High Heels and Dirty Dishes Column 2

One would swear that my excitement for this column is totally over the top.  I feel that I am definitely writing for the Boston Globe, or even The New York Times.   My family on the other hand . . . well they are cautiously excited for me.  Cautious in the fact that they are not sure what I am going to write about.   Last night I was so angry with my mother for not having the “The Pre-Menopause” talk with me.  My mom and I have a great friendship.  I remember where we were when she gave me “The Talk” when I was growing up.  Although I really wish that maybe she would have given me “The Other Talk” now that I am older.  Yes, I am 36 years old and sometimes I sing the lyrics to the song in my head, “The old gray mare, she ain’t what she used to be”.  Yes I remember the day that I found my first gray hair on my head, I was like 25 and my Dr. at the time informed me that it was because of the medication that I was on.  I can’t blame her for that.  However after I hit 30 things started happening to my body that NEVER happen when you are in your 20’s.  A lot can be blamed on kids and giving birth.  For instance by now we know what happens when I get on a trampoline, and two piece swimming suits are out of the question.  The only time that you hear about two pieces come out of my mouth is when I say, “I will have two pieces of bacon”.  Not saying that I had a rock solid body before childbirth, I was the chubby kid that found stretch marks on my legs when I was 16.  I remember it vividly, it was the year that I discovered mozzarella sticks from the café in Oklee and bismarks from the McIntosh bakery, it all went downhill and sideways from there.   I found a chin hair a year ago and flipped out, it wasn’t a soft one that was casually brushed up with a makeup brush.   This was a whisker that hung low and was long.  I pulled it out.  Wouldn’t you know the next week it started coming back and brought friends?  You would swear my chin was a college keg party and my lower face was “The Hang Out”.   Every time I go to Wal-Mart to buy the wax kit I stuff it amongst other things in my cart to make sure that I don’t see anyone.  I feel like I am 17 years old again buying my own feminine products.   I called my mom tonight and she goes, “I don’t have chin hair”, the next time that I see her I am going to take a good look at her chin. . . . This conversation will definitely be continued.   So this is my second column, and by now you are thinking one of two things.  One:  Thank God it’s just not me, or Two:  This girl isn’t all there.  Well I hope that it is one, and if it’s two.  Well you see I had a stroke and brain surgery.  True story, I had a stroke at 33 and brain surgery at 35.  I use that as an excuse a lot.  Have I recovered?   I am happy to say that the bad days are few and far between, but sometimes it is really hard.  It has been a year since my surgery and tonight I sent my brother a message on Facebook and the last message that I got from him was the day of my surgery and he said, “I love you Al”.  It made me smile, and I got a little teary eyed.  It made me realize that I don’t know if we have really told each other that we love each other since then.  Why should it take something like your loved one going in for a serious surgery to send that message, and why hadn’t we done it before or after that for that matter? We all have our issues in life, I have mine, and if all you don’t think that you have yours . . . well my friend you do.  We take time for granted, and we get so caught up in our own lives that we forget about the ones who really matter.  We have all said that the phone works both ways, but sometimes it takes you to pick up the phone.  There is something about getting a phone call from your family to just say hi.  It is a lot better than receiving a call saying that “Al there was a bad accident”.   So to my brothers Aric and Lucas, I love you very much, and you should really call mom and dad and “Thank them for giving birth to the best older sister”.  Until next week my friends.

Allie Enge

Thief River Falls, Minnesota

Good Job Allie

I had a Dr.  appointment today in Grand Forks.  I've been having some medical issues, nothing bad or anything like that.  It has been going on for about a year and to be honest after my brain surgery I really didn't want to deal with anything else.  It's not a life or death thing.  I broke my elbow a few years back, and it is true that when you break something when your young. . . You pay for it when your older.  I'm gonna be fine, I have options and lets hope they turn out like I want it to.   That is not what this post is about though.  I went to The Rehab in Grand Forks at Altru.  Turns out that the Dr. I seen today was my Rehab Dr.  He gave me a huge hug, and it brought back so many memories.  When we were done he shook my hand and told me that he was proud of me.  I seen some of my old nurses and they remembered me.  It hit me emotionally though because I seen folks that were inpatient and I remember the shock and pain being there.  A lady was struggling walking with a cane and I wanted to tell her that this place is only a pitstop and things get better.  So now going on 3 years since my stroke I tonight decided to write myself a letter.  I'm writing a letter to the girl that I was 3 years ago from the girl I am today.

Dear Allie, 

I'm not going to tell you that life is going to get better, no I'm going to tell you that life is going to get different.  It's ok to be angry, and it's ok to cry. It's ok to be frustrated and it's ok to be depressed.  When you ask God why he did this to you, also thank him for still giving your kids their mom.  Life isnt going to get any harder, life is simply going to be different.  Your going to question so many things, you will worry about financial struggles, worry about your parenting skills, you will question your faith.  You will question friendships, and friendships will question you.  You will struggle with loyality, and loyality will struggle with you.  Again taking a look at the Allie pre-stroke and 3 years post stroke these are all things that you faced before, the only difference is that they are different.  You are going to come out stronger, just as you have during any other obstacle, the only thing is that the courses are different.  So take time to grieve the loss of your life before, but don't take too much time because wasting time dwelling on the why's is a missed opportunity on the Wow's and girl you have a lot of them coming up if you allow yourself the vision to see them.

Your best friend and biggest Cheerleader, 

Allie 

Confession

My name is Allie Enge, and I am an animal hoarder.  Well ok maybe not a severe case but a large enough one for me to say to myself, "Self what the hell were you thinking".  We have 2 cats, 3 dogs, and a horse.  However the horse is in the process of being sold and then we will get another one.  My animals are well taken care of, and completely loved however NO MORE!  I'm gonna be honest and I'm sorry if I offend anyone, I don't like cats.  We have Tillie Peterson and Remington.  Tillie Peterson is a snot, she is fussy, anti-social, and a complete bit$!  Remington well you see he is new to my family, been in the house now ohhhhhh maybe 2 hours.  After the parade at the fair we dropped off our float and on the way back into town I got a call from Nolan.  He was screaming bloody murder, in my mind I knew that he fell off that damn ride "Zero Gravity", the ambulance was on the way and he was going to be airlifted to Fargo where it would be touch and go throughout the night.  Turns out there was only 1 free kitten left in the entire world and the lady was going to hold it for Nolan.  So I got to the fair and Nolan ran up to me, "Mom it's ok it's from the 'Free People'".  Yes I could have said bring it back, but you need to realize not even 3 minutes before in my mind my son was being airlifted to Fargo.  So I caved. . . . This could be interesting!  Nolan told me that Grandpa Rodney said that he can have a cat at his house that can be Nolan's.  So in a week or so it will hopefully go there.  Or maybe not . . . .Nolan has a way of wearing away at me as a parent and before I know it we are making room in our hearts for another member.  I can no longer say a darn thing when I see these people that have like 17 kids and wonder, "What were they thinking".  Don't throw stones at glass houses cause many people would just walk in my house and wonder the same thing.  Day 1 of the fair.  Nolan 1 ~ Mom 0.  Oh and the animal barns haven't even opened yet.  Ole Allie Enge had a farm ~ E~I~E~I~O

High Heels and Dirty Dishes Issue # 1

Being a writer has never really been a dream of mine, although I found out a long time ago that I wasn’t really good at showing my emotions. So sometimes after a really crappy day, I would write. I am not Anne Frank and after I die, there is not going to be a notebook of unpublished writings. I usually would type out what was on my mind, and then click the delete button after every letter. It was only three years ago after my stroke that my writings were shared with people and that is because my family started a Caringbridge site, people started commenting to me and my family about my writings and said that they would like more. I am not a professional, and I am sure that my grammar is not going to be right. If you are reading my column to pick out the things that I am not using in proper terms, well get a highlighter and make it a part of your weekly ritual. My name is Allie, or when my mom is upset with me Allison. I am 36 years old, and yes my mother still gets upset with me. Writing this column is probably one of the most exciting things and honestly one of the scariest. I write about real things, I write the truth and sometimes the truth is not a fun thing to realize after you read it on paper. I don’t know what this column is going to lead to; I just know that I am happiest when I write. I am a real person, I have kids, I am married, and I have my own business. I have made mistakes in my life, and did something’s that I am not proud of. I might even write about them. When I shared with my family that I got this column they were all excited for me, HOWEVER. . . they did also say, “YOU BETTER NOT WRITE ABOUT ME”. How can I not write about them? For the love of God my father married my mother, and his brother married her sister, and their other brother married their first cousin? That in itself should have people talking for days. It is legal though, may raise a few eyebrows, and some figuring in the head. Let’s just say that those Bjerklie boys found good stock in those Sjulestads girls and didn’t have to travel too far north of the Neptune Bridge to find love. They have helped define who I am today. So I have to come up with some “fake names” for them. Like my aunt Joni maybe referred to as my friend Janice and my cousin Kelly will have to be Keisha my cousin from my father’s side. I am real; I am a north of Gully girl who can’t jump on a trampoline without peeing in my pants. I have a robust fear of public bathrooms, and I am completely aware that I swear too much. I grew up on a farm North of Gully. When I moved to the city it meant living close to Thief River Falls. I believe in Jesus, and if that offends you I am not sorry. I have learned that life is too short, and if I have an issue with someone I go right to the source. I have learned that people don’t like that. . . keeps life interesting. I have been dealt some pretty tough hands of cards in my life, and yes many times when I write I cry, sometimes I don’t even know why. It’s not fun realizing that you are angry with your brother who was killed, or upset at the fact that no matter how hard I try I look like Elaine from “Seinfeld” when I dance. Or that I can’t make banana bread like my little brother Lucas. I still think that he bought it from an Amish road side stand in Western North Dakota, and took a picture of it and tagged me on Facebook, just to make me mad. Welcome to my journey of writing. If you get anything out of this column, know that it is ok to be real. It’s ok not to call that 1-800 number that they talk about on the TV for loss of bladder control if you cough, sneeze, laugh, dance, or jump on a trampoline. You see I have this friend named Janice, and this cousin on my father’s side name Keisha that it happens to also. Keep it real, keep it honest, and I have found in life to be myself. Some people don't like me as myself, but I have found complete happiness in the ones that do. Until next week my friends.

Allie Enge

Thief River Falls, Minnesota

My first column is at the Editor

I have decided that my columns are not going to posted on my blog at least night right away.  I had so much fun writing it, and you know what it isn't about the me that I want people to think that I am.  It is the me, the real me.  The me that some people don't like, and let's be honest here there are some people that don't.  Don't judge cause there are people that don't like you either, truth is there are some people that don't all of us.  I don't hate anyone, but my aunt once told me that we get a pass in life not to like one person.  There are some that I don't care for, but I don't see them on a daily basis anyway.  The article is going to be in the Tri-County Canary weekly, and it is in the section that serves the Oklee Herald, Grygla Eagle, and a couple of others.  If you want to get a subscription call Richards Publishing in Gonvick and let them know.  I tried a few years ago to get a weekly or monthly column in The Times, but apparently they didn't want me.  Maybe the Tri-County wont want me either, but hey I got my foot in the door.  But I can promise you this, I'm gonna keep it real just the way that I would want it.  Do I dream of being a published writer and have a book deal and have my books on sale somewhere.  Well I have a little ADHD and I think that my chapters would be all over the map, kind of like my conversations if you have ever had to listen to my talk for more than 20 seconds at a time, so at this time I am going to focus on a weekly column and see where the path leads me.  I am really happy right now, and I am sure that will change as some negativity comes out of my topics.  After I let my family know about the column, 3 of my main people text me, "YOU BETTER NOT WRITE ABOUT ME".  So I did write about them, but they have enough ammo that I better keep it clean.  I am not going to write anything mean, or anything like that.  I mean, these are the people that come when I need help at The Shed, or the people that within 1 phone call are there without even to have to ask.  So even though I may have a lot of surface friends, I better not piss off the real ones that I have.  If people want to read about how to grow a garden, I am not the girl.  If you want to read about the girl who thought that the white flowers that were beautiful in my garden were amazing, and my aunt pointed out that they were weeds and I pulled them out in front of customers while trying to sell flowers out of my greenhouse . . . Well I am your girl.  Or the girl that can't eat Taco Johns without being 2 minutes away from the toilet. . . yup me again.  Or how I hate painting my toe nails, so when I do and the color starts to wear off I am too lazy to rub it off with polish remover and paint over it with a darker color. . . yup that would be me too.  Or how one of my goals in life is to learn Vietnamese and when those two ladies are talking while working on my toes I can simply say, "Man this feels good" ~ in Vietnamese.
14 years ago this week, I gave birth to our oldest child Hannah.  I think that she has turned into an amazing girl, and I am so proud to be her mom.  Yes she makes me mad, but sometimes after I get mad at her I realize that I am getting mad at her for things that I do too.  Why is it that I can get mad at her but when I do it, I find it completely acceptable.  I remember the day that she was born, and it still amazes me that I didn't realize that I was going to be a mom until I seen the top of her head coming out.  I remember thinking, "Put her back, Put her back".  She was my saving grace in life, and she is the key factors to me finding success within myself.  I worked harder, made smarter decisions, and had a family that kept me grounded.  When I get a big head, they are the first ones to remind me that they have pictures of me.  Now not those kind of pictures, worse!  Ones of me butchering chickens in no shoes, pretending I was dropping deuce at Theodore National Park on a freshly squeezed buffalo turd, and Ahhh then there is The Red Neck Bachelorette Party.  UFF DA!  You will also hear about Nolan, he is my son with the biggest heart, and the reason why parents drink in heavy amounts.  He is a great kid, but man is he busy.  Right when I think that I can not possibly take anymore of him, he melts me with a hug, and then I forget about why I was so mad at him.  That is until I go to the bathroom and remember my son and the "Flush" switch doesn't work.
I thank you all for your pm's, and texts, and what not about my last post.  I never intended to inspire people with writing about my horse shit terrible day dealing with Ryan's death.  I use to drown my troubles with cigarettes, and endless days of having a cold heart.  It has taken 4 years for the the issues that have been bothering me actually surface on the why's.  Now it's Diet Coke, Nicorette Gum, and my fingers doing the typing.  Thank you ~ Thank You ~ Thank You

My first writing column!

It's official I got my first weekly writing column for the Tri-County Canary.  I got the news and pooped 3 times in 5 minutes I got so excited.  I pretty much can write about anything, how much you want to bet that my family will tell me many times over and over again, "And don't you dare write about me". . . .

Slap in the face

Now most of you know that I lost my brother 4 1/2 years ago in a car accident.  It wasn't yesterday, wasn't today, and it wasn't last week, it was 1599 days ago.  Do I grieve his passing every day?  To be be honest some days I don't even think about it.  Or I should say that I don't allow myself to think about it.  But then there are days like today that just slap you in the face.  Slap you so hard you feel that you just received the call that there was an accident.  I look back at that day, and can play the first 20 minutes in pretty much slow motion, and with hardly any emotion.  The lack of emotion in the first 20 minutes of the play by play story is basically what happened I didn't have any emotion.  I didn't cry, I didn't scream, I remember standing outside that cold crisp February morning smoking looking at the sun rising in the east, watching the exhaust come from the passing cars, and thinking. . ."So this is what it is like".  Things were in slow motion.  Kim came over and was hugging me, and I remember thinking, "What is she saying, I hear words, but I don't understand".  I remember wanting to get ready for work, and Aaron telling me we had to go to my parent's.  The feeling of being pissed off because he wouldn't let me get ready for work.  I just wanted things to be normal and getting ready for work was normal for me.  If I close my eyes I can still smell and feel the coldness of the air, but not feeling cold on the outside.  Just hollow on the inside.  The next days were filled with tears, hugs, food, tears, wanting to scream if anyone else hugged me, cigarettes, and diet pepsi.  People bringing all sorts of food, and wondering why no one was bringing special k bars or diet pepsi.  I am not in that place anymore, and I can say that where I was 1599 days ago from where I am today is different, but there are days like today that just slap a person in the face.  It wasn't his birthday, or really any special day that we would have celebrated with him.  But to be honest it was just that, a day without him.  Yes I know that he is dead, I can say it 100 times and not feel anything when it comes to saying dead.  Because I don't think about what I am saying.  Last Tuesday night I was about ready to fall asleep, and was in that la la land sleep.  You know the stage right before I fall into a deep sleep and my body starts making noises no woman should ever make.  I remember thinking to myself, "Oh my God he really is dead", and I kept on saying that in my mind.  It honestly felt that my body tore in two.  That my left side and my right side parted, and there was a huge gap in the middle on where I wanted to fix it and make everything right.  I composed myself, didn't cry but felt hollow for the next how many minutes trying to calm myself so I didn't have an anxiety attack.  I remember grabbing both sides of my head and thinking to myself get a grip.  I am not really open about my emotions on Ryan's death.  Some family members are, and I respect that.  I am a private person on how I deal with certain things.  It's not that I don't care, but I don't cry because of a picture on the wall, or even a certain memory.  It just doesn't come out like it does for other people.  Should I have gone to therapy?  Well you tell me one person that at one point should not have gone to therapy.  I dealt with, and deal with Ryan's death the best that I can.  I miss him, but most of all I miss the family that I once had.  Now my family is pretty great now, but there is not a single good thing that came out of his death.  Or at least I haven't seen it yet.  At least with my stroke and brain surgery I finally feel good, I for the first time I actually feel good.  I have good days, and bad days, but I am happy with the results.  My own fate and life span has me thinking about my own death.  I have a fear of a messy house, and so I am kind of crazy about keeping my house clean.  It never dawned on me until today that the reason being is if something happened to me when I was gone and I died, I wouldn't want people to come to my house and see it messy.  How stupid is that?  Today opened up a wound that I didn't know was there.  I happened to relive 3 days of emotions after Ryan died, and I was not prepared at all.  I did go to Ryan's grave tonight, and I know that he wasn't there.  But I did see that a bird has shit on his head stone 3 times, and it is a old myth that it is good luck when a bird shits on someone's head.  So his headstone was shit on 3 times, so he must be lucky.  I wish that I would let go of the anger that I have, but it's really hard.  So tonight I am angry with my brother Ryan, and I am ashamed.  I often wonder if he knew how much I loved him, and how much pain we are all in since he died.  I don't want him dead, I want him here still.  I want to be able to call him and tell him about my truck, I want to call and tell him that Nolan shot another rabbit in the yard, ask him the most important question when is he coming home, but the truth is that he already there.