It’s Gonna Take A Whole Lot More Than Milk To Do This Body Any Good

2015 August 27
by Jenny

A little more on my relationship with August.

(originally published August 5, 2009)

So I’ve been thinking a lot about my body lately- and honestly, I KNOW that you’re just as tired of reading that as I am of writing it, but, oh well, that’s what’s up for me these days.

I am especially thinking about my body after last night, when my husband and I were eating pizza and bread sticks from Pizza Hut. As I was preparing to divide up the “dipping sauce”, my husband said, “Oh, you can have all of it,” and my body apparently decided to celebrate this generosity by causing me to dump half the container all over the fingers of my left hand, and, HOLY MOTHER is that stuff hot. I don’t have a history of burning myself (although I did once staple my own thumb on purpose, just out of curiosity to see what it felt like, which is really neither here nor there, but this is probably the best opportunity I will ever have to work it in in even a remotely tangential way to any story), and so this might have been the first burn I ever received in my 36 years, but from somewhere deep in the recesses of my mind I remembered hearing something about putting butter on burns.

But thank goodness for Google, which I checked before I did anything, because apparently putting butter on burns is only The Worst Thing You Could Possibly Do, and Google was all, “Um, hi-welcome to the 21st century,” and I was like, “Wow-so this is what modern health care looks like!”

I feel like I’m coming out of some weird alternate universe after these past 2 years of being sick, which means I’m having to become reacquainted with my body. I don’t really know what to expect, and I also don’t really know what it can or can’t do yet. I do, however, know that the one place I am not going to for help with this situation is any kind of medical, health, or nutritional “authority”.  Because all of those people so obviously go out and smoke a gigantic bowl of crack before they come back and make their “official” proclamations, which we are all then supposed to unquestioningly follow. Here’s a perfect example of what I mean.

You know that whole stupid chart doctors pull out that supposedly tell you what weight you should be according to your height? Well back when I was in high school (’86-’90) it said that a woman who was 5 ft. tall should ideally weigh 100 lbs. And then for every inch of height after that, you would add 5 lbs. So according to this plan I, as a 5’2″ female, should weigh only 110 pounds.  Which will clearly only happen in the event that I suddenly become a refugee or a prisoner-of-war. Apparently the people (most likely MALE people) who compiled this chart were unaware of the fact that women are actually 3-dimensional beings.

Now we do have a friend who is only 5 ft. tall, and probably does weigh only 100 lbs., but she is definitelythe exception rather than the rule, and I’m pretty sure that’s because she was constructed using only the bones of one tiny sparrow and a few golden clouds. She is very tiny and very cute-like a miniature doll you might want to pick up and keep in your pocket. And as a matter of fact she frequently has random strange men come up to her and tell her this very thing. That is, of course, the very last thing they say, right before she kills them and feeds their bodies to sharks. Which they clearly deserve  because, seriously-that’s just creepy.

Of course, if I really want to feel badly about myself, I need look no further than my grandmother, who, when in college, was featured as one of LOOK Magazine’s “Most Beautiful College Girls of 1941″. (And while we’re on the subject her husband, my grandfather,was a Double Ace in World War II, a well-known criminal attorney, and once tried a case in front of the Supreme Court.) So I guess you could say that THE BAR’S BEEN SET KIND OF HIGH IN OUR FAMILY, as far as notoriety and life achievements go. Which probably goes a long way towards explaining why it is So Very Hard for me to just rest and recover, given all these inherited genes that want to be out conquering the world. (Oh, and speaking of worlds, have I mentioned that on the other side of my family I can trace my ancestry back to the Mayflower through four separate family lines?  Four separate ancestors who ACTUALLY DID go out and conquer a new world? Seriously, it is a freaking miracle that my brain has not literally exploded all over my office, which is where I spend most of my days, totally not resting.)

It’s really f*&%ing stressful that my biggest accomplishment of late is figuring out what adjustments I needed to make in my daily treatment program that would allow me to once again have normal, rather than clown-sized, hands and feet, given this whole family legacy, as well as the fact that in his current postdoc position my brother routinely solves math problems where x=The Universe and Y=The Current Vibrational Level Of Human Consciousness.

Oh well, at least I still have some things: sarcasm, crankiness, and the ability to find a way to mock just about anything. And I’m still the first person people go to for entertainment, and for sharing the wacky things they see in life. Because, as my mom says, “You are the ‘Ass Person’ in the family.” (Truly, is there a better, more multi-purpose word in the English language than ‘ass’? I think not.)

Ha-take that, Pilgrims!

Car Talk

2015 August 19
by Jenny

That time when August reached out to smite me in new and tortuous ways.

(Originally published August 14, 2006)

Back in the spring of 1997 when I was driving to meet my husband for a camping trip, my little red Ford Mustang, the car my parents gave me when I turned 17, the car that was completely paid off, began smoking from the steering wheel.

So we took it into the dealership to get serviced, and being the young, inexperienced, newly married twenty-somethings that we were, we accidentally gave off vibes that said, “we might, at some unspecified time in the future, be interested in purchasing a new car,” and thus we became magnetically bonded to a salesman named Rocky, who did not leave our side for the next six hours, until we departed with not just a newly repaired Ford Mustang, but also a new Ford Explorer.

The next day we of course COMPLETELY FREAKED OUT because that was the biggest purchase we had ever made in our lives, and holy cow, what in the world had we just done?! But eventually we calmed down and realized that we could still afford to live in our apartment, and we would not have to stop eating, and everything was just fine.

Fine for us, that is. Apparently, in the Explorer’s mind, our little episode of Buyer’s Remorse was STRIKE ONE against us. read more…

Spiral Bound

2015 August 18
by Jenny

Yet another chapter in my rocky relationship with August.

(Originally published August 31, 2005)

Much as our nation utilizes the various DEFCON levels to alert us to potential external threats, I myself have a finely tuned system of personal alerts which let me know when my internal systems are getting a little out of whack. I’ve pretty much passed through all of them over this last week, so they are fresh in my mind to share with you here.

Level 5: It’s All Good

Level 4: Lack of Interest in Food
This can also show up as Only Eating One Thing, like butter sandwiches, for days on end.

Level 3: Lack of Interest in Reading

Level 2: Lack of Interest in Cleaning
This is also frequently accompanied by Never Changing Out Of My Pajamas, as well as An Extremely Sharp Decline In Personal Hygiene.

Level 1: Spirals Of Doom

By the time I hit Level 1 I’m spending most of my time on the couch, partly because I lack the energy to go anywhere else, and partly because I believe that the couch has natural, inherent healing qualities. As a matter of fact, when we had the opportunity to get a new couch a couple of years ago I didn’t want to. As I told my husband, “The couch we have now has Magical Healing Powers, but if we get a new couch, thenthat one might not.” If I never knew that my husband loved me before I certainly did then, because not only did he NOT laugh, he said, “We’ll make sure we get one that does.”

While I’m stuck on the couch I generally pass the time by watching the process my mind goes through where, seeing that I’m feeling bad, it attempts to create a really depressing story in order to make me feel even worse. Here is an example of one of my recent “Spirals of Doom”.

As I believe I’ve mentioned before, I have been experiencing some difficulties with migraines this summer (and of course, “difficulties” is a euphemism for “searing pain up and down the entire right side of my head, neck, and shoulder, accompanied by razor blades in my stomach off and on for three months”.) So one evening as I dragged myself off the couch to take yet another pain pill, I happened to look in the mirror and notice that my eyes were really red and irritated. My mind took in that data, processed it, and came up with the following story:

“Well, here I am having to take medicine AGAIN for this horrible migraine, which will never go away no matter what I do, which means that I will be sick and miserable for the rest of my life. I will never ever feel well again. I’ll just be an invalid, miserable and in pain forever, a drain on my family and friends because I will never be well enough to be productive or contribute ever again. And, the fact that I keep having to take all of this medicine is raising my blood pressure, and I just know that soon the pressure will become too much and my head will explode, and my eyes will pop out, causing all of my insides to ooze out everywhere, making me gross, disgusting, and repulsive, and this will cause everyone I love to cast me out because I am too hideous to be around, and so I will end up homeless, penniless, and wretched, to die on the streets alone.” And in that moment, I totally believed that every single piece of this was absolutely true.

The good news is that I know myself well enough now to know that this is part of a whole process that I go through, and eventually I do come out again on the other side. So these days when it is going on I am able to keep a tiny part of my brain detached, as an observer, to kind of monitor things and remind me that, “this too shall pass”.

This is the part of me that takes notes and gathers materials from all of my experiences, and is considering putting out a “Greatest Hits” collection of my most popular spirals. This collection would include such popular favorites as, “Everything Is Just An Illusion, So Nothing I Do Matters”, “We’re All Going To Die One Day Anyway, So What Is The Point Of Doing Anything?”, and “No Matter What I Do I Just Can’t Fix This, And I’ll Never Be Able To, So I Am Going To End Up Poverty-Stricken And Alone, And Then I Will Die.”

Then again, maybe I’ll just fix myself another butter sandwich, and go stretch out on the couch for a while.

Every Year I Hope That August And I Can Work Through Our Issues, But It Never Quite Works Out The Way I Hope

2015 August 17
by Jenny

as I was reminded this weekend while trolling my archives. For example:

Dear August: Please Stop Trying To Kill Me

(Originally published August 14, 2009)

You know those days where you sit down and look at your blog, and you realize that there are like 80 billion humor bloggers out there, and apparently they must know something you don’t because they seem to be getting all of the traffic, and so you decide that must mean that you really suck at this, and so you decide to murder your blog and eliminate any evidence indicating that you ever had any sort of online presence whatsoever, and the only thing you can think of to help you go on is to ask your ex-tre-me-ly long-suffering husband to put a picture of Adam Baldwin on your desktop, which is nothing against your husband, but given that he is the only person in your household with a job, and the one who earns the money that allows you to continue living in a house, and not in a box on the street, it’s not exactly like he can stand around all day and be your own Personal Internet Cheerleader, and then you get a sinus infection and have to take antibiotics, and then all of a sudden you are plunged into a severe depression, as severe as you’ve ever been through before, and it absolutely terrifies you, because what if you’ve somehow broken your medicine, and now there’s nothing else that can help you, and this is how the rest of your life is going to be, and then you talk to your coach about it and she says, “You know, I just read that for some people going on antibiotics causes them to spiral down into depression like that,” and you think, “Wow-that sure would’ve been some great information to have a few days ago!”, and so as you are recovering you decide that maybe eating some fresh fruits and vegetables would help, so you go to the grocery store to pick up some green peppers and ranch dressing, but then you are standing in front of the display and there are too many dressings to choose from, and so you start to cry because you just want someone to tell you what to do, and WHY DOES EVERYTHING HAVE TO BE SO HARD?!, and then you are so happy to return home, until you are reminded that your house is so, SO hot, you don’t know why, but clearly the only option left is for you to live naked on your bathroom floor until October, and hope that your husband doesn’t mind occasionally airlifting in some food for you, and then, and you have no idea why it took you THE ENTIRE SUMMER to realize it, even though between the two of you you  hold two Master’s Degrees, and one of you (not naming any names or anything), is an actual engineer, but you finally figure out that the batteries in the thermostat don’t work, and that the ceiling fans have all been circulating the air up instead of down, and then there is nothing left for you to do except to write about it on your blog, the blog that you are most likely going to erase just as soon as you can work up the energy to do anything more strenuous than lying prostrate on the nearest flat surface?

Yeah, me too.

Dear Everyone Who Employed Me During My Twenties:

2015 August 5
by Jenny

As it turns out, you were right: I really did have an attitude problem.

Oops.

Guest Post: Jen Louden On The Life You Plan V. The Life That Waits For You

2015 August 3
by Jenny

Here’s another lovely resource that swooped into my inbox as I was wrestling with reunion stuff-so perfect as a balm for all the second-guessing I was doing around the choices I’ve made in my life.

“You must give up the life you planned in order…”

Jennifer Louden Blog Post May 28, 2015

“You must give up the life you planned in order to have the life that is waiting for you.” – Joseph Campbell

I’ve always loved that quote because it appealed so strongly to 12-year-old me, the me who carried a copy of Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test by Tom Wolfe everywhere, and told anyone who asked (and many who didn’t), “I will never live an ordinary life.”

The me who thought living in the suburbs and having a regular job was tantamount to death.

The me who judged adults for doing so. (Oh so smug, that young me was.)

The young me who was so sure she would fearlessly live a life of making movies, writing books, traveling to wild places, journeying deep within…

Now I bow down before this quote, shaking my head at younger me with tenderness and a measure of chagrin.

Because now I know: giving up the life you planned is hard. Much, much harder than declaring, “I will live an unconventional life!”

Because the “life you planned” isn’t just about leaving a job that has gone stale or a relationship that has folded in on itself. It is not just insisting your siblings help you care for your father or that your marriage continue to evolve. Those are all important,

and

Giving up the life you planned is also about leaving dreams you have outgrown or that will never grow.

It is about giving up the someone you once were but aren’t any longer.

It is also about leaving your plans to become someone better than you are right now and your fantasies about what will happen in a fabled future.

Our stories of the past and our fantasies about the future, our woulda-coulda-shouldas and our “But I used to be able to…” block the life that is waiting for us just as effectively as any need for job security or ideas adopted from our culture or parents, or any fears of vulnerability and intimacy.

Here’s the good news: The life that is waiting for you is here now. There isn’t any waiting – I think Mr. Campbell got that part wrong. Life is continually informing you, nudging you right now. But, as the saying goes, you must be present to win.

For me, it’s much more fun to imagine that living unconventionally or doing something brave will unleash the life that is waiting for me. But that is just another story blocking the life that is here now. (That idea makes me dizzy but it’s so true.)

To open to the life that is here now means welcoming what is here now.

Welcoming my jiggly thighs without veering into a fantasy about how much exercise I will get starting this afternoon and for the rest of my life.

Welcoming how tired I am without wishing I had the energy I had last month when I was feeling great.

Welcoming how sad I am about my mom’s steep decline instead of bolstering myself with, “But I’m a good daughter, I’m doing a great job.”

Welcoming saying goodbye mindfully to my home I will be leaving soon rather than vaguely pretending it’s not actually happening because we don’t have a firm move date (or a house to move to).

To open to the life that is here now means I keep stopping as I write this to listen deeply, to feel if I am telling my truth in the best I know how, without veering off to check email or veering back to tinker with words.

This life is here now. All it requires to show itself to you is for you to show up for it. To welcome reality as it is now.

Just that. (Said with a wry grin.)

I’m so glad we are doing this welcoming together!

Love,

Jen

Jennifer-Louden-headshot

Jennifer Louden is a personal growth pioneer who helped launch the self-care movement with her first book, The Woman’s Comfort Book. She’s the author of 7 additional books on well-being and whole living: The Couple’s Comfort Book, The Pregnant Woman’s Comfort Book, The Woman’s Retreat Book, Comfort Secrets for Busy Women (The Comfort Queen’s Guide to Life in hardcover), The Life Organizer, and A Year of Daily Joy.  There are about million copies of her books in print in 9 languages.flickr

Jennifer has spoken around the U.S., Canada and Europe, written a national magazine column for a Martha Stewart magazine, been profiled or quoted in dozens of major magazines, and appeared on hundreds of TV and radio shows, even on Oprah.  Jennifer has been teaching retreats and leading workshops since 1992, and creating vibrant on-line communities and innovative learning experiences since 2000. She married her second husband at 50, and is the very proud mom of Lillian and very proud bonus mom to Aidan.

Guest Post: Rachelle Mee-Champman on Grief

2015 July 31
by Jenny

I love those moments in life when I’m really struggling with an issue, and then the perfect resource just drops into my lap as if by magic. And that’s what happened to me while I was thrashing through all the “stuff” that was triggered by the high school reunion. Into my email inbox popped this essay by Rachelle Mee-Chapman as part of a series she wrote on the idea of Devotion. This installment beautifully discusses those times when our practice of devotion involves tending to our places of grief, and I am thrilled that she agreed to be a guest author here on the blog.

Devoted To Grief

2014-11-26_1417045947

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about happiness, and contentedness, and how all the Great Sages say being singularly devoted to the moment is what brings both into your line of vision.

And…

And I’ve been thinking about losses and how many times Grief asks for our attention.

The older you get, the more of those there are–the losses. There are the big, culturally acknowledged ones. Deaths in family. Romances that go painfully sideways. Jobs that evaporate without a severance package. Saying goodbye to dogs.

These are the losses that we get at least a small chance to mourn socially — through memorials and tubs of ice cream; friends who take you out after work for drinks, and condolences on Facebook.

Then there is a legion of less obvious losses–all the things you always thought you’d get to, but which you now realize, maybe you won’t. Like singing on stage with a microphone and an audience. Learning modern dance. Writing a best seller. Marrying a guitar player.

Me, I am very aware lately of the losses that come in an accumulated life. When you’ve had to surrender large parts of decades to chronic illness, there are many, so many. They add up fast if you’ve spent a couple years to fighting cancer. They accumulate like packing boxes in the time-suck and upheaval that is moving again, and again, and again.

Even more prominently are the feelings of loss that come when you trying to make peace with the trade-offs that come with having children — especially if you are the stay-at-home parent, or the default parent. Yes, there is an undeniable joy and wonder in watching humans come to life. And….and this is tempered by the way raising children can dim your career, or curb your sex life, or impede your ability to become a master of your craft.

For years I tried to practice mindfulness and presence as a way of minimizing the pang of those losses. I thought if I just focused on the Privileged That it Is To Breathe This Breath, I would step into a vast field of gratitude and the grief would go away. Or if I could just be mindful How Amazing It Is That This Machine That I’m Loading Washes My Dishes, I would never regret the way the entropy of house and home impinged on my creative pursuits. I thought, if I could just see every moment as sacred, I would never have to feel loss.

I say we call bullshit on that right now.

Being singularly devoted to the task at hand is not designed to help you avoid grief. It doesn’t numb out loss with a bonus dose of gratitude. It doesn’t shine a light on you abundance so bright that you never notice lack. It turns the volume up on those positive things, yes. But the truth of practicing presence is this:

Devotion doesn’t insulate you from feeling your losses. 
It asks you to be devoted to your grief in the moment you feel loss.
(spread the good word)

When we become committed to a life of devotion — to the task at hand, and the next, and the next — we become devoted to a life that feels it’s bruises. To a heart that beats as an ache in your chest. To tears that come at unexpected moments.

Listen friend, this is what I want us to whisper together:
Loss is also scared. So is grief. So is mourning.

It’s sacred because it is part of your actual life. It’s part of the essential experienced of being a living animal. There’s not a creature among us who gets through a lifespan without it. We might as well embrace it as holy.

This is the ebb and the flow of it, the hot and the cold of it, friends. You can be strolling around one day, grateful to be walking in the sunshine, and the next minute your heart can break with grief at the friend who no longer calls you. Or the way your job will never be as prestigious as it could have been if you didn’t share your time with infants. Or that the first-flush of romance doesn’t last. These things will arise behind your clavicle. They pool in the corner of your eye.

And this life we are building, this life of devotion, is asking you to be devoted to that too.

To feel grief when it comes to you.
To get curious about why it arrived.
To ask it if it needs anything.

Now this doesn’t mean you have to stay devoted to story of never-ending loss. It certainly isn’t asking you to camp out in victimhood. You don’t have to stay devoted to a narrative that says you’ll always be alone, or you’ll never do meaningful work, or that this stage of your relationship is not as real as the last. You can rewrite your story. You can see it from a new  and hopeful angle.

But maybe not until you devote yourself to Grief for whatever length of time it wants to show up.
A flash mob. A long term tenant. Who can say? All I know is that resisting and ignoring it only makes it metastasize.

You might as well give your grief the devotion it deserves.

What about you friend?

Are you ready to be devoted to every moment, even the moments of loss?
Can you get curious about the pangs in your chest?
Will you ask your grief what it needs?

I think you are.
I know you can.
I hope you will.

Amen? (Amen.)

Much Warmth,

Rachelle Mee-Chapman

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Rachelle Mee-Chapman specializes in helping people create right-fit spiritual practices for themselves and their families.

Learn more about her online community Flock, or follow her on Instagram for special offers on her new coaching + card reading service

A Medium-Grey Night Of The Soul

2015 July 29
by Jenny

About this time last year I slid into a little bit of a funk. There was nothing wrong, nothing bad that happened to provoke it, and it wasn’t that I was depressed or miserable. Everything just felt sort of muted and opaque until this past spring, when we got the invitation to our first 25th high school reunion.

Both my husband and I have reunions this year, but his rolled around first. Which meant that it became the catalyst that brought into sharp relief all the unfocused thoughts that had been swirling around in my head for the previous 9 months or so. Not surprisingly, they were all different versions of, “This is not where I thought I’d be by now.”

Most of the time I’m actually amazed at what I’ve accomplished, where I am, and most especially, who I am. But having to step out of the world I’ve created here for myself and go back-even just for one night-into the arena of more traditional life choices really threw me off.

Part of it is the grief I always feel as a chronic illness patient in the middle of a group of healthy people. There’s no way I can help noticing the difference between their physical capacity and mine, in even the simplest activities like sitting, standing, and socializing. I hate being reminded of how sick I am.

And I am sick. Over the past 3 years my symptoms have worsened significantly, and my body is weary and worn down. My external world has gotten smaller and smaller, and I’ve become more and more housebound and dependent on medications. So it’s incredibly painful to be in an environment that constantly highlights this, especially on a night that is basically all about toting up your accomplishments of the past 20 years.

Part of it is the fact that, at almost-43, I really can’t deny any longer that I’ve entered into Middle Age. There are lots of physical changes, like grey hairs and the inability to read small print, but then there’s also the realization that I’m probably not going to become some kind of world-famous superstar. I’m not actually going to be able to do ALL THE THINGS! I can’t keep all life possibilities open all the time. And when I choose one thing over another, there’s a good chance that the other one is gone for good. It came as  a complete surprise to me, but it turns out that I’m only human, and there are limits to this human life.

Then there’s the fact that, compared to the majority of our classmates, I have taken many of the paths less-traveled.

My husband and I went to college-prep high schools and universities that focused on preparing students for mainstream professions like business, law, medicine, finance and the like. Not everyone went this route of course, but there are enough that did to make me obsess over the fact that I don’t have A Thing, by which I mean a neatly summed-up, easily recognizable answer to the question, “So what do you do?”

So I scheduled a couple of super-intense, emergency situations with Lynne where she gently questioned the stories I was telling myself about this whole situation, WHICH WAS NOT AT ALL ANNOYING when all I wanted to do was freak out and feel victimized by life. But eventually I was able to get over myself enough to hear her when she reminded me of the things that are true about who I am:

-I do not actually want A Thing. My Thing is that I am a freedom-seeker; always have been, always will be. I like the idea of A Thing, something pithy to print on business cards and post in our annual Christmas letter, but every time I’ve tried to fit myself into the mold of A Thing, it has slowly leached away my soul and sucked away my will to live.

-Also, I like to choose. When I’m honest I remember that I don’t like trying to do ALL THE THINGS!, because I just get so overwhelmed that I say “Screw it!” and go eat some Thin Mints or buy something on Amazon. Saying yes-and no-is a big relief.

-I don’t really want to be a world-famous rock star. That would cut too much into my Daydreaming-and-Following-All-The-Rabbit-Holes Time.

But the most important reminder of all is that I love my life. Even suffering from fibromyalgia and bipolar disorder, my everyday life is really good. And I am damn proud of all the work I’ve put in to be able to say that, because it was NOT easy. And yes, I may have had to buy bifocals, and I may now be too old for many of the fictitious objects of my television show crushes, but I am super-comfy in my own skin, and only becoming more so. So, BRING IT, 40s.

It’s true that the way I’ve chosen to live my life means I don’t have a lot of external achievements to show for myself in comparison to someone who’s pursued a traditional career, and sometimes that’s hard.  Especially when one of your husband’s best friends during high school was the wife-half of the husband-and-wife team who wrote the score for “Frozen”. (Who, incidentally, is one of the smartest, funniest, most creative people I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing, so I was actually really looking forward to seeing her again. Things just got funky when I fell into that whole trap of “comparing my insides to someone’s outsides” thing.)

So after hacking through all my mental drama, and then unexpectedly learning I’d gone down 2 sizes when I went shopping for a new outfit, the reunion turned out to be a lot of fun.

Although that’s not to say that it wasn’t weird at first. As I told someone (whom I later remembered was a psychologist), because we don’t have children, I feel like I’ve never had to grow all the way up (and there’s the material for your next article-you’re welcome). So when we got there and I first saw all these grownups with big houses, and jobs, and teenagers my brain sort of exploded from all the cognitive dissonance because all I could think was, “There is NO WAY I am as old as all of you!”

But then that wore off, and I started to enjoy myself.

It was fun to remember ourselves as teenagers, and then see how far we’d all come. And since my husband and I started dating at the end of our senior year of high school, it was fun to be around people who were there at the beginning of our history together.

Then there was the time I was talking to the Lopezes about their post-”Frozen” projects, and then they started asking really nice questions about my blog and, drawing deeply on my skills as a careful crafter of language, I lost all ability to form coherent sentences. I wanted to yell, “Wait! I didn’t study for this part of the test! I only reviewed, ‘How Not To Have A Meltdown’; I forgot to look over the section on ‘How To Talk Intelligently About My Work’.” But they were very nice, and there’s always the chance that it was too loud for them to actually hear anything. A girl can dream.

So the bottom line is that I not only survived but also had a good time and, unexpectedly, the whole experience somehow busted me out of my funk. And given the intensity of the angel-wrestling I did to prepare for this, I’m putting life on notice that when my reunion comes up in the fall, I expect it to be as easy as a hot knife through butter. I guess I’ll just have to wait and see.

 

 

 

 

And The Winners Are

2015 July 27
by Jenny

Thanks to everyone who participated in the drawing to win one of 5 Clean Bottles donated by the partnership of Bay Alarm Medical and Clean Bottle.

I’m excited to announce that the winners are as follows:

1. Zura Beth R.

2. Janet A.

3. Kimberly G.

4. Jennifer

5. Rebecca

Thanks for playing!

Ugh

2015 July 22
by Jenny

Due to life’s smiting me with the mother of all migraines and a UTI (thanks so much life-I love you too), the deadline for entering the contest for the Clean Water Bottles has been extended to midnight (12 am) EST this Friday, July 24th.

Say hello in the comments to be entered into the drawing-I love “meeting” all of you :)

Winners will be announced on Monday, July 27th.