down those stairs. I will miss all of the jasmine that I planted last year that is now spreading like wildfire and I will miss some of the neighbors, not all of the neighbors, but some of them...
I am grateful that someone loves the house as much as I have loved living there and the part of me that longs for it and what we had there is the same part of me that also looks forward to a smaller life in a sense, of a smaller payment, a smaller maintenence plan, a smaller way of looking at things maybe. I got a chance to live in the big house, to help build it, to design it, to choose everything in it, to build memories in it. I will cherish every moment that we lived there, but tonight I look forward to making new memories and wherever the future takes us, I will know in my heart that, in some small way, 4746 W. 191st St. will always belong to our family and that our memories will float alonside of all of those that will be made by the family that now lives there. I wish them well and I hope that they have many years of happiness there. I know that we did.
Tuesday, May 22, 2012
Today is my 43rd birthday... that's it. Not too much to say about it, other than, frankly, I LOVE my birthday. I don't need a lot of fanfare or presents or even attention; I just love knowing that it is May 22nd again and that I am here, celebrating another year. It makes me really happy when people just say, "Happy Birthday." I don't need surprise parties or expensive dinners. I just need for one day to feel as though I matter, that in this whole crazy spectrum of time, that one 24 hour period is carved out for me and the day that I entered this universe. Maybe that does sound like I'm asking for more than I should. Then again...
Birthdays are a time of reflection, to think about the past year and to consider what has happened between then and now, but I don't really like that idea too much. I like to look forward to what is to come this year. Last year was celebrated in the moments in which they happened, one by one - some monumental, some tiny, but all important. Another year lived means that my children are another year alive and healthy, that my marriage continues to grow and that I get to teach yet a little longer. Another year means that I have just as many moments to look forward to as I did in the previous one. And, in my forties, I look forward to enjoying all the benefits that come with "knowing more" and maybe even "knowing better."
I've learned the importance of real friendships and the significance of letting go of all of the bullshit that weighs you down. I've learned that time is only a piece of the puzzle, as much of it is wasted on ridiculous and pointless things that don't matter. I've learned that you are never too old to try anything new, even if it means facing a fear that has haunted you for your entire life. And, I've learned that not everything is what it seems to be, even when staring you, blank, in the face. For these lessons, I am so grateful for another year.
We are moving soon, staring again so to speak, in a smaller home, owned by someone else. We are embarking on a new journey, but, I'm not sad, not like I imagined I would be. Instead, I am thankful for the time and the opportunity that I've been given these past few years, in this place, making memories with my family. And, maybe strangely to some, I am thankful that the new owners are people who will continue to make lovely and lasting memories in this place that was built with so much care and love. I wish them much joy in their new life in this home.
Change is a good thing; sometimes frightening and sometimes exciting, but overall, a good thing, because if we are afraid of change, then we really are admitting that we are afraid to move forward and, I'm not. I'm looking forward to celebrating as many birthdays as God or the universe will allow and I look forward to each year with the promise of new adventures, new places to explore and new people to meet and welcome into my life.
I am so blessed to have had another year and to those who have made it so, thank you, from the bottom of my heart, thank you for making my life matter more, in ways that I couldn't have done on my own. Here's to Year 44...
Friday, March 23, 2012
Thank you.
I remember when I found out I was pregnant with Nick; Jake was 2 years old then and I did wonder... I had heard many people say that they were worried how they could possibly begin to love another child when their hearts overflowed with love for their first child. And, can you love each child equally? I think that each person has to answer those questions for herself, but what I can tell you, from personal experience is that, when they put Nick on my chest and when I held him for the first time, I never again wondered. I realized that I wouldn't love them equally from the same place in my heart because when he was born, my heart grew bigger; a new piece was created just for him. And 6 years later, it grew again, only this time, for a new baby boy, Ty. I was thinking about this idea as I reread a book, in preparation for class on Tuesday and in reminiscing about last Sunday, when I ran the Los Angeles Marathon for AIDS Project. My heart keeps growing larger and with it, more friendships and experiences, more moments of pure joy and love and, more reasons to continue to try and make a real difference in people's lives.
Aura Imbarus is a teacher. She is an intellectual, beautiful, giving and, she has suffered. But out of her trials, she has emerged victorious because she controls her own destiny. She saw her way out of oppression and, despite some of the most difficult choices that a human being might have to make in the course of one lifetime, she relied on herself, on her strength and determination, on her will and desire to achieve what she wanted. And for that, for her sheer desire, I have the utmost respect for her. She makes a difference in people's lives, every day and, whether she realizes it or not, she has made a difference in mine.
Scott Boliver is a coach. He is also a husband and a father and a dedicated, selfless man. And, his health issues aside, which are difficult to overlook, when you are around Scott, you feel inspired. I feel inspired. I remember when he came to one of our Sunday runs a couple of years ago in Griffith park; his presence was dynamic. It seemed that everyone not only knew who he was, but they wanted to see him, hug him, talk to him. And now, after having been able to, even at a minimum, train around Scott, it is clearly evident why that is the case. He is a believer; he believes in the strength and in the courage and in the determination of people and he brings out the best in us; he brought it out in me. And now, he continues to fight his own personal battle, but alongside him, he carries the love and support of hundreds who want him desperately to be well, to succeed in this long battle. Despite it all, Scott shows up, he cares and he has made a real difference in my life.
Running a marathon is preparation for anything that you might want to accomplish in your life. I should qualify that; preparing, training for a marathon is preparation... running the race is a journey in and of itself - the party that you've been waiting months to see come to fruition. Maybe that is why there is a let down after it is over. It takes months to prepare and it is emotional. Meeting new friends and carrying one another through the tough miles and through the tears, and, there are always tears, one gets the feeling that a marathon might not only be the toughest preparation for life, but the most exhilarating as well. This marathon was my favorite, aside from my first, which will always hold special significance for me; this race was about experiencing everything and I felt like I did. It was fun. It was emotional. It was wonderful. Running marathons, and this one in particular, has made a real difference in my life.
I'd like to think that there are many groups of people like those who work for APLA and, of course, there are and I'm not just talking about fundraising, but I'd like to think that after the fundraising is done, that these other groups stay together, that they continue to communicate with one another, to send emails and to share photos and to sign up for more races together just because they want the experience to continue. The thing is, I don't think that there are. I've run marathons for other charities and I've enjoyed the process and the races, but APLA feels like home. The runners and the coaches, the volunteers, the site assistants and everyone who must work in the offices including the last mail person or person working behind a desk; these people are my heroes. These people have enriched my life in a way that the births of each of my sons have. Their dedication to a cause that is bigger than all of us, the love and support that they have for one another and for those who they will never meet is awe inspiring. These are people who I will carry with me for the rest of my life, people who smiled at me on some Saturday mornings, people who have asked me to run with them again, people who introduced me to their parents, their lovers, their families, who have invited me into their homes...these people have made a real difference in my life.
AIDS first appeared on the scene, in my life, when I was in high school. It was terrifying and eventually, devastating. Knowing lovely people who suffered and then who lost their battles with this disease gave me a profound desire to do... something. And, it still does. I've said it many times; there is not a person alive who does not deserve to be treated with dignity, just for the mere fact that they are human beings. Not everyone realizes this, sadly and that is why APLA has become a beacon of hope for so many people; I am convinced that is why so many people participate in programs that have evolved from this organization. There is a real sense of belonging, of hope and of peace that comes from this community. And, honestly, although I wish with all of my heart that there was no need for APLA, I am thankful that they found me or that I found them. Either way, the money that I raise helps and it is an ultimate good, but it is not enough. And so, I will always contribute to their cause; I will always carry their message to others in how I live my life. They have made me want to be better and, so, I am better. AIDS is its own marathon and the people who work for APLA are those who line the streets, holding out oranges, giving out hugs, making the journey as light as they can.
I'm a romantic; I don't deny it. I'm in love with life, with people, with new adventures. Is it possible to be an idealist and a realist? I guess if I consider myself to be a Christian and a Buddhist, then I suppose so. Either way, I hope for the best now; I didn't always think that way, but I do now. And hoping for the best has made a real difference in my life.
Life has brought me a friendship with Aura Imbarus and inspiration in a new coach, Scott Boliver. Life has also brought me membership into the APLA community, of which I will always be a part. My heart continues to grow...
Aura Imbarus is a teacher. She is an intellectual, beautiful, giving and, she has suffered. But out of her trials, she has emerged victorious because she controls her own destiny. She saw her way out of oppression and, despite some of the most difficult choices that a human being might have to make in the course of one lifetime, she relied on herself, on her strength and determination, on her will and desire to achieve what she wanted. And for that, for her sheer desire, I have the utmost respect for her. She makes a difference in people's lives, every day and, whether she realizes it or not, she has made a difference in mine.
Scott Boliver is a coach. He is also a husband and a father and a dedicated, selfless man. And, his health issues aside, which are difficult to overlook, when you are around Scott, you feel inspired. I feel inspired. I remember when he came to one of our Sunday runs a couple of years ago in Griffith park; his presence was dynamic. It seemed that everyone not only knew who he was, but they wanted to see him, hug him, talk to him. And now, after having been able to, even at a minimum, train around Scott, it is clearly evident why that is the case. He is a believer; he believes in the strength and in the courage and in the determination of people and he brings out the best in us; he brought it out in me. And now, he continues to fight his own personal battle, but alongside him, he carries the love and support of hundreds who want him desperately to be well, to succeed in this long battle. Despite it all, Scott shows up, he cares and he has made a real difference in my life.
Running a marathon is preparation for anything that you might want to accomplish in your life. I should qualify that; preparing, training for a marathon is preparation... running the race is a journey in and of itself - the party that you've been waiting months to see come to fruition. Maybe that is why there is a let down after it is over. It takes months to prepare and it is emotional. Meeting new friends and carrying one another through the tough miles and through the tears, and, there are always tears, one gets the feeling that a marathon might not only be the toughest preparation for life, but the most exhilarating as well. This marathon was my favorite, aside from my first, which will always hold special significance for me; this race was about experiencing everything and I felt like I did. It was fun. It was emotional. It was wonderful. Running marathons, and this one in particular, has made a real difference in my life.
I'd like to think that there are many groups of people like those who work for APLA and, of course, there are and I'm not just talking about fundraising, but I'd like to think that after the fundraising is done, that these other groups stay together, that they continue to communicate with one another, to send emails and to share photos and to sign up for more races together just because they want the experience to continue. The thing is, I don't think that there are. I've run marathons for other charities and I've enjoyed the process and the races, but APLA feels like home. The runners and the coaches, the volunteers, the site assistants and everyone who must work in the offices including the last mail person or person working behind a desk; these people are my heroes. These people have enriched my life in a way that the births of each of my sons have. Their dedication to a cause that is bigger than all of us, the love and support that they have for one another and for those who they will never meet is awe inspiring. These are people who I will carry with me for the rest of my life, people who smiled at me on some Saturday mornings, people who have asked me to run with them again, people who introduced me to their parents, their lovers, their families, who have invited me into their homes...these people have made a real difference in my life.
AIDS first appeared on the scene, in my life, when I was in high school. It was terrifying and eventually, devastating. Knowing lovely people who suffered and then who lost their battles with this disease gave me a profound desire to do... something. And, it still does. I've said it many times; there is not a person alive who does not deserve to be treated with dignity, just for the mere fact that they are human beings. Not everyone realizes this, sadly and that is why APLA has become a beacon of hope for so many people; I am convinced that is why so many people participate in programs that have evolved from this organization. There is a real sense of belonging, of hope and of peace that comes from this community. And, honestly, although I wish with all of my heart that there was no need for APLA, I am thankful that they found me or that I found them. Either way, the money that I raise helps and it is an ultimate good, but it is not enough. And so, I will always contribute to their cause; I will always carry their message to others in how I live my life. They have made me want to be better and, so, I am better. AIDS is its own marathon and the people who work for APLA are those who line the streets, holding out oranges, giving out hugs, making the journey as light as they can.
I'm a romantic; I don't deny it. I'm in love with life, with people, with new adventures. Is it possible to be an idealist and a realist? I guess if I consider myself to be a Christian and a Buddhist, then I suppose so. Either way, I hope for the best now; I didn't always think that way, but I do now. And hoping for the best has made a real difference in my life.
Life has brought me a friendship with Aura Imbarus and inspiration in a new coach, Scott Boliver. Life has also brought me membership into the APLA community, of which I will always be a part. My heart continues to grow...
Sunday, March 11, 2012
And so...
"Do you know someone who has died from AIDS?" I get that question, some might say frequently, at least in my recent attempts at fundraising and, although I do, several actually, I find that question interesting and...annoying. I suppose that it has a purpose, I mean I am running the marathon and I am asking for money for a specific cause; there must be a reason behind it right? Maybe they just want to know the reason and I'm reading too much into it or, maybe, just maybe, I've had one too many run in's with people who don't want to give because it is for a certain cause and THAT I find reprehensible. I actually had one woman, who shall remain anonymous, ask me to whom the money was going directly? Did I know? What was it being used for? Was it distributed "equally?" What do I look like lady, the Director. I mean, I answered her questions to the best of my ability, but there was something suspicious about her behavior, something about the way that she hounded me and then, nothing. She never made a donation. I chalked it up to she just didn't have the funds, but deep down, I felt that it was that "other thing;" that thing that people don't want to acknowledge in themselves because others would call them on it. It was that thing that makes people fearful and shallow, without compassion. It doesn't have a specific name, but it feeds on ignorance and fear. Some people say it is homophobia, some say discrimination, some just roll their eyes like they expect that kind of behavior and maybe they are justified in doing so. AIDS has been around for 30 years this year and there is still a stigma associated with it; ask people who are running for the cause, many of them used to feel one way about the disease and about the cause and now, through many changes in their lives, some of their own volition and some just coincidental, they have a broader and a deeper understanding of those who live with this diagnosis and ultimately, this disease. It's not rocket science here, it's the recognition that if you stand for human rights, then that includes ALL humans, not just the ones who meet your standards or your criteria.
I also have to say that the "God" issue really bothers me. I'm a Christian, a Catholic actually, but I tend to say Christian in a general way. I don't go to church on a regular basis, at least not right now and I tend to now lean more toward a Buddhist way of thinking. What bothers me about this notion is when people speak on behalf of "God" and how they seem to feel justified in using "God" as an explanation for their hatred, their prejudice and their downright fear. I think that the religious right are some of the most fiercely judgmental and least "Christian" people I have ever had the displeasure to hear or to know. Religion should never justify intolerance or violence. Religion is organized theology and people, while they have every right to believe and to practice what they want, I do not feel that any single human being has the right to judge another human being on the basis of race, creed, sexual preference, lifestyle and, of course, other categories which I'm too tired to list or to think of at the moment, but you get the general idea. On the other hand, I find that many of the people whom I've known, who I would have thought to be the most judgmental, have ended up being the biggest proponents of the cause and the biggest supporters of endeavors like the marathon.
I'm not kidding myself; I'm not all that smart nor do I pretend to know politics. But I listen and I follow a certain credo when it comes to how and what I believe and I have reasons for all of it. How I feel about certain issues are based on my core value system; part of that came from how I was raised and a larger part of that came from getting out in the world, growing up, interacting with people and formulating my own way of seeing the world. But it all comes back to one thing, one simple thing; I love people. I can't help it. My name is Yvette and I love people. Yes, they piss me off and I hate slow drivers and I can't stand it when students don't do what I say or when Jake forgets to take out the trash, but, alas, I digress...
Sometimes when I'm driving, I have had a rather morbid thought cross my mind. I start thinking of my own funeral and as I imagine it, I think about who would come to the service and, more importantly, what they would say. I think about Tim and my sons and it makes me sad and fearful for a few minutes, but this exercise isn't really about them, it's about what people would say about me and is that in line with how I live my life? Is what they say representative of the kind of human being that I was; did they get the point? I used to have a lot of regrets, but they mostly concerned little things and a lot of them focused on events or incidents from my youth when I was either too ignorant (ah hah) or too afraid (we're on to something here) to do anything to change my ideas. But what I've come to realize now is that all anyone, at my funeral or anywhere else for that matter, who wanted to know what kind of person I was or am; all that person would have to do is look at the people who are a part of my life, the people who I have chosen to surround myself with and who I call my family. In the last few years especially, I have changed so much. I think that I was always poised on the precipice of change, but I needed something or someone to push me and interestingly, that push came in the form of a marathon. Now, when I look back though, I realize, it was never about the running. It was always about the people.
As much as I want my life to mean something and as much as I want my children to grow up to be selfless, altruistic, giving human beings, more than anything, I would like for the judgment to stop. Thinking back to my "God" reference; I believe that, in the end, when I stand before my maker and I am asked to justify why I lived my life the way I did, well, I hope that I can and I hope that it will be enough because in the end, all I have are the choices that I made and that I continue to make and one of those choices is how I treat other human beings. It's not about politics or economics; it's about the most basic civilities. Were you the type of kid who excluded other kids? Did you name call? Did you pick on or bully other kids? Do you still? Some behaviors we outgrow and, sadly, some of those behaviors manifest themselves into ways of thinking and pretty soon, they become our core values.
I find myself at a crossroads all the time when it comes to issues. I have strong opinions and beliefs about how things should be but I often let my actions and behaviors speak for me. I'm not one to stand on a soapbox and if you've been reading any of this blog, this particular one is a bit unusual in that respect. I'm not a preacher. I tend to just write what I think and then I either let it go or I hold it close to my heart. That's it. I guess I've just had to hear the word "Fag" come out of one too many mouths. And in case you're wondering, I say something to the person who said it every single time. The other day it was at work and it was a student, not my student but one who was in the hall. I don't know the exact context in which he used it, but does it matter. I just said, "Hey, do not use language like that." I know, I sounded like a mother, but I am a mother. The kid looked so shocked that I wasn't sure if I should say anything else and then, surprisingly he muttered, "Oh sorry" but I was already walking toward the door. I'm not even sure why he said he was sorry because I bet my life he said it again in the next few breaths after I left.
I get tired of the way that people insult other people. I mean, I'll take a shot at someone, no holds barred, if I feel like it's justified, but the difference is that I don't make it an issue of race or creed, sometimes I do of gender but that's only because I've been married to a MAN for 18 years and we all know, homo or hetero here, that that ain't an easy thing to do (I hope you're smiling at that). I used to be afraid of a lot of things, of a lot of how people thought and what they thought of me and now, now I'm no longer afraid and if you ask me, I'm going to tell you. If you want to know if I know anyone who has died from AIDS, sadly, I will say yes and that that is part of the reason why I am running. But more than that and what I'd really like you to remember and my real answer to that question is, I'm running for AIDS Project because I, like the other 200 runners who will run this year, and, like all the other alumni who've run and for all those who will run in the future, we, believe that there will be a cure and that AIDS will no longer exist. And we believe that no one should have to suffer and there are many who suffer, probably more than you know, regardless of who they are and where they live and how they got this horrific disease. None of that matters; these are human beings who need our help and it is our duty and our obligation to help them. And if they do die, when many of them do die, I like to think that all of us want each of them to pass on with the utmost dignity and with the love of other people and that the person who stands beside them in that moment or who holds their hand will look at them with the kindness and respect that they deserve. That is what I hope. And so... Why do you run for APLA?
I run for APLA because it is an organization that is devoted to the belief that every single human being has the right to live, to be loved and, to receive whatever help they need in order to insure the highest quality of life. I run for them because the people who I've met these past few years who work for APLA and who run for them are some of the finest, kindest, most giving people I have ever known. I run for APLA because they graciously allow me to, so, thank you, universe, God, Karma... thank you for bringing me into their fold. I have benefited the most from our relationship and this Sunday, on March 18th, I will proudly wear my T2 singlet and I will remember every single step that I take as a step that has both brought me here and that will, simultaneously, carry me forward.
Thank you Kevin and Scott, Tom and Ashley, the Bolivers and to all of the other volunteers, coaches, support team and to the runners, thank you for giving me a new direction, one that I will follow passionately. The marathon approaches... T2 2012.
I also have to say that the "God" issue really bothers me. I'm a Christian, a Catholic actually, but I tend to say Christian in a general way. I don't go to church on a regular basis, at least not right now and I tend to now lean more toward a Buddhist way of thinking. What bothers me about this notion is when people speak on behalf of "God" and how they seem to feel justified in using "God" as an explanation for their hatred, their prejudice and their downright fear. I think that the religious right are some of the most fiercely judgmental and least "Christian" people I have ever had the displeasure to hear or to know. Religion should never justify intolerance or violence. Religion is organized theology and people, while they have every right to believe and to practice what they want, I do not feel that any single human being has the right to judge another human being on the basis of race, creed, sexual preference, lifestyle and, of course, other categories which I'm too tired to list or to think of at the moment, but you get the general idea. On the other hand, I find that many of the people whom I've known, who I would have thought to be the most judgmental, have ended up being the biggest proponents of the cause and the biggest supporters of endeavors like the marathon.
I'm not kidding myself; I'm not all that smart nor do I pretend to know politics. But I listen and I follow a certain credo when it comes to how and what I believe and I have reasons for all of it. How I feel about certain issues are based on my core value system; part of that came from how I was raised and a larger part of that came from getting out in the world, growing up, interacting with people and formulating my own way of seeing the world. But it all comes back to one thing, one simple thing; I love people. I can't help it. My name is Yvette and I love people. Yes, they piss me off and I hate slow drivers and I can't stand it when students don't do what I say or when Jake forgets to take out the trash, but, alas, I digress...
Sometimes when I'm driving, I have had a rather morbid thought cross my mind. I start thinking of my own funeral and as I imagine it, I think about who would come to the service and, more importantly, what they would say. I think about Tim and my sons and it makes me sad and fearful for a few minutes, but this exercise isn't really about them, it's about what people would say about me and is that in line with how I live my life? Is what they say representative of the kind of human being that I was; did they get the point? I used to have a lot of regrets, but they mostly concerned little things and a lot of them focused on events or incidents from my youth when I was either too ignorant (ah hah) or too afraid (we're on to something here) to do anything to change my ideas. But what I've come to realize now is that all anyone, at my funeral or anywhere else for that matter, who wanted to know what kind of person I was or am; all that person would have to do is look at the people who are a part of my life, the people who I have chosen to surround myself with and who I call my family. In the last few years especially, I have changed so much. I think that I was always poised on the precipice of change, but I needed something or someone to push me and interestingly, that push came in the form of a marathon. Now, when I look back though, I realize, it was never about the running. It was always about the people.
As much as I want my life to mean something and as much as I want my children to grow up to be selfless, altruistic, giving human beings, more than anything, I would like for the judgment to stop. Thinking back to my "God" reference; I believe that, in the end, when I stand before my maker and I am asked to justify why I lived my life the way I did, well, I hope that I can and I hope that it will be enough because in the end, all I have are the choices that I made and that I continue to make and one of those choices is how I treat other human beings. It's not about politics or economics; it's about the most basic civilities. Were you the type of kid who excluded other kids? Did you name call? Did you pick on or bully other kids? Do you still? Some behaviors we outgrow and, sadly, some of those behaviors manifest themselves into ways of thinking and pretty soon, they become our core values.
I find myself at a crossroads all the time when it comes to issues. I have strong opinions and beliefs about how things should be but I often let my actions and behaviors speak for me. I'm not one to stand on a soapbox and if you've been reading any of this blog, this particular one is a bit unusual in that respect. I'm not a preacher. I tend to just write what I think and then I either let it go or I hold it close to my heart. That's it. I guess I've just had to hear the word "Fag" come out of one too many mouths. And in case you're wondering, I say something to the person who said it every single time. The other day it was at work and it was a student, not my student but one who was in the hall. I don't know the exact context in which he used it, but does it matter. I just said, "Hey, do not use language like that." I know, I sounded like a mother, but I am a mother. The kid looked so shocked that I wasn't sure if I should say anything else and then, surprisingly he muttered, "Oh sorry" but I was already walking toward the door. I'm not even sure why he said he was sorry because I bet my life he said it again in the next few breaths after I left.
I get tired of the way that people insult other people. I mean, I'll take a shot at someone, no holds barred, if I feel like it's justified, but the difference is that I don't make it an issue of race or creed, sometimes I do of gender but that's only because I've been married to a MAN for 18 years and we all know, homo or hetero here, that that ain't an easy thing to do (I hope you're smiling at that). I used to be afraid of a lot of things, of a lot of how people thought and what they thought of me and now, now I'm no longer afraid and if you ask me, I'm going to tell you. If you want to know if I know anyone who has died from AIDS, sadly, I will say yes and that that is part of the reason why I am running. But more than that and what I'd really like you to remember and my real answer to that question is, I'm running for AIDS Project because I, like the other 200 runners who will run this year, and, like all the other alumni who've run and for all those who will run in the future, we, believe that there will be a cure and that AIDS will no longer exist. And we believe that no one should have to suffer and there are many who suffer, probably more than you know, regardless of who they are and where they live and how they got this horrific disease. None of that matters; these are human beings who need our help and it is our duty and our obligation to help them. And if they do die, when many of them do die, I like to think that all of us want each of them to pass on with the utmost dignity and with the love of other people and that the person who stands beside them in that moment or who holds their hand will look at them with the kindness and respect that they deserve. That is what I hope. And so... Why do you run for APLA?
I run for APLA because it is an organization that is devoted to the belief that every single human being has the right to live, to be loved and, to receive whatever help they need in order to insure the highest quality of life. I run for them because the people who I've met these past few years who work for APLA and who run for them are some of the finest, kindest, most giving people I have ever known. I run for APLA because they graciously allow me to, so, thank you, universe, God, Karma... thank you for bringing me into their fold. I have benefited the most from our relationship and this Sunday, on March 18th, I will proudly wear my T2 singlet and I will remember every single step that I take as a step that has both brought me here and that will, simultaneously, carry me forward.
Thank you Kevin and Scott, Tom and Ashley, the Bolivers and to all of the other volunteers, coaches, support team and to the runners, thank you for giving me a new direction, one that I will follow passionately. The marathon approaches... T2 2012.
Friday, February 10, 2012
Riley...
Our dog died today. I have no witty reparte or any loving anecdote that I want to share. I don't want to remember her as a puppy or how many times she cracked me up, especially when she was little. I don't want to focus on the "joy." Right now, I want to feel sad and I want to write down the experience, for her and for me.
I carried her in my arms because she really couldn't walk. She had a swollen front leg and she had been wheezing and straining to breathe for almost two weeks. We probably waited too long. She was suffering, needlessly. Four days ago I was doing housework and she was laying by the back door and she was making soft sounds so I stopped what I was doing and I went and lay next to her. I put my arm around her and she licked my face, but then she started making the sound again. Whimpering. Chronic pain whimpering. I remember sitting outside with her about a month ago and I was petting her fur and I said, "You'll tell me when girl ok?" It was just like in that movie Marley and Me. And, to tell you the truth, I wanted her to tell Tim and I when because that is a decision that I've never had to make before. I've never had to put a pet down, until today.
She weighed about 45 pounds and she didn't fight me. People say it's like they know and maybe, in some small way, she was relieved that we were doing something. Maybe she was just so tired that none of it mattered. Last night she lay in one spot and she didn't get up at all. I waited for her to bark so that I could go downstairs and let her out, but she didn't. She just lay there.
I brought her into the room and lay her on the towel and she just looked at me, breathing heavily, her tongue coming out of her mouth once or twice. I wondered if she was thirsty. Within two minutes, a young man came in and told me that he was going to give her a shot of morphine to calm her. Strange, because she was already so calm, but I knew that she wouldn't be in any more pain after that shot. He administered it and said that the doctor would be in in about 5 minutes or so to give her the final shot. He smiled and put a box of Kleenex on the table by her head. He closed the door and I looked at the clock on the wall. 5 minutes.
Riley would have turned 14 this year, in December, but she started to look so old, especially these last months. It was in her eyes. She couldn't hear much anymore and she lost most of her teeth a long time ago. She spent several years without a lot of attention and for that, I feel terrible. Caught up in other things, there were times when Riley was just simply this figure that lived in our house, in our backyard. Sometimes she was annoying and she had fur problems for years. Every time my brothers would come over these past few years, they would joke about how we should just put her down. But the thing was, she may have looked scraggly and she was smelly and she couldn't hear, but she was a good dog. We first got her because we needed a watchdog and she barked at everything in the backyard, sometimes too often. She didn't like other dogs very much and she would growl and bark at people who came by the house who were walking their dogs. And when she was little, maybe the first 2 years, she jumped up on everybody. She didn't discriminate.
I have to be honest here and say that I am not the best pet owner, not even close; I'm sitting here right now thinking about all of the things that I could have done to show her that it meant a lot to us to have her around; that just having her here made our family complete. I would and still have recently joked that with a husband and 3 boys in the house, it was just me and the dog, that the bitches have to stick together. Sometimes I would just sit out in the backyard with her, pushed up next to me, thinking about things and sometimes I'd watch her roll around on her back, growling and barking.
I asked Jake if he wanted to come with me today and he did. For a second I know he thought about coming into the room, but now in retrospect, I'm glad that he didn't. I knelt down by the side of the table and rubbed her ears and petted her fur while her breathing changed and her tongue began to dart in and out of her mouth more often. Her eyes were half closed and I noticed that as I shifted, her eyes followed my face. I kept thinking about the 5 minutes. She was going to die in less than 5 minutes. The doctor came in and said, "I'm so sorry about your baby." I had already started crying and I said something like, "It's time. She's been in a lot of pain" although I really don't know what I said. The doctor turned her around on the table and plugged in the shaver then he shaved a little patch on her foreleg. He inserted the needle and pressed the syringe and it happened so fast. I don't know, less than a minute maybe. He listened to her heart and told me that she was gone. He told me that I could stay as long as I needed to and then he left the room.
Jake was 1 year old when we brought Riley home and some of my favorite pictures are of him sitting with her in her box in the kitchen while she jumped all over him. Jake will be 15 in May and I'm glad that he was there outside the door today. I stayed for a few minutes. I said goodbye. I told her that I loved her and that I was sorry for the times when I wasn't there, when I ignored her. I kissed her on the head and then I walked out. I was patting my eyes and when Jake saw me come out, he stood up and came and put his arm around me. We walked to the car and we didn't say anything. We started to drive and I could tell that he wanted to know what had happened. But at the first red light, I covered my face in my hands and just burst into tears; I just kept crying and before I knew it, Jake was crying too. I could tell that he was trying not to, but it was exactly what we both needed. When we were almost home, I told him what happened and for the rest of the day, he kind of kept an eye on me. He hugged me about a half an hour ago in the kitchen and he told me that he loved me and that it was going to be okay.
I cleaned up her dishes a little while ago and I swept and mopped the floor, maybe trying to eliminate the traces of dog fur. Maybe it just made me feel better. But sitting here, I realize that I don't feel better. I keep looking around and she's missing. Riley just became a fixture in the living room or in the backyard. We always had to make sure that the front door was closed so that she wouldn't run out and we had to bungee cord the gate in the back because she figured out how to open it by banging her paw against it repeatedly.
I needed to take her today. I didn't want Tim to have to do it. I needed to be there and I'm not exactly sure why. It would have been much easier to just stay home and to let somebody else take care of it. Easier and not nearly as satisfying.
There was a student in one of my classes at Richardson Middle School; a small boy with very blonde hair. When we got the puppy, I kept thinking about that boy and what a perfect name he had; perfect for this runt of the litter, the one with blonde fur and a pointy snout, the one who peed constantly all over the house until we had to remove the carpet. She's been here for the last 14 years of my life, just here, not asking for much, but here nonetheless.
I keep picturing her face today; her eyes weren't closed all the way and her body twitched once when I went to stand up. I guess she looked peaceful, but in some small way, she looked empty, hollow. Exactly how I'm feeling right now.
Goodbye girl.
I carried her in my arms because she really couldn't walk. She had a swollen front leg and she had been wheezing and straining to breathe for almost two weeks. We probably waited too long. She was suffering, needlessly. Four days ago I was doing housework and she was laying by the back door and she was making soft sounds so I stopped what I was doing and I went and lay next to her. I put my arm around her and she licked my face, but then she started making the sound again. Whimpering. Chronic pain whimpering. I remember sitting outside with her about a month ago and I was petting her fur and I said, "You'll tell me when girl ok?" It was just like in that movie Marley and Me. And, to tell you the truth, I wanted her to tell Tim and I when because that is a decision that I've never had to make before. I've never had to put a pet down, until today.
She weighed about 45 pounds and she didn't fight me. People say it's like they know and maybe, in some small way, she was relieved that we were doing something. Maybe she was just so tired that none of it mattered. Last night she lay in one spot and she didn't get up at all. I waited for her to bark so that I could go downstairs and let her out, but she didn't. She just lay there.
I brought her into the room and lay her on the towel and she just looked at me, breathing heavily, her tongue coming out of her mouth once or twice. I wondered if she was thirsty. Within two minutes, a young man came in and told me that he was going to give her a shot of morphine to calm her. Strange, because she was already so calm, but I knew that she wouldn't be in any more pain after that shot. He administered it and said that the doctor would be in in about 5 minutes or so to give her the final shot. He smiled and put a box of Kleenex on the table by her head. He closed the door and I looked at the clock on the wall. 5 minutes.
Riley would have turned 14 this year, in December, but she started to look so old, especially these last months. It was in her eyes. She couldn't hear much anymore and she lost most of her teeth a long time ago. She spent several years without a lot of attention and for that, I feel terrible. Caught up in other things, there were times when Riley was just simply this figure that lived in our house, in our backyard. Sometimes she was annoying and she had fur problems for years. Every time my brothers would come over these past few years, they would joke about how we should just put her down. But the thing was, she may have looked scraggly and she was smelly and she couldn't hear, but she was a good dog. We first got her because we needed a watchdog and she barked at everything in the backyard, sometimes too often. She didn't like other dogs very much and she would growl and bark at people who came by the house who were walking their dogs. And when she was little, maybe the first 2 years, she jumped up on everybody. She didn't discriminate.
I have to be honest here and say that I am not the best pet owner, not even close; I'm sitting here right now thinking about all of the things that I could have done to show her that it meant a lot to us to have her around; that just having her here made our family complete. I would and still have recently joked that with a husband and 3 boys in the house, it was just me and the dog, that the bitches have to stick together. Sometimes I would just sit out in the backyard with her, pushed up next to me, thinking about things and sometimes I'd watch her roll around on her back, growling and barking.
I asked Jake if he wanted to come with me today and he did. For a second I know he thought about coming into the room, but now in retrospect, I'm glad that he didn't. I knelt down by the side of the table and rubbed her ears and petted her fur while her breathing changed and her tongue began to dart in and out of her mouth more often. Her eyes were half closed and I noticed that as I shifted, her eyes followed my face. I kept thinking about the 5 minutes. She was going to die in less than 5 minutes. The doctor came in and said, "I'm so sorry about your baby." I had already started crying and I said something like, "It's time. She's been in a lot of pain" although I really don't know what I said. The doctor turned her around on the table and plugged in the shaver then he shaved a little patch on her foreleg. He inserted the needle and pressed the syringe and it happened so fast. I don't know, less than a minute maybe. He listened to her heart and told me that she was gone. He told me that I could stay as long as I needed to and then he left the room.
Jake was 1 year old when we brought Riley home and some of my favorite pictures are of him sitting with her in her box in the kitchen while she jumped all over him. Jake will be 15 in May and I'm glad that he was there outside the door today. I stayed for a few minutes. I said goodbye. I told her that I loved her and that I was sorry for the times when I wasn't there, when I ignored her. I kissed her on the head and then I walked out. I was patting my eyes and when Jake saw me come out, he stood up and came and put his arm around me. We walked to the car and we didn't say anything. We started to drive and I could tell that he wanted to know what had happened. But at the first red light, I covered my face in my hands and just burst into tears; I just kept crying and before I knew it, Jake was crying too. I could tell that he was trying not to, but it was exactly what we both needed. When we were almost home, I told him what happened and for the rest of the day, he kind of kept an eye on me. He hugged me about a half an hour ago in the kitchen and he told me that he loved me and that it was going to be okay.
I cleaned up her dishes a little while ago and I swept and mopped the floor, maybe trying to eliminate the traces of dog fur. Maybe it just made me feel better. But sitting here, I realize that I don't feel better. I keep looking around and she's missing. Riley just became a fixture in the living room or in the backyard. We always had to make sure that the front door was closed so that she wouldn't run out and we had to bungee cord the gate in the back because she figured out how to open it by banging her paw against it repeatedly.
I needed to take her today. I didn't want Tim to have to do it. I needed to be there and I'm not exactly sure why. It would have been much easier to just stay home and to let somebody else take care of it. Easier and not nearly as satisfying.
There was a student in one of my classes at Richardson Middle School; a small boy with very blonde hair. When we got the puppy, I kept thinking about that boy and what a perfect name he had; perfect for this runt of the litter, the one with blonde fur and a pointy snout, the one who peed constantly all over the house until we had to remove the carpet. She's been here for the last 14 years of my life, just here, not asking for much, but here nonetheless.
I keep picturing her face today; her eyes weren't closed all the way and her body twitched once when I went to stand up. I guess she looked peaceful, but in some small way, she looked empty, hollow. Exactly how I'm feeling right now.
Goodbye girl.
Sunday, January 22, 2012
Superheroes...
I don't believe in Wonder Woman or Batgirl. I don't believe in sidekicks. I don't believe in playing second fiddle to anyone, in any capacity, ever. I don't believe in "can't." I don't believe in excuses. I don't believe in jealousy or envy. I don't believe in hypocrisy. I don't believe in cruelty or holding a grudge. I don't believe in elitism, sexism, racism or in any kind of discrimination. I don't believe in apathy or sloth. I don't believe in diets or deprivation. I don't believe in immorality or character defamation. I don't believe in division, among any lines. I don't believe in slander or gossip. I don't believe in assigning blame and I certainly don't believe in any organization, group or business that creates policies that foster inequality on any level.
In death we are all equal; there are no color lines, nor are there factors that make us feel as though we are "less." In death, we all face the unknown, the uncertain; we become vulnerable to the "what if?" In death, you take my hand and I take yours and we walk into the beyond as one, as equals. We are the same. Why then do we not do this while we live? Why do you not take my hand and tell me, with your eyes and with your heart and with your friendship and love, that we are the same.
I believe in truth and hope. I believe in goodness and kindness and joy. I believe in young people. I believe in God. I believe in growth and movement. I believe that chocolate and red wine should be consumed every day, if not twice a day. I believe that many people die too soon because they don't have someone to touch them, hug them, hold their hands. I believe in stories, in books, in art, in music. I believe in protesting and standing up for your rights. I believe in education and the idea that the acquisition of knowledge is a shared endeavor between teachers and students. I believe that kissing a baby, even one that is not your own, heals you in some way. I believe that at least once in your life, you should have the opportunity to feel as though you are standing just a bit taller than every other human being on the planet, even if it is just for a second. I believe in traditions and spirituality. I believe in smoking pot once in awhile and I certainly believe that more sex is not only called for, but necessary, for everyone who wants it. I believe that words are power and freedom and strength.
I have a quasi-addiction to people; I tend to hold on to them, whether they want me to or not. I have an innate need to know about them and once I do, I decide whether or not they will contribute some value to my life. If I feel that they do, then they become a permanent piece of my consciousness. And even if I have no continued contact or correspondence with them, they remain a part of that energy that makes up my mind and my soul. If I feel that they will do nothing but destroy and tear at the fabric that makes me who I am, then I cut off contact, but, maybe ironically, they also stay with me. Sometimes it's as this kind of idea, as something that I could have fixed or as if they were a part of this hypothetical situation which I was also a part of and in which we just couldn't seem to come to an agreement. So we parted ways. I feed off of other people's stories, off of what makes them human, what makes them hurt, what makes them happy, what motivates them to do what they do. As a result of this, I have been able to create for myself a 42 year old tapestry that is colorful yet frayed; one that hangs on a neverending wall. It is a scene that began to take shape many years ago and is just now becoming visible. The Fates are weaving my story as it happens, not before...
If the three sisters let me sit at the loom for a moment, there is much that I would add. There is so much that I would add. 42 years gone, yet how many more to go?
I would like to live many lives. Maybe that is possible; I don't know. If it is, I hope that I learn something, that I have learned something from previous experience and I wish to keep growing, to keep evolving, to keep hoping that life will continue. I would like to tell every person who is in my life even for the briefest time, that they are there for a reason; that our paths have crossed for some greater purpose. I would like for those in my life to know how important they are to me, even if I fail to visit often enough, or to send birthday cards or to call when I say I will. I would like to think that they know. I would like that, but then I turn and five years has passed and I realize that maybe they didn't know that. Maybe I should have said it, and maybe I should have showed up and maybe they need me to call. And then I vow to try harder. And sometimes I succeed. And, sometimes I fail miserably.
I don't often react to situations and events immediately; I am not prone to bursting into tears or grabbing someone and sobbing heartbrokenly. I will sometimes sit for months and think about a person or an event and it is only when I have some distance and some time that I can really internalize it or them and then I react. I have found myself curled up in the fetal position on my kitchen floor a year after a friend has passed or a pet went missing. I just recently found myself weeping as I washed the dishes, thinking about the diagnosis of cancer in a friend that happened over a year ago. I'm not at all sure about why there is this delayed reaction. And sometimes, often, my reactions come out in words, in writing, in a kind of subtletly that doesn't always seem appropriate to the situation. More often than not I don't cry at funerals. Maybe it's like that for a lot of people. I just find that I have to react in my own time, in my own way and then I have to try to figure out how to take that information and make something better, something positive out of it. Maybe it is my coping mechanism. Maybe it is my defense mechanism. Maybe it is what I hate the most, maybe it is an excuse to not have to own those feelings.
I believe that for every moment that I'm given, I am under an obligation to live that moment to the fullest, whether that be in sadness or in joy and that I am obliged to live my life as an example of what it is I stand for, as an example of what I believe. And that when people meet me, when they get to know me, they will know what those things are that I hold the most dear.
When I was a teenager, I used to keep a diary. I used to think a lot about what I was going to do with my life and I felt, I sincerely felt that I was supposed to do something. I didn't know what it was and frankly, I still don't know what it is. But I feel very deeply that, like all of us, I have a distinct purpose in this lifetime and it is my responsibility to figure out what that is and to then fulfill it. It may take my whole life or multiple lifetimes to figure it out, but there is a deep seeded need in me to find it. It doesn't make me anything, not better, not less than anyone else; it just makes my journey worth living. And I plan on living every single day of this journey with as much zeal and hope and fortitude and strength and every other adjective that is a synonym for energy, that I can. And I hope that every person who crosses my path senses it and that they know that I am here, even in those moments that I fail: to write, to visit, to meet for coffee. I will be here when it matters the most. And I will remember you and I will feel your pain and I will carry it with me. I will carry you with me, always.
Is it possible to love someone into healing? Is it possible to smile them into remission? Is it possible to hug them into success? I don't know; all I know is I sure would like to try. I sure would like to try.
Superheroes? No, don't believe in them. Miracles? Absolutely. Look around you; they are happening every single minute of every single day. Be one, share one, give one. My three are upstairs sleeping. They are my greatest gift and my most worthwhile adventure and all I ever want is to be someone who they can be proud to call their mother. I continue to try.
A former student passed away last week and she was on my mind while I wrote this. I hope that her children remember all that was wonderful about her. I hope that their lives continue on in the light of what she created for them and that this tragedy doesn't devastate who she would have wanted them to be. I hope that her legacy lives on in them, in all that was the very best of who she was. I hope that she is at peace.
Live, don't just exist. And don't wait for Superman to come along and save you. He might be waylaid... make it happen for yourself. Make it happen for all of us.
For Daisy Viera.
In death we are all equal; there are no color lines, nor are there factors that make us feel as though we are "less." In death, we all face the unknown, the uncertain; we become vulnerable to the "what if?" In death, you take my hand and I take yours and we walk into the beyond as one, as equals. We are the same. Why then do we not do this while we live? Why do you not take my hand and tell me, with your eyes and with your heart and with your friendship and love, that we are the same.
I believe in truth and hope. I believe in goodness and kindness and joy. I believe in young people. I believe in God. I believe in growth and movement. I believe that chocolate and red wine should be consumed every day, if not twice a day. I believe that many people die too soon because they don't have someone to touch them, hug them, hold their hands. I believe in stories, in books, in art, in music. I believe in protesting and standing up for your rights. I believe in education and the idea that the acquisition of knowledge is a shared endeavor between teachers and students. I believe that kissing a baby, even one that is not your own, heals you in some way. I believe that at least once in your life, you should have the opportunity to feel as though you are standing just a bit taller than every other human being on the planet, even if it is just for a second. I believe in traditions and spirituality. I believe in smoking pot once in awhile and I certainly believe that more sex is not only called for, but necessary, for everyone who wants it. I believe that words are power and freedom and strength.
I have a quasi-addiction to people; I tend to hold on to them, whether they want me to or not. I have an innate need to know about them and once I do, I decide whether or not they will contribute some value to my life. If I feel that they do, then they become a permanent piece of my consciousness. And even if I have no continued contact or correspondence with them, they remain a part of that energy that makes up my mind and my soul. If I feel that they will do nothing but destroy and tear at the fabric that makes me who I am, then I cut off contact, but, maybe ironically, they also stay with me. Sometimes it's as this kind of idea, as something that I could have fixed or as if they were a part of this hypothetical situation which I was also a part of and in which we just couldn't seem to come to an agreement. So we parted ways. I feed off of other people's stories, off of what makes them human, what makes them hurt, what makes them happy, what motivates them to do what they do. As a result of this, I have been able to create for myself a 42 year old tapestry that is colorful yet frayed; one that hangs on a neverending wall. It is a scene that began to take shape many years ago and is just now becoming visible. The Fates are weaving my story as it happens, not before...
If the three sisters let me sit at the loom for a moment, there is much that I would add. There is so much that I would add. 42 years gone, yet how many more to go?
I would like to live many lives. Maybe that is possible; I don't know. If it is, I hope that I learn something, that I have learned something from previous experience and I wish to keep growing, to keep evolving, to keep hoping that life will continue. I would like to tell every person who is in my life even for the briefest time, that they are there for a reason; that our paths have crossed for some greater purpose. I would like for those in my life to know how important they are to me, even if I fail to visit often enough, or to send birthday cards or to call when I say I will. I would like to think that they know. I would like that, but then I turn and five years has passed and I realize that maybe they didn't know that. Maybe I should have said it, and maybe I should have showed up and maybe they need me to call. And then I vow to try harder. And sometimes I succeed. And, sometimes I fail miserably.
I don't often react to situations and events immediately; I am not prone to bursting into tears or grabbing someone and sobbing heartbrokenly. I will sometimes sit for months and think about a person or an event and it is only when I have some distance and some time that I can really internalize it or them and then I react. I have found myself curled up in the fetal position on my kitchen floor a year after a friend has passed or a pet went missing. I just recently found myself weeping as I washed the dishes, thinking about the diagnosis of cancer in a friend that happened over a year ago. I'm not at all sure about why there is this delayed reaction. And sometimes, often, my reactions come out in words, in writing, in a kind of subtletly that doesn't always seem appropriate to the situation. More often than not I don't cry at funerals. Maybe it's like that for a lot of people. I just find that I have to react in my own time, in my own way and then I have to try to figure out how to take that information and make something better, something positive out of it. Maybe it is my coping mechanism. Maybe it is my defense mechanism. Maybe it is what I hate the most, maybe it is an excuse to not have to own those feelings.
I believe that for every moment that I'm given, I am under an obligation to live that moment to the fullest, whether that be in sadness or in joy and that I am obliged to live my life as an example of what it is I stand for, as an example of what I believe. And that when people meet me, when they get to know me, they will know what those things are that I hold the most dear.
When I was a teenager, I used to keep a diary. I used to think a lot about what I was going to do with my life and I felt, I sincerely felt that I was supposed to do something. I didn't know what it was and frankly, I still don't know what it is. But I feel very deeply that, like all of us, I have a distinct purpose in this lifetime and it is my responsibility to figure out what that is and to then fulfill it. It may take my whole life or multiple lifetimes to figure it out, but there is a deep seeded need in me to find it. It doesn't make me anything, not better, not less than anyone else; it just makes my journey worth living. And I plan on living every single day of this journey with as much zeal and hope and fortitude and strength and every other adjective that is a synonym for energy, that I can. And I hope that every person who crosses my path senses it and that they know that I am here, even in those moments that I fail: to write, to visit, to meet for coffee. I will be here when it matters the most. And I will remember you and I will feel your pain and I will carry it with me. I will carry you with me, always.
Is it possible to love someone into healing? Is it possible to smile them into remission? Is it possible to hug them into success? I don't know; all I know is I sure would like to try. I sure would like to try.
Superheroes? No, don't believe in them. Miracles? Absolutely. Look around you; they are happening every single minute of every single day. Be one, share one, give one. My three are upstairs sleeping. They are my greatest gift and my most worthwhile adventure and all I ever want is to be someone who they can be proud to call their mother. I continue to try.
A former student passed away last week and she was on my mind while I wrote this. I hope that her children remember all that was wonderful about her. I hope that their lives continue on in the light of what she created for them and that this tragedy doesn't devastate who she would have wanted them to be. I hope that her legacy lives on in them, in all that was the very best of who she was. I hope that she is at peace.
Live, don't just exist. And don't wait for Superman to come along and save you. He might be waylaid... make it happen for yourself. Make it happen for all of us.
For Daisy Viera.
Thursday, January 5, 2012
Fundraising...
You think it's tough when people ask you for money? You think it's burdensome and tiring to have to hear the why's and the where's and the what for's? You think it's a hassle to have to write yet ANOTHER check to some charity that you would never support or might not even consider giving money to because you are going to Nordstrom Rack this weekend? You know what I have to say to all those questions, you know what the answer is... FUCK YOU and your excuses. Harsh, maybe, necessary, probably, warranted, most definitely...
It is with the deepest sincerity that I have accepted and been given donations from friends and family members during the course of the last 3 marathons that I have run; APLA in Los Angeles, UNICEF and Autism Speaks in New York and now, once more for APLA in Los Angeles. I was moved and thankful (still am) by the support that people have shown to me and to the causes that I represented in these various races. I will be forever indebted to everyone who sent well wishes and who gave funds especially now when it is one of the most difficult times in the history of our economy. Again, I sincerely appreciate the kindness that was shown. And, that is the reason why I am having a hard time swallowing the responses that I have gotten of late in terms of asking again for help and for donations. As I sit here, exasperated and exhausted, I am considering what might be the driving force behind people's lack of enthusiasm for donating this time around, besides the fact that money is tight. That goes without saying. So, walk with me as I ponder the factors and then... well, we'll see and then.
I accept the fact that people, the same people are tired of me asking. I accept the fact that frankly,they are probably just tired of me. I accept the fact that the marathon running thing has lost its lustre. I mean, she's done 3, how many more does she need to do? I accept the fact that there are other charities and organizations that people support and that I am not the only person asking for money; hell, I'm probably one of 20 who asked this month alone and, if your kids go to public school,then the checkbook is fringed with ash from burning through that money. I accept the fact that many people just don't like me and that's okay too. I mean I can be a real first rate bitch sometimes and often to the people who I love the most. I accept the fact that people just don't care and that they wear their apathy like a baby seal fur coat: blatantly obvious and simultaneously ridiculous. I accept the fact that the holidays just passed and we spent alot of money and yada, yada, yada... Yeah well, I'll remember that the next time you want me to support your kid's team or your business or to buy Girl Scout Cookies. I'll remember that the next time I see you holding a $5 cup of coffee or wearing a pair of Jimmy Choo's. Look, I have no problem with people spending their money however they see fit and I do not have access to their tax returns and subsequently the information regarding their donations to non-profit organizations throughout the year. I realize that I am being judgemental. I KNOW THAT. That's the whole fucking point.
Nothing gets done without persistence and effort and time and sometimes, well, Joe Pesci. Maybe I just need to threaten to put people's heads in individual vices and then... okay, sort of a violent image there, but frustration often leads to violence and if you know me well, you know I'm not above bringing a tire iron to your house to collect that cash. Just try me.
I know it's hard to give money, especially when you think you don't have it. But the point is, every single person who I ask does have it. No, they might not have $50 or $25 or even $10 so they give nothing. This too is a point that I make frequently, if instead of 20 people giving nothing, how about 20 people giving $5? Look how quickly that adds up! I know that some people are thinking, well, what if my name shows up and I only gave $5? That's going to look bad or that's not enough. Then give MORE dammit, simple solution. No, really, donations can be completely anonymous and more importantly, the smallest amounts do matter! For $7 UNICEF can provide clean drinking water for 2 people for a month! And for $12 you can buy a bag of groceries for someone living with HIV/AIDS. Think about that. No, really, think about that.
I really like funerals of people who have lived a full life. It's never pleasant and it's very difficult when a child dies or someone is cut down early or someone suffered verily before his/her death. But when you are celebrating a person's life,someone who loved life and who demonstrated a passion for things and for people, it can be quite something to witness. And while I have loved listening to many eulogies; one in particular in which a daughter eulogized her father, was probably the most wonderful tribute by one human being to another that I've ever heard or read, I have a problem when I hear people say, "I wish that we could have done more" or "I should have tried harder to help him" or "My life won't be the same without her." The problem is exacerbated by the issue that stems from the notion that all of these statements could readily be avoided if YOU DO SOMETHING RIGHT NOW instead of waiting until the person is no longer there. Hug them now, visit them now, make them a sandwich, have sex with them, buy them a puppy, whatever. My problem is with people who wait for the opportune moment to act and then they are shocked when they didn't recognize that it was floating right past them at the same moment when they were waiting. I want my eulogy delivered by one of my sons or by all three and all I want them to say is this, "She cared enough to try to make a difference in the world." That's it. That's enough.
Look, this diatribe is not going to win me any popularity contests but I don't give a flying fuck about any of that. What I care about is you and the people around you and more than that, the people around all of us who need our help. Children, families, brothers, parents, neighbors. Children are dying daily from diseases that could be prevented by simply providing them with clean water. People are living on the streets, living with HIV, trying to find a reason to live. Parents are trying to figure out how to carve out lives for their children with Autism while they hold one another and try to stay strong in the never ending journey ahead. Yes people die every day and so will you and so will I. But we have a chance to decide how the course will lay itself out for people who we will never meet; we have the opportunity of a lifetime to create hope in places where it doesn't exist. We have an obligation to pass on the joy of giving to our families through our united efforts and through the sweat, tears and yes, finances that we share.
This really is not about me. It has very little to do with me. If I don't raise the $800 by January 20th, I will write a check for that amount to APLA and then I will run, regardless of how the money is raised. And I don't have it. I don't have $800. I don't have $25. But you know what, I'll figure it out. Because APLA does the kind of work that will change the course of our history; we might not see it in our lifetimes, but we will have been a part of an organization that mattered, to people, to the planet and to life. I have been extraordinarily proud to have been a small cog in the giant wheel that is the group of special and innovative people who make up this fabulous charity. And I hope that you know, that you feel, that you are a part of it too. When you donate ANYTHING and when you come out and offer your support and when you make that extra effort, you do make a difference. You are the difference.
I feel better now. Venting does wonders for the mood elevators; it sends them right through the roof. I look around my house and I think of my formal education and I hear my children yelling and laughing upstairs as they get ready for bed and I think, I am very lucky and I am blessed and I have worked hard. And I just want what you want, what we all want, what we all want... children in the Sudan and children with Autism and men, women and children living with HIV and AIDS, we want dignity and respect and we want life. We want to live.
I am not above begging and I am certainly not above asking for the 1000th time because tomorrow it will be the 1001st, please, please make a donation. Don't even think about me, again, it has nothing to do with me. But it has everything to do with YOU!
A new year, A new start, A new chance to change someones life. Does it really get much better than that? http://apla.convio.net/goto/yvettehawley
Thank You...
It is with the deepest sincerity that I have accepted and been given donations from friends and family members during the course of the last 3 marathons that I have run; APLA in Los Angeles, UNICEF and Autism Speaks in New York and now, once more for APLA in Los Angeles. I was moved and thankful (still am) by the support that people have shown to me and to the causes that I represented in these various races. I will be forever indebted to everyone who sent well wishes and who gave funds especially now when it is one of the most difficult times in the history of our economy. Again, I sincerely appreciate the kindness that was shown. And, that is the reason why I am having a hard time swallowing the responses that I have gotten of late in terms of asking again for help and for donations. As I sit here, exasperated and exhausted, I am considering what might be the driving force behind people's lack of enthusiasm for donating this time around, besides the fact that money is tight. That goes without saying. So, walk with me as I ponder the factors and then... well, we'll see and then.
I accept the fact that people, the same people are tired of me asking. I accept the fact that frankly,they are probably just tired of me. I accept the fact that the marathon running thing has lost its lustre. I mean, she's done 3, how many more does she need to do? I accept the fact that there are other charities and organizations that people support and that I am not the only person asking for money; hell, I'm probably one of 20 who asked this month alone and, if your kids go to public school,then the checkbook is fringed with ash from burning through that money. I accept the fact that many people just don't like me and that's okay too. I mean I can be a real first rate bitch sometimes and often to the people who I love the most. I accept the fact that people just don't care and that they wear their apathy like a baby seal fur coat: blatantly obvious and simultaneously ridiculous. I accept the fact that the holidays just passed and we spent alot of money and yada, yada, yada... Yeah well, I'll remember that the next time you want me to support your kid's team or your business or to buy Girl Scout Cookies. I'll remember that the next time I see you holding a $5 cup of coffee or wearing a pair of Jimmy Choo's. Look, I have no problem with people spending their money however they see fit and I do not have access to their tax returns and subsequently the information regarding their donations to non-profit organizations throughout the year. I realize that I am being judgemental. I KNOW THAT. That's the whole fucking point.
Nothing gets done without persistence and effort and time and sometimes, well, Joe Pesci. Maybe I just need to threaten to put people's heads in individual vices and then... okay, sort of a violent image there, but frustration often leads to violence and if you know me well, you know I'm not above bringing a tire iron to your house to collect that cash. Just try me.
I know it's hard to give money, especially when you think you don't have it. But the point is, every single person who I ask does have it. No, they might not have $50 or $25 or even $10 so they give nothing. This too is a point that I make frequently, if instead of 20 people giving nothing, how about 20 people giving $5? Look how quickly that adds up! I know that some people are thinking, well, what if my name shows up and I only gave $5? That's going to look bad or that's not enough. Then give MORE dammit, simple solution. No, really, donations can be completely anonymous and more importantly, the smallest amounts do matter! For $7 UNICEF can provide clean drinking water for 2 people for a month! And for $12 you can buy a bag of groceries for someone living with HIV/AIDS. Think about that. No, really, think about that.
I really like funerals of people who have lived a full life. It's never pleasant and it's very difficult when a child dies or someone is cut down early or someone suffered verily before his/her death. But when you are celebrating a person's life,someone who loved life and who demonstrated a passion for things and for people, it can be quite something to witness. And while I have loved listening to many eulogies; one in particular in which a daughter eulogized her father, was probably the most wonderful tribute by one human being to another that I've ever heard or read, I have a problem when I hear people say, "I wish that we could have done more" or "I should have tried harder to help him" or "My life won't be the same without her." The problem is exacerbated by the issue that stems from the notion that all of these statements could readily be avoided if YOU DO SOMETHING RIGHT NOW instead of waiting until the person is no longer there. Hug them now, visit them now, make them a sandwich, have sex with them, buy them a puppy, whatever. My problem is with people who wait for the opportune moment to act and then they are shocked when they didn't recognize that it was floating right past them at the same moment when they were waiting. I want my eulogy delivered by one of my sons or by all three and all I want them to say is this, "She cared enough to try to make a difference in the world." That's it. That's enough.
Look, this diatribe is not going to win me any popularity contests but I don't give a flying fuck about any of that. What I care about is you and the people around you and more than that, the people around all of us who need our help. Children, families, brothers, parents, neighbors. Children are dying daily from diseases that could be prevented by simply providing them with clean water. People are living on the streets, living with HIV, trying to find a reason to live. Parents are trying to figure out how to carve out lives for their children with Autism while they hold one another and try to stay strong in the never ending journey ahead. Yes people die every day and so will you and so will I. But we have a chance to decide how the course will lay itself out for people who we will never meet; we have the opportunity of a lifetime to create hope in places where it doesn't exist. We have an obligation to pass on the joy of giving to our families through our united efforts and through the sweat, tears and yes, finances that we share.
This really is not about me. It has very little to do with me. If I don't raise the $800 by January 20th, I will write a check for that amount to APLA and then I will run, regardless of how the money is raised. And I don't have it. I don't have $800. I don't have $25. But you know what, I'll figure it out. Because APLA does the kind of work that will change the course of our history; we might not see it in our lifetimes, but we will have been a part of an organization that mattered, to people, to the planet and to life. I have been extraordinarily proud to have been a small cog in the giant wheel that is the group of special and innovative people who make up this fabulous charity. And I hope that you know, that you feel, that you are a part of it too. When you donate ANYTHING and when you come out and offer your support and when you make that extra effort, you do make a difference. You are the difference.
I feel better now. Venting does wonders for the mood elevators; it sends them right through the roof. I look around my house and I think of my formal education and I hear my children yelling and laughing upstairs as they get ready for bed and I think, I am very lucky and I am blessed and I have worked hard. And I just want what you want, what we all want, what we all want... children in the Sudan and children with Autism and men, women and children living with HIV and AIDS, we want dignity and respect and we want life. We want to live.
I am not above begging and I am certainly not above asking for the 1000th time because tomorrow it will be the 1001st, please, please make a donation. Don't even think about me, again, it has nothing to do with me. But it has everything to do with YOU!
A new year, A new start, A new chance to change someones life. Does it really get much better than that? http://apla.convio.net/goto/yvettehawley
Thank You...
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