Near Death Experience

There is a little joke in my family about Near Death Experiences, particularly with mom and Joni.  They usually have "Near Death Experiences", you know the kind when your in a paddle boat wearing life jackets still tied to the dock in 2 feet of water and the paddle boat starts taking on water and you hear 2 woman yelling and screaming proclaiming a "Near Death Experience".  Ok - maybe the story didn't go just like that, but they were wearing life jackets.

So a little confession to make, a couple of months ago I made an appointment with a medium in Minneapolis.  I told NO ONE!  I figured people would laugh at me, or judge severely.  It actually took me about a month to actually be put on a waiting list for this lady.  Most of us have seen the show on TLC Long Island Medium, and well I like to watch Teresa Caputo, and wondered how I would be in that situation, or what I would say or do.  So I was like, I need to find one.  Back in the day I called a psychic when I was growing up at mom and dads and mom just about killed me when she got the phone bill.  I ended up chickening out, and cancelled.  It just kind of freaked me out, and I elected not to go.  I would like to proclaim my love of Jesus and his word and that I don't need anyone telling me differently.  Truth is is scared the BaJesus out of me.  I was just like I'm not comfortable on someone telling me that there are spirits with me all of the time seeing my every move.  After Ryan died I was scared to be naked in the bathroom after taking a shower and trekking to my bedroom in case he might see me.  Now I think that was a silly thought, since when do "Ghosts use doors".  Anyway, I just didn't feel right about it.  So I figured that if something was making me so uncomfortable, why do it?  I'm not against people that do, more power to you.  Do I believe them?  I think there are some valid people out there, the one psychic I talked to back in the day told me that I was going to marry a musician.  Really?  Don't anyone go making appointments for me now, I am completely fine on where I am right now.

I got a call from my girlfriend this afternoon today about my post about being fake.  She goes I can't believe you said that.  I go yeah nothing to be proud of huh, she goes no I can't believe you had the balls to admit you do something that everyone else does too.  I'm not proud of it, I'm not proud of a lot of things.  But I am strong enough with who I am to say, I am ashamed of not only that instance but others too.  I just hope next time I actually think before I act.  I'm judged all of the time, some of it is valid, some of it I'm like really?  I actually heard that someone said I faked my brain surgery.  I tried to put out "fires", even thought of posted a video of the surgery itself.  Then I was like why?  Maybe I did have brain surgery, maybe I didn't?  It's not going to change some people thinking that I didn't really have it.  I am who I am, some people are going to only read this to gossip.  Some of the best advice I got from friend of mine saying, "Don't ever put anything in print that you can't defend", she also told me that when I die she will make sure that I am always wearing mascara.  She is a good friend because at Ryan's prayer service she came up to me gave me a hug and said, "Go put on mascara", and I did.

Ryan

When does it stop hurting?  When will my body prepare itself for the next wave of grief I feel when it comes to the loss of my brother.  Yes I know what the Bible says, what Pastor John and Pastor Joe say about heaven.  But right now heaven seems like an unattainable goal.  It's like being -40 outside and driving in blizzard conditions during the dead of night and trying to think about the hot summer nights when you can see the big dipper outside and wonder if it looks the same to everyone else around the world.  One doesn't think about summer when you are thrown into driving and not being able to see the white or the yellow lines.  You try to get through the next 20 seconds.  If I knew the second Tuesday of every other week I was going to have a breakdown maybe I could better prepare myself.  I was watching Nashville a little bit ago and seen Gunnar identify his dead brother and it brought so much back.  A hollow breathe of air and almost shakes your ribs it hurts so bad.  If you haven't gone through it you can't understand, if you have it's a terrible comparison.
I was in a car accident a few weeks ago, totalled my suburban.  I was lucky, my suburban looked worse than Ryan's truck did.  He was killed, and I wasn't.  I'm trying to think what was the last thing going through my mind before it happened.  The truth is it was something on the line of "That guy needs to slow down", I didn't die I'm here.  But if I was to that would be a stupid thing to have be the last thing cross my mind.  I've wondered what was on Ry's mind.  I have thought of things through the years I would think he would of said, I came to realize this week that there was nothing to say.  He didn't think he was going to die that night so he hadn't prepared a speech.  I didn't die that day, and I didn't prepare a speech either.  We all leave and enter this world in different ways.  Some of us enter crying, some of us not saying a word.  The same is to be said of when we leave.  Some of us leave with a last speech, and some of us don't.  If in heaven all of our lives were to be in separate books on Gods bookshelf, the beginning page no one really remembers anyway, and the last one only means that your story is done.

I feel like a fake

Tonight is Wednesday, and Wednesdays during Lent mean church meal at 6:00, and then church at 7:00.  Sometimes I have to confess it would seem a lot easier if I agreed with the excuses in my head to stay home in my lounge wear, although again tonight for the third week in a row I didn't.  Anyway during the meal we sat with friends of ours, and she was talking about my Facebook and how when she needs a giggle she will read about some of the things that I post.  Like not allowing any pictures on my funeral board from the ages of 9-21, or posts about Noley Man.  She then said something to me about my writing and how it reminds me of her daughter that passed away.  I have heard that before from her, and when I write I sometimes think about her daughter.  I also think about her when I make lefse, and I will send her a message or give her a call telling her.  It is not that I do it specifically write to think about her, but it is one of the many thoughts that go through my mind.  Tonight during the church service, on the way home, and even now am I absolutely ashamed of myself for the person that I am, and the person that I was to her daughter.  Was she my friend?  I wouldn't say that we were friends.  There is one time that I remember being in Wal-Mart seeing her before hunting getting orange fabric for her dog so her dog wouldn't get shot, and I remember thinking, "Don't make eye contact".  I am so ashamed of myself right now, and feel that I don't have the right to think about her when I write, and I sure and the hell don't have the right to call her parent's when I am making lefse to say that I am thinking about her.  Why?  What makes a person think that they are so much better than the next person to feel that they can't make eye contact with someone.  Don't act like you haven't done it!  We all have, I am ashamed and I am so sorry.  Here is a parent that is always going to grieve for the loss of their child for the rest of her life and here I am writing and she reads it and it reminds her daughter.  I don't deserve that praise, and I sure and the hell don't deserve that right.  She never did anything to me, I let other people influence my opinion.  My mom has told me on more than one occasion that with me, "What you see is what you get, if you have an issue with someone you will go right to the source, and that you are not fake".  Well mom, tonight we were both proven wrong.  I am a fake, and actions speak louder than words and my actions proved that I am.
Her sins were no greater than mine.  I can't change what I did, but I can change how I continue the rest of my life and I hope you can too.  We don't have to like everyone, you may hold a grudge against someone that is a valid grudge, that's fine.  Someone might do something that directly affects you and your life in a negative way, that's ok that your not friends.  However if you can't even give a simple "Hello" to someone in return that you have or have never talked to because you are think you are better than them, well shame on me, and shame on you.
When I write I may seem open and honest and what not.  The truth is the same doesn't always go with my life.  I am a private person, I have a small circle of close girlfriends.  I don't always share everything with everyone.  I am never going to be that person that has a girls outing with 17 of my closest friends.  It might be 6 of close friends and then a +1 and a few straglers to make 17.  I use to think that I wasn't fake, and now I guess I am a doubting Thomas.
I ask you to learn from my mistake, and be the person that you say you are.  I am sorry that I never took the time to say hello, it may never have went any farther than that.  One thing that I have learned is that sometimes a hello from someone unexpected can make a really shitty day a little less shitty even for those three seconds.

Nice Weekend

This weekend was a weekend of realizing that my grey hair is really starting to show my age.  A couple of months ago my friend told me that she found her first grey hair and pulled it out.  I have so much grey hair that if I was to pull mine out. . . . well lets just say that the top portion of my forehead would look a little funny.  I have started to use "Fanciful", my grey hair doesn't hold color and it wirey and ish-da-fee-da-fon.  Hannah went to Snofest on Friday night with her "Boyfriend", here is a picture of her and here stylist.  I keep on looking at this picture and am "Amazed" that this beautiful thing came out of my loins.  I never looked like that, it's probably best.  This short legged fat kid with bad hair got into enough trouble.  She is really a good kid, and I am lucky to be her mom.  When I seen her in this dress I was like, where is my 2 year old that would have temper tantrums and mess her pants because she knew that we had to change her?  Or the little girl that couldn't wait to grow up and wear real "Lady Shirts", or as we call them bras?  She transformed into a beautiful young lady!  I am fortunate that this is her boyfriends parents first child going through all of this.  We were taking pictures and teasing and all that stuff.  If Hannah was the last child it would be like, "Well text me a picture and wake me when you get home".  Andrea, (her stylist), raised Hannah too and it amazed both of us that she is shorter than Hannah.  I am shorter than Hannah.  Nolan was suppose to have games all weekend in EGF, and my child that is never sick got really sick on Friday afternoon and it lasted until early Saturday morning.  He did make it today, so that was a relief.  I was the worst mom in the world for not letting him play on Saturday.  Tonight him and I went to my parents to visit, dad called him and said that there was deer on their deck.  Nolan looked at me and said, "It's not many times that Grandpa calls me to come over, so we need to go".  An hour visit, a bag of grapples, 9 pounds of ground sausage, and a box of push-ups from the Schwans man we were on our way home.  It reminded me of when Hannah and I lived by my parent's, we were POOR, so the two of us would go grocery shopping at there house.  Hannah was 2 years old and knew the drill grab a bag and go through the cupboards.  In Hannah's mind she remembers this time that we were so poor that she had to go to their house and do chores for food, chores and Hannah?  Yeah, I don't think so.  This week is a busy week, I have to finish my taxes.  I envy the person that can go to the Accountant with their W2's and leave.  Last year I said that I was going to be more prepared, well maybe that will be my New Years resolution for next year.
Nolan and I had a really good talk today on our drive.  He was telling me about Pastors sermon today.  I still wonder on how absorbed so much from it.  Was he listening when he was playing paper-rock-scissors, thumb war, or when he HAD TO GO TO THE BATHROOM.  I didn't get everything that he was telling.  I was like well I remember something about King Herod.  Then he was asking me what terms meant that the Pastor was saying.  My response, well I don't know.  Looks like Google will be in business for one more day thanks to unknown knowledge of Biblical terms.

Write on your pictures

The past couple of weeks I have been going through hundreds of pictures, maybe even thousands by the time that I am done.  Both sets of my Grandparents have passed, and they had large families.  In the course of a lifetime we tend to collect a lot of pictures.  Technology has changed where everything now is digital, although in my Grandparents lifetime they didn't have the option until the later years, and still when the "Digital Age" came, they didn't seem to find the need to need it.  There is something that seems to be lost with digital cameras.  Yes, it is convenient, and it does curb any photos that you may not like of yourself being in mainstream by the simple click of the "Trash" button, although there is something that I find fascinating about actually holding pictures.  My father had a brother named Duane that passed away I believe when he was four years old of cancer.  I knew of Duane growing up, Grandma always had his picture in "The Front Room".  Going through these four totes of pictures today, I called my aunt today and was like "Why the hell did they take pictures of caskets back then".  I guess it was the norm, kinda glad that was phased out.  I looked at his closed casket in the cemetery and felt this deep sorrow that I have never felt before when I thought of him.  I seen his picture hundreds of times, and never maybe actually associated him when the sense of loss that I do right now.  How can I be grieving over the loss of an uncle that died many years before I was born.  I wonder what he was like, was he like most 4 year olds, was he like Nolan who climbed everything and anything, or was he like Hannah who "could do everything all by herself".  My father and Duane were the only children born when Duane died.  So now I feel this sense of guilt when it comes to my dad losing a brother.  I lost a brother and why do I feel that my pain is more profound than my fathers, or why do I even question if my father still feels pain when it comes to Duane?  Dad was just a child too.  If anything I feel such an intense emotion of anger right now, and I am sad for my dad.  I would call my dad right now and tell him that I am so sorry that he lost Duane when he did, however dad would put the phone down and yell to mom, "Soots she is drinking again", so to avoid any interventions I am going to write about it??   I am serious though.  My dad was around 2 when Duane died.  It was those two with Grandma and Grandpa.  Think of 2 kids ages 2 and 4, and how they would play together all of the time, and then one day one is never coming back.  It makes me sad, really sad.  I can't say that I don't think of Duane though, I actually think of Duane every time that I cut onions.  I remember hearing a story about my Grandma standing over the kitchen sink crying knowing that there was nothing more that could be done for Duane.  Grandma was crying, and Duane was in the front room playing and he said, "Whats wrong momma are you cutting onions?", so every time I cut onions I think of that.  I use to think primarily of Grandma knowing the fate of Duane, but after today I will think of that little boy who was my uncle.  Going through all of these pictures I have learned many things.  It is quite the task, don't get me wrong.  My living room floor and tables have been scattered with envelopes, boxes, albums, ect.  I divide all of the pictures in categories based upon siblings, and then there is some random piles of other family members, then Grandma and Grandpas pictures, and then the "I don't know pile", all of the pictures are scanned, and put on CD's, and then pictures and CD's are given to the sibling's, and the other ones are sent and handed out.  I enjoy doing it, but it is in some ways emotionally exhausting.  Looking at each picture, and so many of them bring back memories of my childhood, each memory staying with me for seconds or lasting throughout the entire day.  Looking at the picture of Aric with the spiked hair and the neon orange stripes on each side of his head, laughing and then remember when that style was in.  Remembering Carolyn's Clippers in Oklee where he got it done.  Then there is the picture of me in this purple sweater, I think back to the picture day mom wanted me to wear that sweater, I bucked it.  I wore the sweater to school but when I got to school I changed into a red and white stripped button down for pictures thinking that "My mom wouldn't know".  Looking back at it, how dumb could I be? This was SCHOOL PICTURES!  So needless to say it brings me then to the memory of showing my mom the pictures in the what was then her sewing room, and her getting mad at me.  This continues on for most of the pictures where I have memories of.  What makes me sad is the pile of "unknown" pictures.  Yes dads siblings will go through them and tell me who is who, however there is always a picture of two that no one knows who they are.  A black and white photo of a lady standing against a horse with what seems no cares in the world, a young boy playing with a dog.   Was this my Grandma, my great uncle, or maybe my dad?  No one will know, so I ask you all this.  Write on the back of your pictures.  Maybe your mom is in a nursing home or still at home in failing health.  Sometimes when you go over there you have nothing to talk about, or maybe their memory is failing.  Take out the pictures and go through the ones that don't have names on the back, get them talking about their childhood.  If you don't know your parents story, how will your children?  Maybe your parent's aren't alive, but maybe their siblings are.  I can tell you that what may seem like "A LOT" of work, can actually turn into a lot of fun.  I am fortunate that some of the pictures have names on the back, and I can recognize a lot too.  When it comes to putting the names on mine, I might just put Kelly or Emily's name on mine from the ages of 9-21.  I had an ugly phase in my life that lasted longer than most of the rest of the human population.  Bottom line write on the back of your pictures, you may recognize you in your baby pictures, but let me ask you this.  Will your Grandchildren?

Ash Wednesday

It had to be about six years ago I was throwing back brews with my cousin Allie in Tacoma.  I remember these people coming in with ashes on their forehead.  I think that we even had the conversation saying its Ash Wednesday, and me calling family back home to see what it meant, it was around midnight at home and well my reception was less than welcomed by my mother.  It obviously didn't stick with me, because the only thing I remember about that night was Allie doing karaoke to Sammy Kershaw.  On the 19th of February 2009 my brother was killed, so now your wondering what does that have to do with Ash Wednesday?  It really doesn't at all?  The following Wednesday a bunch of us cousins met at The Eagles Club to finalize the plans for my nieces benefit taking place that Sunday.  I guess one could say I "headed" up the benefit, but it was a family event.  I remember sitting there still in shock over Ryan's death, I stood up and said, "I gotta go, I can't be here".  I remember the looks of shock, but no one said anything to my face.  I left and was going to go home, I drove by my church and seen the cars.  I remembered it was Ash Wednesday.  My eyes were puffy from lack of sleep and the endless flow of tears from the past week, I was wearing a wore out Gap sweatshirt, jeans, and looked technically "Tough", living off no sleep, Diet Pepsi, and Cigarettes does wonders to an appearance.   I somehow parked and walked into church.  I'm going to be honest I grew up in the faith, and up until that point was the kind of person that after I graduated from High School, went to church during Easter, Christmas, and any other time the kids sang in church.  I didn't know the meaning of Ash Wednesday.  Looking back if I did, I probably would not have went that night.  I sat in the back pew by myself and cried the entire service, not a cry where tears streamed down.  This was the ugly cry that made no noise, I'm not sure if I had any noises left to make.  That day in church made a profound impact on my own spirituality.  Today four days later I again went to Ash Wednesday service, I did pretty good until I knew that the point  of ashes being put on our forehead were suppose to take place.  I flashed back to that place where I was four years ago.  To the girl standing before my Pastor holding on to some type of hope that tomorrow was going to bring a new day, and that even though I wasn't worthy of salvation, maybe God could make an exception.  I made it through tonight, shed many tears.  I don't really know why though.  I can't pinpoint a certain reason why I was crying.  Ash Wednesday service isn't the most uplifting service when you think about it.  It does talk about death, but it also gives us the hope of resurrection.  I still have the ashes on my forehead and tomorrow morning they will be smudged on my pillow.  I'm just not ready to wash them off, tomorrow I pray that I will be strong enough to not need a physical reminder on why Jesus died for my sins, the ashes are only temporary, the word is forever.

I'm back

I realized something over the course of the past couple of weeks, is that I really miss writing.  It use to be my release, and I guess I just got busy and other things come in the way.  Days turn into weeks, and the next thing you know it is almost two years later and I am back.  This blog really is my thoughts, and every other "Brick and Brack" that I can think of.  I never knew what "Brick and Brack" meant until my aunt Joni said the term when we were decorating for my wedding.  "Jeez Al you got a lot of Brick and Brack", now well it is used regularly in my vocab.  If you want to read this great!  Im sure some will just read to be all noisy and stuff and start talking about what I said like its a bad thing.  One thing that I have learned is that you never want to put anything in print that you can't back up.  So I hope you enjoy this, and I hope to make it fancier as I go.  We will see. . . . But happy reading. . . and when all else fails click on this link and for 2 minutes and 26 seconds sing loud, dance, and know that this song will be sung at my funeral!  Preferably the ENTIRE time!

http://youtu.be/B0HIjCsljyo

Allison