hmmm...

Ever wanted to walk around all day on your tippy toes? Me neither.

For any of you that HAVE had that desire, you now have your chance. It'll just cost you $3600.

Designer Antonio Berardi came up with these heelless shoes, and apparently Uma Thurman & Victoria Beckham have been among the first to place orders for them.

I can't imagine that these things would be comfortable, even though the articles I've read say, "...the shoes are extremely heavy, because they are deliberately weighted in the platform base under the toe. This means that all your weight is forced forwards and then downwards, so you literally cannot tip backwards and there isn't any of that teeter-totter nonsense you get with normal heels..."

Well that's cool. Already being about 5'8", I tend to teeter a bit in heels over about an inch high. However, without a heel, these shoes can't be very good for your back or feet. You'll be leaning forward (even if you don't notice it) since there is no heel there to stabilize you. The ball of your foot will be taking the weight of the bulk of your body, stretching the muscles and tendons.

Not to mention the fact that at least I would be SUPER hot flamin' pissed if I dished out $3600 for a pair of shoes that were defective and OBVIOUSLY missing a piece!!!

when it rains, it pours...right???

Yea. That's absolutely right.

That's my husband's truck. Sitting in the tow yard about 6 p.m. last night after his fender bender accident at 1 in the afternoon. (He wasn't hurt, don't worry!!!)

It may not LOOK like much in the pictures, but knowing the truck's history, age (8), mileage (almost 170,000), prior damage, etc...we're about 95% sure the insurance company is going to total it out.

Which means shopping for a "new" used car...

Which means taking out a loan...

Which, in turn, means yet ANOTHER monthly bill!!! (Can you tell how NOT excited I am about it???)

Accidents happen, I know. And thank God he wasn't hurt. More money out of the pocket just SUCKS.

Tagged

Yay! Thanks, Joan! I don't have very many people on my list who blog very regularly, but I will see what I can do!

1. My favorite season is fall; consequently, my favorite holiday coincides with that season. Halloween.

2. I really dig photography, and tend to take pictures of things which people would consider "weird" - i.e., blades of grass, rusty nails, antique mall oddities, etc. I have a habit of carrying my camera with me everywhere, and have been known to stop dead in my tracks to get a shot. (So be warned if you're ever out with me!)

3. I absolutely DESPISE being called "lazy" - I may not have motivation to get out and take a walk, jog, exercise; however, I am ALWAYS go-go-GO and rarely just sit around the house. I'm too antsy.

4. I'm pretty fearless, which has tended to get me into trouble. Climbing over that fallen tree to see what's on the other side? No problem. Driving through "bad" neighborhoods at night, just to see what kind of cool shops may be there, in need of exploring? Count me in. Consider it part of my tomboy nature.

5. I'm secretly a hopeless romantic. There. I said it. I wear my heart on my sleeve, and turn to mush at the sight of flowers, babies, kittens, old couples holding hands, sweet notes, etc.

6. I HATE being bored.

7. I would love to learn to play the guitar. I have an inner "rocker chick" that's dying to come out, but don't have the patience or the wardrobe.

I am tagging:

Becker
Allison

Because those are the only two on my contact list that actually still blog!!!

It was a long journey...

Taking a trip down memory lane this evening, that is.

On my lunch break today, I skimmed an article in the "Real Simple" magazine. The jist of it was, a woman gathering up belongings and packing to leave the house as wildfires came near. She was amazed at some of the things she chose to bring (a bubblegum pink journal from her childhood, marked "My Treasures"), and appalled at some of the things she didn't think to grab (bras and socks, for instance). She talked about material items, and the lack of need for some things. And that got me thinking...

"It's time to clean and purge the back bedroom...AGAIN." We have a lot of "STUFF". It's STUFF that we don't use and don't need, much less ever LOOK at. STUFF is crammed in Rubbermaid containers, stuffed in closets, and tucked out of sight of guests. But I KNOW IT'S THERE. I got Dustin on board, and within about 2 1/2 hours, we'd hauled out 2 boxes and 1 giant trash bag of JUNK, plus gathered a good size box of more STUFF to donate to Goodwill.

I still have 2 or 3 containers at my parents' house - STUFF I knew didn't necessarily have to come with me when I moved out. So I decided to swing by and grab one, bring it home, go through it, and possibly free up some room in the container to pack in MORE JUNK. The only one I could manage up from the basement and out to the car by myself was the motherload...

My prized box I created LONG ago. Cut outs, stickers, and magazine clippings adorn it, and I even used decoupage glue to keep it all in place. This box held my theatre possessions at one time, and now it holds some of the items I hold most near and dear to the heart of my past. A necklace from an ex boyfriend's parents, my baby book and "First Year" calendar, the $2 bills my grandfather gave me over the years...and my old diaries.


Of course I had to skim through them, pausing longer at certain entries than others, while totally skipping over some. Pages had been edited over the years, scribbled over, and in some cases, completely removed.


I laughed as I read...In these journals (dating back to 1995!), I talked about holding hands with a boy (*gasp!*), my first kiss, getting my drivers' license, losing my virginity, and falling in love for the first time.


I smiled while reminiscing...I fought with my parents, spent hours talking about life with my friends, and felt "so old" when my little brother graduated grade school. (Little did I know that, six years from that entry, I would be journalling his COLLEGE graduation...ONLINE, nonetheless, and feeling REALLLLLY old!)


I even teared up...A grade school friend lost her oldest brother in a car accident; another dear friend became sick and lost his battle with cancer a mere 6 months later. My grandfather B. was taken from the family, his diabetes eventually claiming his life; a year later, my grandmother T. lost her battle with cancer.


My handwriting changed from simple printing to cursive to a combination of both. I began favoring plain black or blue notebooks, as opposed to the decorated ones you see here, because they were more "mature". I even tried the "official" journal thing - leatherbound, hard cover, gold leaf designs on the edges - but always came back to my trusty plain, college-ruled, ninety-nine cent Walmart notebooks. They weren't "official writer's" material, but they were easy to work with and just as special to me.


Some events and conversations I had completely forgotten about, and I found myself shaking my head as the memories resurfaced while I read. It seems like on the very rare occasions I pull out the old diaries, I'm still finding things that have escaped me. I couldn't believe what a big deal certain things were, and on the other hand, I couldn't believe I'd been so blase about other things.


Here's what's weird to me, though. "Back then", diaries were private. Oh my God, I would have totally just DIED if my mom or dad found / read any of them. (Which, in one case, my mother DID find and read my journal. Hoo, boy...) Now, I blog (a.k.a., JOURNAL) online for all my friends, some family, and any random stranger to read. Granted I never blog anything TOO terribly personal, but I am pretty open and tend to bare myself more than I ever thought I would in such a public forum.

Perhaps it's time (at least for the more personal things) to bust out the old fashioned wirebound notebook and ballpoint pen and keep track. I've got so much stuff swimming around in my mind that God knows I can't rely on just my brain to keep ALL this stuff alive!

I have a lot of heroes...

I’m upset. And also a bit angry. I shouldn’t be, because that’s “not right”, but I can’t help it. I barely have time to mourn my great uncle, when I’m greeted by another death. This one, incredibly hard. That’s not to say that all deaths aren’t difficult to get through, but this one…Well, it happened last week and has taken me this long to write about it. The biggest part about it is I think part of me is still in shock…

Sunday, Oct. 5. 7 p.m.
Dustin & I go to the Laundromat to do a couple loads of laundry. I leave my phone sitting on the kitchen counter. We come back after throwing clothes in the washer, and the phone immediately rings. It’s Jeremy: we have a pleasant chat and hang up. No sooner is the phone closed, it beeps. I have a voicemail. It’s J, calling from LA, leaving a message. “Um, Stacey…I need you to call me back as soon as possible…It’s VERY important…” I can tell he is – and has been – crying. Immediately, the thoughts: “I hope nothing’s wrong with his dad…or Sean…oh God, I hope it’s not Sean…”

Sunday, Oct. 5. 7:30 p.m.
I call Jason back. He is still crying. “What are you doing?...Are you sitting down?...You may want to sit down…are you sitting yet?” “Jason, just tell me…what’s wrong…what’s going on…”
“Sean…with friends…Cliff Cave Park…fell…he’s gone, Stace…”
My knees buckle, and I fall to the parking lot pavement, dryer sheets dropping from my hand. I can’t cry, can’t speak. I can only stutter. I can offer no words, other than “I’m sorry” over and over again. I feel like a failure. I, who can never shut up, who never has a problem articulating exactly what is on my mind, am suddenly at a complete loss for words. I must be strong, hold it together for him. My dear friend, whose family is MY family – always has been, always will be.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Things, moments, events such as this, would rip apart a weaker family. It would shatter life as they know it, drive an irreversible wedge among them. But not this family. Not other families with whom I’ve been close that have also lost a child – Elizabeth…

These families are my heroes.

It’s not fair. These people are warm hearted, caring people. They have opened their arms and hearts, their homes, and their LIVES to me time and again. They have welcomed me, calling me family. They are people who find joy in each other and in their friends; they cherish each and every moment spent with them. They enjoy the simple pleasures life has to offer. They have family nights, attend Church, have Faith, and respect the core family values that the Church teaches.
And yet I find myself asking God, “Why do you think these people should suffer?” I struggle with that question. I’m not at all saying that anyone deserves to suffer; however, what have they done wrong? What have they done to deserve this?

Dustin and I discussed this just the other night, as a matter of fact. For someone who’s NOT religious, he made a good point, and I’m paraphrasing here: “Maybe God knew they were the type of people that COULD handle something like this. I mean, as best as they possibly can, under the circumstances. Like, He knows they are a strong family, and He knows it won’t tear them apart…”
And I think that maybe, just maybe, he’s right. In both instances, families who are already close have been brought closer together by a tragic event. They are not angry at each other, do not take it out on or blame each other. Instead, they find comfort and added strength in one another. They open their arms to family and friends, lean on and lift one another up. They turn toward God, having unwavering faith. They trust in Him, trust that He had a bigger, better plan for their child that none of us on Earth can yet understand or comprehend. THAT is why these people are my heroes. I have a lot of them, when you look at it from this angle.

In that thought process, I try to find my own comfort and strength when dealing with events such as this.

Regardless of any extenuating circumstances in Sean’s life (which I will NOT air here), none of those make this any less of a tragedy.

To me, Sean will be remembered as the 9 or 10 year old kid who impressed and amazed me with his knowledge and sponge-like brain. The kid who read the encyclopedias for fun…and retained facts and figures incredibly. “What volume are now, Sean?” I would ask every time I was at the house. “Well, I’m in the M’s now…but in the A’s, I was reading about aquariums…and you have to have it set at this temperature…etc.” He could rattle off the presidents, their terms, and their vice presidents in order…then turn around and do it all backwards.

He was impressed when I, a girl, showed him how to do a Figure 8 maneuver with a basketball. And he tried his damndest to learn, practicing, practicing, practicing.

I still have the Christmas gift he gave me about 6 years ago. A small glass tealight holder. The tealight sits in the back, behind a green and yellow painted flower. It has taken up permanent residence in the kitchen where I can always see it, lit most nights now, the colors flickering and dancing on the counter.

If there is any silver lining to be found in the wake of Sean’s death, it’s this:
#1 – as an 18 year old kid, he had the presence of mind to sign up to be an organ donor. Something like 70 people are benefiting, getting another chance at life, because of Sean’s incredible character.
#2 – this has brought together people with whom J hadn’t spoken in years. There are talks being had, tears are being shed, and wounds are being stitched.

I love that entire family as if they were my own. And I thank God that I was lucky enough to meet them, lucky enough to still have them in my life, and hopeful enough that they will continue to be there. Thank you, to the family, for continually opening your arms, home, and lives to me. Thank you, to J, for still being the wonderful, dear friend that you have always been and remain.

Rest in Peace, Sean. You will be missed.

Apropos...

On the TV show the unit last night, a wife asked her husband, "What do you do when you're not strong enough?"

He replied,

"You act like you are."

How very fitting.

Growth

I've been writing about certain things I've been feeling, learning, and trying to change for quite some time now. And it seems, especially after funerals, I tend to look inward and examine my own personality and life even more.

My Uncle Billy and I were talking after the funeral service yesterday, and he made the comment to me, "It doesn't get any easier; it only gets harder as you get older. You tend to face your own mortality." I responded to him, that at 27, I seem to be doing that alredy.

I personalize funerals incredibly. Somehow, I have a way of putting myself into other people's shoes. I am like my father, in that I don't deal well with death. No one does, I know, but I could hear about a complete stranger's funeral on TV and end up bawling on the couch. I remember all the funerals I've been to, and all the ones I haven't. Uncle Walt was extended family, but I put myself into Cathy, Janie, and Vicki's shoes: one of these days, I will be with my father when he takes his final breath. One day, I will be handling his funeral arrangements. And one day, I too, will be without parents. That's a hard thought to swallow, and it makes me tear up just typing about it.

I have so many wonderful people to look up to - both in immediate and extended family. I count myself incredibly lucky to have that. For example, my grandmother. That woman will be going until the good Lord tells her it's time to STOP going. At 80-something years old, I sometimes think she has more energy than I do at 27. Not only that, she is the matriarch. The peacekeeper of the family. The shoulder, the warm comforting hug, and the listening ear. People go to her with problems. People know they can count on her to tell them, in her own unassuming way, "You're screwing up. Knock it off." I pride myself on the fact that I too possess some of those same qualities. (At least I believe I do.)

I don't want a lot of material things. I have a lot of "stuff", but lately I've been weeding through it and eliminating what I really don't NEED. Yea, I'm not going to lie; there are certainly things I DO want. I want a house. And I want a baby. But I know that Dustin & I aren't in a position financially for those things right now. And you know what? I AM ok with that. I struggle with it sometimes, because I believe they are things we deserve. However, I know that we will appreciate them even more when we ARE able to have them, because we will know that we have worked incredibly hard to earn them. Right now we're struggling and frustrated over things that are beyond our control. But, as my cousin Amanda has said, "We may be broke, but we're still happy." And that is all we NEED.

I try to be a simple, good person. I find beauty and enjoyment in the world around me - flowers, clouds, a sunset. I try to be there for friends and family, to be a listening ear, kind word & advice, and a shoulder to cry on. I try to be a peacekeeper, stay away from drama, and remain neutral when I do find myself in dramatic situations.

This kind of attitude isn't always easy, I will admit. There are things that anger me, and little things sometimes set me off. I am guilty of over reacting when I shouldn't. I wear my heart on my sleeve and tend to take things too personally. I hide my emotions as much as I can, but only because I'd rather worry about OTHER people's emotions and well being before my own. Does this make me a bad person? I certainly don't think so. I think it makes me the kind of person I WANT to be, the kind of person that makes people happy to call me their friend, the kind of person that will make my family proud.

A good friend once said to me, "Life is all about change. Everything in life should change on a constant basis or else it will get stagnant. Even if one person changes something, that will affect others and thereby change things. It's a good thing. And not an ending. Just a new begining. A new chapter." Good words to remember and grow by.

What a man...

Back in April, I did a post about my great uncle Walt, when the Belleville News Democrat ran a story about him. Sadly, he passed away early Wednesday morning. I visited him in the VA hospital Monday, and he was sedated the entire time I was there, but we were assured he could, in fact, hear us. I did find this to be true, as he kept moving his eyebrows as if he wanted to speak, and squeezing my hand as I held his in mine.

Last night was the wake, and I was fine up until the Free Masons did the walk through & Masonic service. My grandmother was sitting in the pew in front of me, and as the Masons walked in single file and took their individual turns saluting the coffin, I could see her shoulders start to shake. My thoughts immediately turned to my grandfather's funeral 8 years ago. Same funeral home, same room, same Masonic traditions. And I lost it. I leaned forward and draped my arms over her shoulders, and she reached up and took my hand in hers.

The funeral today was a very nice service as well. My cousin Cathy's (one of Uncle Walt's three daughters) husband Marty delivered a beautiful and very sentimental eulogy, outlining Uncle Walt's life. Born in 1926, he lived through the Great Depression and many other struggles. Uncle Walt graduated from East St. Louis High School, and later from Rankin Technical College. (The same college my brother attended.) He joined the Marines (at age 19, I believe) and served in World War II, spending 26 days in Iwo Jima. He struggled with a whole slew of medical problems, including PTSD from his time in the War, and COPD. Through all of his trials and tribulations, he never complained. He was a simple man who never focused on what he DIDN'T have; instead, he thanked God every day and was proud for what he DID have. He loved my Aunt Eva with all of his heart and soul, and there was not a day that went by that he didn't tell her she was the most beautiful woman in the world, and he loved her dearly.

Marty also spoke of their vacation several years back to Washington, DC. Marty & Cathy took Uncle Walt & Aunt Eva to Washington, DC to see the WW II Memorial and statues. The four of them strolled around together, taking in the sights. Uncle Walt shook hands with other vets, smiled, and shed tears for those that weren't lucky enough to make it home as he did. At one point, the four of them drifted off their own separate ways. Eventually three of them met back up and started heading back to Uncle Walt on his motorized scooter. The sight they saw was incredible, and I only wish I had been lucky enough to witness it. As they approached him, they noticed him fumbling with his oxygen tank and tubes, struggling to get up off of his scooter. They stopped, wondering what in the world he was doing. And they watched as he raised himself up, stepped off the scooter, and solemnly saluted the memorial, tears streaming down his cheeks. And then they watched as nearly 200 people stopped in THEIR tracks to see this man honoring the soldiers who had served alongside him. Marty said you could have heard a pin drop.

He also spoke of how, at one time, he asked Uncle Walt, "What does complete freedom mean to YOU?" And Uncle Walt replied, "Complete freedom, to me, is when I leave this world behind and am in heaven, standing at the Pearly Gate. And I can look Jesus in the eye and tell him, and believe, I have done my part." And boy did he ever do his part. He raised three wonderful daughters, who became excellent mothers. He instilled in his male grandchildren the proper way to treat a woman - with respect - and to honor them as they would their mother. He didn't put up with any BS, but in his own quiet way, he would tell you when he thought you were wrong and / or out of line.

The man, to me, was the patriarch of the family. He said the blessing every year when we gathered together, entire extended family, at Thanksgiving. He thanked God for our food, for the joy of family, and for love and life. He had a way of making you feel special. There could be 90 people in between you and he, and he would single you out from across the room: "Stacey, come over here and give your Uncle Walt a hug!" He made time to chat with everyone at a gathering, never hurrying conversation, never raising his voice. He stood when women and family entered the room, handshakes for the men, and hugs for the women. He attended Church religiously, and had an incredible faith in God.

I firmly believe Uncle Walt DID his part. And I firmly believe that he is now standing at the Pearly Gate, and Jesus is telling him, "Walter, you DID do your part. Welcome." What a man.