"There's not much downside to being rich other than paying taxes and having your relatives ask you for money." -- Bill Murray

When I'm actively blogging, I don't usually go two weeks without posting. The first two weeks of April, however, often find me too busy to think, let alone write. This year was a little more frantic than most. The first week of April did not find me preparing taxes. Instead I was sitting on my couch, too weak to do anything but hate the fact that I had the stomach flu. The bug floated around different family members for nearly three weeks. Only Natalie escaped.

Being incapacitated by flu made the final week of tax preparation even more unpleasant than normal. Add to that the fact that I got a call letting me know I'd be sitting at the court as a potential juror on April 15th-- subtract that day from available work days. So from April 6th to 11th I was working about 12-hour days to get all my returns finished (I needed the 13th and 14th for my own return).

When I got to the courthouse on Wednesday, I had two things on my mind: 1. I was tired, and 2. I was not going to be any use on a jury. Also, I was scheduled the following day to be accompanying choirs at the CU Jazz Festival in Greeley. I pled my case-- no release from jury duty. So I just made sure I asked lots of questions about the questions they were asking us. And I was unsure about being able to make unbiased decisions, given the parameters of the questions asked by the lawyers. And in the end, I was not a jury member. This is good. I needed to go home and rest.

The trip to Greeley was canceled the next day due to a 60+ car pileup on the freeway leading in that direction. The road was closed for three days for cleanup. This is also good. I needed another day of relative rest.

Friday was crazy, as I had bumped all my Thursday work so I could go to Greeley, and by the time I found out I wouldn't be going, it was too late to rescind the bumped work. So yesterday, I did pretty much nothing. All day. I thought about working and cleaning. That's all.

I think tomorrow will be a good work day. I'm actually looking forward to it. I admit to being a little daunted by all the performances piling up in April and May. And I'll be teaching at summer music institute the second week of June. I'm thinking it might be necessary for me to run away to Star Valley for a while toward the end of that month and stay for a couple of weeks. I need to do something to regroup.

Our spring snowstorm of all last week is leaving today. I've loved it. The temperatures stayed between 30 and 40 degrees, and the snow is plentiful, wet, and absolutely lovely. Our air has been filled with birdsong. The robins made a birdbath beneath our trampoline (which we desperately need to disassemble and discard). Beneath the snow our blossoms are waiting. I think we'll see them in a couple of weeks. We're supposed to have rain next week. I love spring storms.

I have a lot going on in my head right now. I've spent a lot of time trying to make sense of it over the past few weeks. Maybe now that taxes are finished I'll be able to sort through it all. I'd like that.

I often ramble in my posts. I call it un-gathering my thoughts.

When I walked away from blogging last year, I did so for many reasons. Chiefest, however, was the fact that I was tired and I had a nagging feeling of being unwell most of the time. I was also overwhelmed with life and work. For a long while not writing felt like a relief. Then a few weeks ago, I began to wonder if it was worth returning. I think I knew I would. As I said, this blog has been hiding here for many years. I've written in it sporadically, but most of what I wanted to say was placed elsewhere. But I kept this blog around. I believe I knew that one day I would be moving here.

Last weekend I was drawn to my first blog. I flipped through the entries and realized there were many that chronicled the growth of my children. I talked about different phases and funny things they've said and done. And I was reminded of how much I've loved being their mom. They are three of the best humans I've ever met. Now that they're older, I don't know that I'll write much about them. They're adults and deserve not only privacy, but a say in what is published about them online. But I began thinking that maybe it's worth writing about other things. A decade from now perhaps I will value the posts waiting to be written right now.

During the past ten years I changed a great deal. I learned how to accept the person I am. I learned that the results of trauma can be scarring and invasive for a long time. I learned that being a whole person is better than fragmenting oneself. Mostly I learned that there is no shame in being a victim, and that eventually one becomes strong enough to be a survivor. Once survivorship is mastered, it is possible to remember that some things should never happen, but they do not define those who experience them. They shape us to an extent, but at some point we choose the power they have over us. No one knows when that point in time will come. For some it happens quickly. Others, like myself, might wait years and undergo extensive therapy. Perhaps for some, an entire life might be spent trying to find that moment.

I went to a therapy session the first week of this month. I've been seeing Nathan Gibbons for the past ten years. I love him because he allowed me a great deal of control as I tried different strategies to work through my past and resultant post-traumatic stress disorder. I've seen three other therapists who wanted me to work within formulaic structures to resolve those issues. In the end, I left them to seek out someone who would help me think of ways tailored to meet my specific needs, and I found Nathan. Much of what I tried in the course of therapy was unorthodox. Sometimes the results were less than stellar, but often I found answers and met needs as I researched, studied, and discovered. During my most recent therapy session, Nathan said he's not really helping me anymore. I check in with him, but I'm doing everything on my own now.

I'm not sure how I feel about that. I know Nathan's right. But I've been relying on him for a long time. It feels odd to know that even though mentally I think I'm still relying on him, the actuality is that I'm applying what I've learned and coping on my own when stress hits. Well, on my own-- using the support network of people who have walked with me for the last decade. I don't believe anyone with PTSD can be successful without continuous contact with people.

That same weekend I had the opportunity to speak at a fireside about building Zion in the church. It focused on groups of people who typically feel marginalized when they attend church functions, specifically those who are black (a group of people denied the priesthood and temple ordinances until the mid-1970s), transgender individuals, and those who are homosexual (referred to as same-sex attracted by many in the church). I will state right now that I don't really care about terminology and I've been called insensitive more than once. I'm guilty of referring to those who are homosexual as "gay" simply because it's easier to say than same-sex or same-gender attraction, and it doesn't sound like a disease. To me, the word "gay" means your sexual preference is in line with homosexuality. The word has no other connotation. For many in the church, it indicates a lifestyle choice. I think this is stupid, and I have advocated for many years to allow people to choose what terms they wish to use when describing themselves. After all, they know better than anyone else what makes them comfortable. Correctness, or political correctness have a place, but so does autonomy, and I'm pretty tired of the debate in the church surrounding the word "gay."

Here's the thing: Let's suppose if someone says they're gay, that it does indicate a lifestyle choice. This matters because... ?

I hope what I'm saying is coming through loud and clear. It shouldn't matter at all. That choice belongs to the person who made it and has no bearing on the commandment we've received to love one another. In my book, love doesn't mean that I tell you how to live your life, or the things about your life that I wish you did differently, or the people in your life I wish you didn't have sex with. It means that I love you. That's all. It's pretty simple.

And this opens a Morm-norm societal can of worms because then I hear things like, "If I hang out with openly gay people, they'll think I condone the lifestyle." Hogwash. Do you really believe that gay people spend even one millisecond wondering if you condone what they do? They're busy living. They eat, sleep, go to work, spend time with loved ones, enjoy good times and grieve bad ones-- just like you. I promise, they don't go to bed after spending time with you thinking, "Well, that was nice. X spent time with me so now I know she/he condones my lifestyle." Seriously. No one does that. It's time to get over yourself.

So I spoke at the fireside and I'm linking it here. Years from now the video will be gone and that's a good thing because I look stupid on camera. But for now it's available, and it's me, so it goes here. (Note: When I first tried to link this it was not available because the site was down for maintenance. Now it's not, so I've linked it above, but I'm also embedding it here:

Completely random and off-topic experience: Saturday night I was driving to the store. I got to a crosswalk at a busy intersection and Natalie warned me of an approaching pedestrian. He was in dark clothing so I had not seen him. I stopped rather quickly to stay out of his way. He walked aggressively toward my car and pointed at the pedestrian "Walk" sign. I nodded and waved. The man stopped directly in front of me, peered at me through the windshield, then walked on while shouting something I couldn't understand. I turned to Natalie and asked, "Did you understand what he said?" She did her best drunk-man imitation and said, "Yes. He said,'You're beautiful! You're so, so beautiful!'" Then she giggled all the way to the store.

So there you have it. Drunk men staggering through crosswalks find me incredibly beautiful. It doesn't get much better than that.

(Re)Introduction

This blog has been around for many years. I've written in it sporadically but not religiously mostly because I am, by nature, not a person who wishes to tell people who I am. There are many reasons for this, but most of them stem from experiences with childhood molestation and eventual rape. Those kinds of things don't lend themselves to building an emotionally healthy adult.

About a decade ago, a number of unexpected life events catapulted me to a place where I had to get help. And so I did. And it was awful, exhausting, painful, and daunting. It took an enormously long time to finally come to a place where I could say I was better. During that time, I assumed a blognym and poured out my emotions and experiences in one main blog and several smaller ones. It was there that I could say what I needed to say without worry that someone would be hurt or would take my experience and personalize it, thus annulling my need to talk or feel or just be self-centered for a moment while I figured out what I needed to heal.

Last year I began to feel those blogs winding down. I began by shutting down all the smaller ones, and in November I closed the main blog. I gave myself a few months to think about whether or not I still wished to write and if so, what that would look like.

I preface this post with all that past history because in the end, my answer was yes, I do want to write. I want to continue blogging. But I want to do it in my own name, in this space. I want to be who I am. That means that I might occasionally reference past events or talk about things in my life that have influenced me. And some of those might touch on therapy, abuse, sexual molestation, and rape.

While I don't believe that this will happen often, I think it's fair to give warning of this. My life is better today-- I am better today-- thanks to loving family members; staunch, supportive, nonjudgmental friends (many of whom I met through the blogging community); The Big Guy who rides shotgun in my car and chats with me often (mostly telling me what I need to do better, but always reminding me that He loves me); and an amazing therapist who allowed me to figure things out for myself, but also was very certain to let me know when I was being stupid.

So what are my plans for this blog? I have no idea.

I suppose this blog, like all the others I have written, is for me. It's a place to record things I find funny or aggravating or joyful or beautiful. I need a place to say what I think. This is it. When I'm writing, I don't often think about anyone else seeing my words, but the fact that I'm putting them here says that I also don't care if what I write is read by others. So should you stumble upon my blog and read my words, I hope you'll say hello and link your own blog so that I may visit you. And if you like being here, I hope you will come back.

Ranting

                                     

First: Kudos to the person who made the text look like a tree. That's clever. It is also the only nice thing I have to say about this particular arrangement of words.

I've been a leader of young women and young men in some church capacity for most of my adult life. And I hate these things. They're everywhere. Someone has a creative idea which is supposed to let our youth know they're to keep themselves pristine or whatever--and it conveys messages I'm certain the author of the idea never intended. So today, because this "tree" makes me feel incredibly grouchy, I'm debunking some of those messages.

1. Girls aren't like apples. They're people. They have thoughts and intelligence and ideas and talents and potential and beauty, and the concept that they're simply sitting on a tree waiting to be consumed by boys makes me want to scream a tiny bit. It's a stupid comparison which demeans all that young women are and can become.

2. "The best ones are at the top of the tree..."  Since when have we started sending the message that some people are better than others? I have been taught that God is no respecter of persons, that all are alike in his sight. I've read this in the scriptures, as well. I've never read anything in the scriptures about really great girl-apples hanging at the top of a tree.

3. What does this say about the majority of boys? They like rotten apples? Or, if we follow the metaphor, they simply exist so that they can take advantage of "easy" girls. This is an unfair and rather nasty stereotype rearing its ugly head. In truth, classifying young men and women according to their sexual appetites is a huge disservice. As teens, they go through so many physical and emotional changes that even they aren't sure who or what they are.

4. "They just have to wait for the right boy to come along..." Okay, Dian...deep breath.....  I cannot even begin to express how much I hate this statement. To any girl who might stumble across my words today: Don't you dare wait for "the right boy!" Get out there and live! Dance, sing, go on a mission, get several degrees, travel the world, adopt orphans, run for public office, buy a house, teach others, write books and poetry, run marathons, enter bodybuilding contests, be a part of Doctors Without Borders or Habitat for Humanity! Do whatever you want, but DON'T WAIT FOR ANYONE! You have one beautiful life. Figure out who you are and celebrate that. I promise, if you do what I've said, regardless of whether or not you meet and marry someone, you'll have fewer regrets and your life will be amazing. Also, people who explore and expand their potential tend to attract other people. There's a good chance that while you're becoming wonderful, you'll encounter someone just as amazing as you are and the two of you will decide to spend the rest of your existence together. But don't wait. You are not an apple.

This nasty-cutesy tree has been posted repeatedly on Facebook for more than a year. It's always accompanied words similar to this: "If you're a parent of a young woman, you need to read this!" I agree. Read it, retch a bit, then tell your daughters (and sons) all the reasons things like this detract from who they really are, why such things should never be spread (like diseases), and then let them know in real words what point the stupid tree should be trying to convey:

"All young women are wonderful in the sight of God. All young men are, as well. It's great if they make it to adulthood without contracting STDs or having teen pregnancies or just engaging in sexual behaviors which are demeaning to their partners and undermine their own self-esteem. But if they don't, they can recover. The Atonement is for all people and it brings us all to the same level in God's sight. And no one is going to finish this life without making regrettable mistakes and hurting other people unless they die within their first 12 months. Try your best to treat yourself and others with respect. Learn self-control and remember that one day you'll be old and sex will only be on your mind 95% of the time. And if you want to climb trees, don't do it because you're trying to find a mate. Do it because it's fun."

“You should laugh every day.” –Jim Valvano

I don't get songs stuck in my head. I used to try because my friends would tell me about the phenomenon and I wanted to see what it was like. I could never do it. I really don't understand how it works. Aaron tells me that usually it involves not the complete song, but a catchy snippet that keeps repeating. I know when it's happening to Aaron because he shares whatever is stuck in his head...over...and...over...again...

I do get words or phrases that pop into my head randomly. Aaron says that's not the same thing because they don't repeat and I can stop thinking about them if I want to, but sometimes when I'm really, really tired, a word gets into my head that makes me laugh and then I can't stop thinking about it.

Last night when Aaron came to bed I was lying under the covers giggling helplessly. I tried to stop thinking about the word. I knew he was tired and wanted to sleep. I kept giggling anyway. Aaron was unhappy. He was more unhappy when he asked what was funny and I choked out, "Lunch meat," then dissolved into giggles once again.

Aaron sighed, kissed me good night, and turned off the light. I have no idea how long I laughed. I've heard of crying oneself to sleep. Last night I giggled myself to sleep. And just in case you were wondering, nitrate and sodium laden meat of questionable origin is hilarious.

I'm not in the habit of denigrating my husband. I adore him. He's smart, capable, imaginative, a great listener--altogether an amazing man, which is why I married him. However, he's not perfect. He has weaknesses. Occasionally those weaknesses make me a bit insane.

For instance, this: 

No, this is not my car, garage, or driveway. But what I want you to notice is the orientation of the car. Notice that it's backed into the driveway. Aaron has an obsession with backing the car into the driveway (or random parking space). I don't know why. 

Sometimes I think maybe it's because if I'm running late for something and he's ready, we'll save three seconds because I won't have to walk around the front of the car to get in and thereby arrive at whatever destination on time. I've yet to convince him that three seconds is not a time saver.

Or it could be because he has mad backing skills and he's waiting for me to notice. I should compliment him more. 

Or maybe it's because he just likes to drive and backing takes longer than just driving into the driveway, thus extending his sojourn in the car.

I don't know. I don't get it. I want to get it. But mostly, I just want my teeth to stop grinding when he does that backing up thing. I have no idea why it makes me crazy, but quelling the impulses to jump out of the car and run away (if I'm in the car when he's backing up) or lock myself in the bathroom for ten minutes (if I'm not) is becoming more and more difficult. So someday, if you happen to notice road burn on my shins, elbows  and face, you'll know what happened.

Pretend you don't notice, okay?

My son is so weird.

Me: Alex, why were you cutting up a paper plate last night?

Alex: I dunno.

Me: Why did you leave the scissors and mess there on the floor.

Alex: I dunno.

Me: I don't either--but I DO know that you're going to clean it up--NOW!

Alex: Mom, I know you've been sick, so I'm no making fun of you, but I have to say, when you talk in that voice it's pretty scary. But when you try to yell, it just disappears. It's not scary, it's funny.

Me: Clean it up, Alex.

Alex: I still think you sound funny.

Me: And while you're there, put your socks in the laundry.

Alex: I think they're Chris's socks.

Me: They're yours.

Alex: How do you know? They look like Chris's.

Me: I watched you take them off last night and leave them on the floor.

Alex: Are you watching me all the time?

Me: Yes.

Alex cleans up the scissors and paper plate mess, then pick up the socks.

Alex (muttering): I guess they are mine.

Me: How did you determine that?

Alex: They smell like peaches.

Me: Excuse me?

Alex: The socks--they smell like peaches, so I guess they're mine.

Me: I'm going to request that you don't explain that any further. I don't want to know.

Alex: Are you sure? It's very cool.

Me: I'm sure.

Alex: But I want to tell you.

Me: You're going to have to wait. I'm pretty sure I need to go take a nap, or check the color of the sky, or think about whether or not carpet makes sounds.

Alex: That's not very nice.

Me: Neither is leaving messes for your mother.

Alex: So, if I don't leave messes for awhile, you'll let me tell you why my socks smell like peaches?

Me: I guess so.

Alex: Cool.