Barking Mad

The Auction Block

Our house in Maine finally went on the auction block, today.   At 1pm it was auctioned off, site unseen (the auction took place at an attorney's office some 35 miles north of where the house is located), to the highest bidder.

I've been sitting here for the better part of an hour, wiping away the occasional bitter salty tear, trying to decide if I want to write through all of this or just let it go.    Whatever I decide, I only have moments before Gaby gets off of the school bus, and I don't want her to see the tears, because once she sees the tears she'll start asking questions, and once the questions start, they don't stop - especially if someone is upset.   Lately she's been fixating on Maine, while ironically, I've been bottling it up inside except for the occasional bursts on Facebook.  I don't want Gaby upset because I'm upset, and more-so because of something going on in Maine that shouldn't even be a blip on her radar.   

Of course, when no one is home, I crawl into bed, put the pillow over my head, and let the tears fall hot and fast.   I cry until I'm either exhausted or sick, until there isn't a tear left to fall.   This morning, after trying to get in touch with the attorney who has been advising us in regards to financial matters, and once again getting his voice mail, I threw the phone, as hard as I could, into the fiberglass shower in the bathroom.     It didn't make me feel any better, but amazingly, that handset now seems to be working better than it has in a long time.    Then, because that was an utterly childish, if not downright moronic thing to do, I sat on the floor and cried.

Gareth and I talked about attending the auction, but then decided that I should go up and attend the auction myself, if I wanted, instead of dragging the entire family up there to go through something unpleasant.    At the last minute I decided it wasn't in my best emotional, or physical interests, to go.     There's nothing I could have done to prevent it from happening and at the end of the day, I'm not certain the closure I'd hoped for, would have meant much.

Despite going over every single financial decision we made while we were in the house, there's nothing we could have done to change the circumstances.   Sure, when Gareth lost his job,  I suppose he could have been a "commuting" dad, between Maine and upstate NY - only seeing his daughter on the weekends.  However there was no way we could have afforded that sort of arrangement - trying to make the mortgage payment in Maine while Gareth rented a room in NY.   So we moved to NY and tried to get the bank to modify the mortgage so that we could rent the house out.   The bank said no at each and every turn.   We weren't behind yet, because we were idiotically paying the mortgage in Maine and rent in NY, preventing us from staying up to date on any of our other bills (mostly medical and a few credit cards, while keeping our car note up to date, the last thing we needed was to worry about transportation).  But then we assumed that at some point, we'd find renters for our recently remodeled and updated home.     That never happened. 

Eventually we were so financially choked that we stopped paying the mortgage in Maine.    None of our modification efforts ever produced results, the bank would not agree to a short sale (we never once got a reason for this, they just wouldn't agree, period, end of story.), and we couldn't find a renter that could afford to rent the home.    Ironically it was our own landlord in NY who told us to stop sending bad money after good and consider letting the house go, especially if the bank wasn't doing anything to work with us, and if the programs the government had in place weren't working either. 

Our landlord had been through two foreclosures almost a decade earlier.   To this day I still think the man lives a charmed life.   He came through those foreclosures (I don't know if he ever filed for bankruptcy.  I didn't want to ask because it seemed too personal), and now owns a successful business here in NY (his foreclosures took place in Texas), and owns several homes that he rents out, in addition to his own home.    We had this conversation almost a year after we had left the house in Maine.   However we were still going back to the house each month to make sure everything was safe, clean, and to maintain the yard.    One of our neighboring homes had been foreclosed on and we were worried that because they'd neglected their own property that it made ours even more vulnerable to vandalism and burglary, as well as other homes in the neighborhood.

The bank stepped up foreclosure efforts and increased scare tactics.  At one point they agreed to a Deed in Lieu of Foreclosure, but then once the process was nearly complete we were informed that the pool of investors that had purchased our mortgage did not accept DILs and we were once again left at a standstill.    So, because the bank said it was moving forward with court action, we accepted the offer of a loan from a friend and went back to Maine and emptied what we could get into a rental truck, the rest of our belongings that still remained in the house.

Shortly after that, the bank, in a bizarre twist of fate, agreed to modify the mortgage, not once, but twice.   We went through the trial period without any issues,  made every payment for each three month trial.  We felt a renewed sense of optimism that with the reduced mortgage, we might finally be able to get renters into the house, and then begin to repair the damage that had been done both financially and credit-wise during the long battle to try and get the bank to modify the loan.  Then, seemingly out of nowhere, the bank denied a permanent modification of our mortgage.

When the denial happened, several people said we should just go back to Maine and live in the house, rent-free while Gareth rented a room in NY, and bank all the money we should have been paying in rent here in NY or the mortgage in Maine, while we waited out the foreclosure process.     That seemed wrong on so many levels.   I don't think we personally know anyone who has been in this position that has done that, but I do know that it's happened across the country, hundreds of thousands of times.    I know that some people just walk away from their homes and never look back.   To us, that's wrong as well.   But what could we, should we, have done differently?

Fast forward to today, nearly two years later, two entire years, (almost three years in total since we've lived, full time in the house)  and the process has finally come to an end.   We were served with papers letting us know the amount we owed the bank, which did not include the six months of mortgage payments we had paid during both trial modification periods,  yet the bank still shows as owed, and notified that the home would be sold to the highest bidder, today, October 1, 2012, at a public auction.

Over the past year, I've tried to adopt a more positive approach to life in general.  It doesn't always work, but when I really focus my attitude and don't dwell on the things in the past, or the things I can't control, I see amazing results.  However, for some reason, I can't let the dark shroud that envelopes the foreclosure of the house  . . . I can't seem to shake it off. 

In the midst of all of this, we consulted with a bankruptcy attorney and based on the advice we got from him, made the mess we're in, even worse.    We're slowly paying bills here and there, and are not altogether sure we're even going to have to file for bankruptcy, although we have no means of paying whatever the deficiency that will remain on the mortgage after the sale proceeds are applied to the outstanding balance.   

Realistically I know this is not the end of the world, it just feels a bit like it.    I've been sitting here looking at pictures of the house and reminiscing about all the good times, and even some of the bad, that went into making it not just a house, but what made it our home.

So very many memories . . .

Halloween gatherings.

Holidays, bonfires, and get togethers for no other reason than to have fun!

Surprise visits from family and friends.

Some of those surprise visits included games of "Would You Rather . . .?" after enjoying a few glasses of wine.

Sisters kicking back and reading.

I don't think any of us will ever forget the massive kitchen remodel, especially when we attempted to paint the kitchen ourselves.  I'm pretty sure it took me a month of Sundays to get all the paint out of my hair!

Everything was such a mess, from taking the old counters off, to measuring for the new counters, to bringing in the first set of new granite counters, which broke, to ultimately being finished with everything and loving it!

I know that time will smooth things over and extinguish some of the pain and guilt I'm feeling.    I know the road to moving forward includes more bumps, and we'll get over those as well.  Maybe even in time, another house of our own.   As always, tomorrow will be a better day.  Another chance to write something amazing on the pages that make up the book of my life.  A new opportunity to learn from the mistakes of yesterday and springboard into making the dreams of today, realities of tomorrow.

Right now though?  Right now I'm treading in the waters of yesterday, remembering what was, what was hoped and dreamed, and what is now someone else's. 

Memoirs of a Murderer

How often, without the threat of DNA evidence, fingerprints at the crime scene, or when not presented with other damning indications of guilt, will someone actually stand up and admit to committing murder not once, but twice?

Probably not very often.  Not when they know that no one is going to clap handcuffs around their wrists, shackle their ankles together with chains, and then shove them into a small cell where they're most likely going to meet up with other murderers and criminals of all shapes and varieties; you  probably won't get them to plead guilty before they've even been tried in front of a jury of their peers.  Not if the murderer knows there is no evidence with which to convict them.

I'll save you the time, the tax payers the money, and I won't even beg for the infamy that my 15 minutes of fame will probably garner me.     No, instead, I'll stand before you and admit to committing murder, not once, but twice.  

Or so I've been called today, several times over . . . a murderer.

Merriam-Webster defines "murder" as "the crime of killing a person especially with malice aforethought. "

If it would please the court, I'd like to take you on a walk back in time, to the scene of the crime; the first murder.

I had been dating "M" for several months.  I'd runaway left home after graduating from high school.  I'd had enough of the dysfunctional relationships and decided I'd move in with my elderly aunt.   "M" and I started sleeping together once I was no longer living under my parents roof.  I never really understood the allure of sex, but it was fun, I felt wanted, beautiful, and valued.  Little did I know that wasn't real "value" or "respect", it was just hormones and being young and knowing absolutely everything about entirely nothing.

It was the autumn of 1986. I was in the last fading months of being 17.   I'd wake up feeling like I had the stomach flu, sometimes I'd vomit.  Sometimes I'd want to throw up so badly but it would never happen.  I knew something wasn't right but it wasn't until my first missed period that the light bulb went off over my head, and I thought that I might be pregnant.     

As I schlepped through the brown and amber leaves that had fallen off the oak tree in front of the drug store, the sound of the crunching leaves underfoot was muffled by the thud thud thud of my beating heart. 

"Oh God, what am I going to do?  Oh dear God, I'll do anything if you make this not end up being what I'm pretty sure it might be.   I don't have anything.  I don't know anything.  I'm nobody.  I don't have a relationship with my own family and M's family is so religious that I'm totally sure they'll think I'm a slut and hate me!  Please please God, make this not be real.  If you do, I'll never ever have sex again!"

I drew my jacket closer around me as I stepped through the revolving doors of the drug store.   I was immediately hit by the mingling smells of medicines, cosmetics, candy, and paper products.  I quickly snatched a blue hand basket from the floor by the door.   I looked down at my feet, hoping no one would notice the little girl heading towards the aisle that held tampons, Kotex, personal lubricants and...and then I was struck by a random thought probably dredged up from wanting so badly what probably was already, to not be.  I grabbed a box of tampons and shoved them in my hand basket.    Maybe I could force my tardy period into a hasty arrival. 

I placed the light pink box of tampons in the basket and looked up.  It was then that I noticed the home pregnancy tests, right there on the shelf in front of me.   I reached out but then pulled my hand back and put it in my pocket.  I took it out of my pocket almost as fast as I put it in there, lest anyone check the overhead mirrors and think I'd stolen something.    A wave of nausea hit me that was so intense it nearly brought me to my knees. 

I realized that forcing a tampon probably wasn't going to make my period show up any more than wishing on a four-leaf-clover would.   The pregnancy test found its way into my hand basket.  It was buried by a package of red licorice vines, Coca Cola, a copy of 'Teen Magazine, and some make-up.    After paying for everything, without even looking up,  I took the handful of change the cashier gave me, ran out of the store and then vomited all over my handful of money, and over the side of a trash bin.   I dropped the money on the ground and ran home.

The pregnancy test confirmed my worst fears.   I was pregnant.  17, pregnant and panicking.   

I had no relationship with my parents,  I wasn't the right kind of Christian for M's parents - even though we were already engaged by that point, and there was no way I could bring a baby into the world and raise it with my elderly aunt Meta, who was in her 80's by that time.   M stopped by my aunt's house on his way to work the next morning and I showed him the pregnancy test.  I was crying and shaking.  I told him I couldn't do it.  I wasn't even 18 yet and only had a part time job and was enrolling in classes at Mt. SAC for the winter semester.  I told him I'd be the worst mother ever.  I didn't want a baby.  I couldn't deal with a baby while dealing with other intense emotional issues from my past  (which M knew nothing about).   So together, we decided that an abortion was the right choice for us. 

The morning of the crime dawned cold and foggy, unusual for that time of year in Southern California.    I'd been told beforehand by a counselor at Planned Parenthood, to dress in comfortable clothing.  M went with me.  We pulled into the parking lot and slowly got  out of his old small pick-up truck.  I remember the hollow sound the door made as it slammed shut against the metal body of the truck.    As we walked towards the door, my feet felt like they were made of cement.   I was nervous, scared, and most of all, terrified. 

I was 6 weeks and 1 days along.  How do I know this?  Not only did I keep close track of my monthly cycle, but I had to have an ultrasound to determine gestational age.  I was not required to look at the screen and there was no sound.   I thought the actual process of the ultrasound was uncomfortable but little did I know that I was going to end up being made even more uncomfortable when the nurse shoved what felt like all four fingers of her right hand up into my vagina.   I began to cry.    My muffled sobs and tears were met with the nurse asking me,

"What, you find this uncomfortable?  Then you don't like sex?    This is not unlike sex." 

Her exam was over.   As unpleasant as the initial exam was, this is the only part of that abortion murder that I remember with any clarity.  

What?  You cringed when I said "murder"?      To quote someone from earlier today, who responded when I asked if they'd call me a murderer to my face,

" ...Audrey, I wouldn't start out the conversation that way; but if you asked me, I'd say yes."

I'm only going by what she, and others have called women like myself, regardless of whether it was emotional hyperbole or not.   A murderer. 

I don't recall much of the actual procedure, I only remember some of the physical pain.  The emotional pain and guilt I would soon become very adept at burying.  No one but M and I knew about the abortion.   Well not until we separated and I threw it in the faces of his very-religious family.  

Eventually I got pregnant again, and this time was coerced into getting married.   True enough, M and I were engaged, but trying to break off the engagement with him proved difficult.  He'd threaten to kill himself.  At some point I insisted we stay together, for whatever reasons, and then we wound up, less than a year later, right back where we were the previous autumn.   This time I didn't want to have an abortion.   Until we were told we were in fact, going to get married, I was OK working and being pregnant, and not getting married.   But M's family wouldn't hear of it.   There was no way M's parents were going to have a bastard grandchild.   It was unheard of.    I feel almost sacrilegious even saying "bastard grandchild."  Joshua was my own sun and moon.  The stars hung in the sky for his amusement.  His smile was was pure happiness.   Bastard?  Never.  He was my son.

And then, 2 years, 3 months and 10 days into his life, he was gone.  Killed.  Just like that.  Wiped off the face of the earth.  Ripped out of my arms.   I was, and forever will be, heartbroken.   Those are wounds that time tends to bury under scar tissue, but with enough friction, the pain held deep inside those raw, bleeding crevices of my heart and soul, burst forth with fresh pain. 

Some have said that God took Joshua from me as an atonement of sorts for me taking an innocent life.   Perhaps they're right.  Perhaps even the fiery, rancid, fetid pits of Hell are too good for me.   The Hell I live every day knowing that in a world that believes in God; Joshua is with Him, completely out of my reach. 

Sometimes I picture God as the blindfolded picture of Justice, holding the scales on each hand.  In one scale sits Joshua, in another sits whatever it was, a child some will say, that I "murdered."    The scales are evenly weighted.

It's not without much trepidation that I sit and wonder what else God has in store for me because not once did I commit murder, but twice.

I've written a great deal about the further downward spiral my marriage to M took, after Joshua's death.   It's no secret that sex between M and me was something that had to be done.  It was a chore.   I derived no intimacy or comfort from it.  It was a gross physical act between two people where one got off and the other lay there, praying for it to be over.   To put it rather bluntly, I hated having sex.   However, M could be insistent.    He was sullen and childish when I wouldn't submit.   He could become downright belligerent, and then would quote Bible scriptures about how it was my job, as his wife, to submit to my husband.

There were times, after crawling into bed and feigning sleep,  when I'd ignore him and turn over on my side.   That rarely stopped him.   It didn't stop him in 1995, when I was nearing a total and complete nervous breakdown, that he satiated himself in a manner in which I didn't think I could become pregnant.  It was painful but I put up with it.  I had become very good at sinking myself into a haze of numbness where acts like this were merely a dent in the all-encompassing wall of pain and loss that always surrounded me.

Despite what I thought was an acrobatic sexual feat, I ended up pregnant.

I went to my own OBGYN for a blood HCG test this time around.   It came back as I knew it would.  Positive.    They referred me to my local Planned Parenthood where I once again took the Walk of Shame.   I don't remember anything about the second abortion.   Nothing.  Perhaps it's better that way?  Maybe I can plead not guilty by reason of insanity?  No?  I guess not.  I don't think God takes temporary mental instability into account when meting out justice.

So now, my peers, I stand before you, admitting guilt to the crimes of which I've been accused.  While there is no law on the books (not yet anyways!) that sentences me to a life behind bars, or perhaps worse, places a cold, steel needle filled with toxic chemicals into my veins,  I suffer no less from the condemnation of those around me who claim they are Christian, but yet feel rightly justified when calling me a murderer.    Would they have me willingly accept a justice they felt would be suitable for the crimes against the innocent they feel I've committed?

Before you picture me in chains, walking the halls towards a death you deem suitable, can I tell you that I already live in Hell?  Would it make you feel any better to know that no matter how much I tell myself I'm no longer going to carry the guilt of my son's death, that despite promising myself I won't, I still carry that heavy burden, along with the guilt of two abortions.   Do you feel any better about the pain I wear every single day?    It cuts through me at times like no earth-made knife ever can.  It sears, sometimes blindingly so.  There is no narcotic, no ointment or salve that calms and cools this pain.   At times the pain completely overwhelms me so much so that I medicate myself with food, sleeping pills, and then crawl into bed just wanting to sleep through the worst of it.   The thing is?  When I wake up, I might forget for a moment, or three, but when I least expect it, that pain comes crashing back down on me like a tsunami of stones. 

Do you feel any better knowing that I live with this kind of pain, every single day?   Because you should.  Your self righteous judgement of me and the millions of women like me, who, for whatever reasons, have made the decision to terminate a pregnancy, often times weighs upon us so heavily that we feel little choice but to end our lives in order to escape your condemnation.

Is it not enough for you that I already live with the guilt of the abortions, but also that of the loss of my precious little boy?    Do you sit, perched upon your lofty throne of judgement, and wallow in the satisfaction of my pain and loss? 

You point fingers at us, label us "murderer", "baby killer", "whore", "slut", "lowest of the low."   You disparage our moral character and then proscribe us to a life of shame.    You do these things all in the name of your loving, merciful, and compassionate God. 

Thankfully though, I live in a country where we are not governed by God's law alone, but by humane laws set down by men.  Merciful, compassionate, loving, and thoughtful men and women.  

While you have already sentenced me to life spent behind the bars of your condemnation, my fellow man has not yet turned what is a personal and private choice, into a crime.   It's my greatest hope that we never do deem the act of making this choice, a crime.   It is my sincere wish that your daughters will never find themselves huddled in a corner, after a violent rape, staring at a coat hanger and wondering if she has the courage to do what the law will no longer allow her to do, in a safe, medical environment. 

Maybe for a moment you can set aside your hatred and damnation for me and women the world over who have made the same choice I have.  Perhaps you can let God take care of that; freeing you up to concentrate on how we make this world a better place so that our mothers, daughters, sisters, nieces, granddaughters...so that the women on this earth, don't have to deal with that on top of all the other troublesome issues that weigh on them each and every day. 

Try doing this for just one day.   You never know how much of an impact you make on someone when you decide to react with compassion rather than condemnation.

My Little Pill Problem

 
I'm sort-of picking up where I left off in my last post, my update on my weight loss.   I didn't want to shove this in with the rest because it wasn't germane to the topic.  

 Anyhow, here goes!

At my office visit back on Friday the 13th, in addition to the normal stuff like weight and blood pressure (it's still borderline high) my doctor ran some blood tests and I found out I'm seriously anemic, as well as being deficient in potassium and magnesium.   I'm working on getting back on track with healthy eating so that I can correct those deficiencies, but I'd be lying if I told you that I was shocked to find out that I'm "seriously anemic."

Anemia is something I've dealt with for a very long time.   I've been told to take iron supplements for the last 20+ years.  I always hesitate because I've read how constipating they can be, and if there's one thing I've never been, it's constipated.   Even when I have upped my consumption of foods that are naturally high in iron and taken a supplement, I still end up anemic.   We don't eat a lot of red meat; once a week would be considered "a lot" for our family.  It's more likely that we eat red meat perhaps once a month!  I've upped my intake of fresh spinach (don't even think about asking me to eat the cooked stuff!  I can't stand it!), and I'm including other vegetables in my diet that are naturally high in iron.  Apparently it's not been enough.  

One thing I have never been aware of until now, and now I'm acutely aware of it, are the consequences of being "seriously anemic."     Rapid heart rate (ding ding ding!), shortness of breath (ding ding ding) and extreme fatigue are all symptoms of being anemic.   Once my doctor explained this, the bigger parts of a huge puzzle I've been dealing with for the last six months or so, started to fall into place.   

I have been plagued with almost paralyzing fatigue since the middle of the summer.  At first I chalked it up to the move from the house on the lake to our current home, and then my diet, then I thought it was a symptom of my depression worsening - but I didn't feel more depressed, just insanely tired all of the time.   When we first joined the Y, instead of feeling an overall sense of more energy despite the muscle pain, I was just tired.  All time time.  I have been sleeping close 16 hours a day at this point.   I'd wake up, get Gaby ready for school, walk her to the bus stop, walk around the block a couple of times, come back home and sleep until noon, or sometimes until 2pm.   I just could not seem to get enough sleep.

In an effort to try and get more sleep earlier in the evening, I started taking two Xanax before bed along with my anti-depressant.   Before I knew about the problems being anemic could cause, I chalked everything up to not getting enough "good" sleep at night.  Increasing the Xanax just made everything worse.   Now that I know what the problem is, I'm trying to wean myself off of the Xanax, and to put it in the simplest terms possible, it's hell.    One Xanax is usually enough to make me pretty drowsy, but I wanted to get myself to a deep sleep and stay that way.  So if one is good, I reasoned that two must be better.    Well, I never claimed to be a genius.  My prescription is for a maximum of three per day.   So I wasn't going over that, but I wasn't doing myself any favors either by taking two at bedtime. 

So, now I'm taking Melatonin again at bedtime and dealing with the massive anxiety attacks I'm having on a daily basis while trying to get off of the Xanax altogether.     I'm not sure I can do it though.  I'm only leaving the house when I absolutely have to because I have been having panic attacks (Sitting through Gaby's most recent cheer competition this past Sunday was sheer hell!  I don't even take her to tumbling classes any more because of the stress that the fear of the social interactions causes me.) and nothing I'm doing to try and deal with the anxiety in a natural way, seems to be helping.  Hence the reason I haven't been at the Y since becoming really sick.

Xanax has been a daily "Mother's little helper" in my life for the last year.  Between that tiny white pill and my once daily Lexapro, I can get a handle on things and I'm better able to deal with the pressure that social situations place me under.  Right now though?   I kind of want to retreat into my hidey hole again.   I don't socialize unless someone comes to me and initiates conversation.  I don't return phone calls or emails.  And I'm beginning to obsess over what everyone thinks about the "outer" me.  

It's weird though because I'm not despondent nor am I worried about not seeing the light at the end of the tunnel.  I'm not having any really dark thoughts at this point.  It's not the blackness this time.  What it is, is the overwhelming anxiety.   If I don't get it under control, it's going to lead me back down the path I don't want to travel again, under any circumstances.

For the most part I'm happy.  I have to work at it, but overall, I'm happy.  However, I can start to feel the tiny spider-leg like cracks that the anxiety causes, start to chip away at that happiness.   I'm not sure I can manage without the Xanax.   I used to think I couldn't live without Coca Cola and that if I didn't start my day with a glass of frosty cold, sugary goodness, I'd feel like crap.   Obviously, I'm doing just fine without that stuff in my system.   

But...

I don't know if I can do the same with the Xanax.   I'm starting to worry that all these little hairline cracks are going to end up shattering me completely if I don't get the anxiety under control.  And, I don't know if I can handle admitting that I might have a problem with prescription pills.   This is the one thing I've never wanted to happen - to be so completely reliant on a medication that I have horrible issues when trying to get off of it. 

Consumed

I've only processed (I shot everything when we were in Maine, in RAW rather than JPG and for some reason I'm moving slower than molasses going up hill in January when it comes to converting the images over so that I can post them to the blog) a handful of photos from our trip.  So bombing you with photos is going to have to wait until tomorrow. 

Also?  I can't sit still.    Why?  Because I'm consumed with what lurks out there on the horizon.   There are some potentially really amazing things happening both personally and professionally in our lives.  Gareth has strictly forbidden me from talking about  a couple of them and that's OK.  I don't want to jinx anything.   Suffice it to say, we're in a very good place right now, regardless of what direction we head.  I know, way to be cryptic.  Sorry. 

It's amazing, the things that can happen in your life if you'd only open yourself up to letting them happen!   Does that make sense?   How many times have you said, "I swear, I have the worst luck!  Why does this kind of thing always happen to me?"    Do yourself a favor here and now, don't ever say that again.  Don't even think it.   Start focusing on the things you want to happen and don't even open yourself up to the possibility of anything negative happening.   I'm not saying you'll never ever have another bad day again, but the less opportunity you give the negative energy to plant itself in your life, the more opportunity you open up to receive whatever blessings God/The Universe/The Powers That Be want to bestow upon you. 

I know I know...I sound like one of Oprah Winfrey's New Age Life Coaches.   Maybe I do, but I'm telling you here and now, that your life and the energy you send out, comes back.  I don't know how to articulate it any better than that.   If you spend any time at all bemoaning the bad luck that seems to fall in your lap on a regular basis, guess what?  You're going to get more of what you perceive as bad luck.   However, if you just take a little time each day to shut out the negative, focus on the solutions or how to achieve the solutions you want, rather than only the problems, you'll start seeing  changes.   They might only be small at first, but I promise you, your attitude and the energy you put out there, determines what you receive back.

Friends, jobs, cars, pets, homes, money, love, objects of all shapes and sizes . . . they come and they go.  How you react to those departures and arrivals makes all the difference in the world.    That's not to say I didn't mourn the recent loss of our cat, Griffy,  or of a close friendship that ended.  I did.  But I didn't sit here and tell myself that I have crappy luck or that I attract crazy people.  I didn't even allow those thoughts space in my head or in my own personal universe.   The very same former friend recently made a remark about my photography not being anything close to professional.   It was like I didn't even flinch when I read what she wrote.   I choose to focus on what is rather than what someone else might think isn't.   I made a conscious choice to not let her opinion change anything about how I feel about what I enjoy doing.    Conscious choices often become habits.  Don't let that little point escape you!

I chose to let go of the anger at the anonymous person who hit and killed our cat, Griffy.   Hanging onto it won't bring him back.  Instead I'm basking in the bright furry, ginger glow of the wonderful memories of him being a part of our family.

Focus on what you have rather than what you don't have.  Focus on what you desire in your life and take the steps to making those desires become physical realities.

In the past couple of weeks, I've let my eating slide a little bit.  While I haven't gained a single pound, I haven't seen the number go down either.   However, I'm not going to beat myself up over it.  Why?  Because I know a smaller number is there.  All I have to do is reach out and take it.  It's mine if I'm willing to work for it.   It's just waiting for me to open my arms and embrace it . . .like so many other things in our lives - if we'd just focus on the fact that life is waiting to bless us with the things we desire - waiting for us to accept them; it happens. 

I'm not sitting here telling you that if you close your eyes and tell the Universe you are ready to win PowerBall that when you check the winning numbers tomorrow that you're going to collecting a huge check, but I'm also not telling you it's not going to happen either.     Sometimes we are our own biggest obstacles when it comes to obtaining the things we want and desire.   And sometimes the things we want the most, we aren't ready to accept the responsibility for.   That right there is one of the biggest things, other than ourselves, that stands in our way of accepting the goodness and richness that life waits to hand to us;  we simply aren't prepared to handle the responsibility that comes with getting what we want.  Decide that you're up to the task of getting what you what and then go out there and do what it takes to get it!

Stop being so consumed with what you don't have.  Consume yourself with the wealth that surrounds you in what you do have and what awaits you. 

Here I sit, consumed with the possibilities that await our family, regardless of what direction we go.  It doesn't make the task of deciding which direction to go, any easier, but I think part of that lies in the fact that I keep seeing bumps in the road that might pop up, rather than focusing on the solutions to what are, in all reality, not really problems at all.  It's all about perspective and attitude. 

Maybe you're sitting there wishing I'd bombed you with all those photos after all?   Perhaps, instead,  I just handed you a gift.   Sit a while and open it -  and yourself - up to all the possibilities tha await if you take that gift and run with it!

 

31 Days of Giving!

Life is an echo.

What you send out - comes back.

What you sow - you reap.

What you give - you get.

What you see in others - exists in you.

Remember, life is an echo.  It always gets back to you.

Sometimes simply hearing the phrase "Holiday shopping season" is enough to send cold chills down your spine, make you break out in an icy sweat, compel you to curl up under the covers until all of the madness has subsided, or even repeat "Bah humbug!!!" over and over at passers by.   It can get a bit crazy.    The pressure to buy your loved ones the perfect gift and the stress that accompanies the cost of doing so can be downright depressing, especially with an economy that has not taken a turn for the better . . . yet.

I actually ventured out on Black Friday with Kim, her sister, and another friend of mine, Kim (I tend to collect Kims, Kellys, and Cindys/Cyndis at an astonishing rate!) after swearing off of Black Friday forever a few years ago when my little toe was broken in what can only be described as a stampede to get their hands on the hottest toddler toys of the season.    That same year my oldest daughter Meg and her friends were trampled at the mall on Black Friday.   I swore I'd never do it again.  However a full tummy and 3/4's of a bottle of wine during Thursday's Thanksgiving celebrations left me vulnerable to peer pressure and I caved and went anyhow.   Gareth was also sitting there prodding me on, "G'on and have fun.  You know you want to!"   They obviously don't do Black Friday in the UK, where Gareth is from! 

When we arrived at the big box store it was still early and it wasn't too frightening.  I was still a bit hazy from the wine.   A shove in the back from a cart followed by a dirty look from the person pushing the cart, sobered me up pretty quickly.  Mind you, I wasn't stumbling-inebriated, but still fairly buzzed.     I tried not to get too irritated with the incident with the cart but I could tell my patience was ebbing rather quickly so I smiled, apologized and got out of the way of the antsy customer.   There was hardly room to move my own cart so I made my way back to electronics and stood there and stared at the numerous flat screen, high definition TV's mounted all over the back wall until I was pushed from that location by patrons wanting to get the best deal on a massive television.

Kim's sister found me in the towel section while I stood there looking for the perfect shade of pink washcloths to go in Gaby's bathroom.    I looked around at the swelling masses of people, pushing their way into the store with determined expressions on their faces . . . Come hell or high water, they were going to get what they wanted.   Kim's sister looked at me and said, "You look like you really feel sorry for all those people.   It's pretty pathetic, isn't it?  It's all about consumerism." 

I wasn't sure if I was sad, angry, overwhelmed, or what exactly I was feeling.  I think sadness is as close as I can get.  I remember when the Christmas season was a genuinely jolly time.   Sure, people were in a  bit of a rush, especially the closer it got to the big day, but for the most part, they were happy.     I think nowadays the economy, the pressure to have as much, if not more, than the Joneses, and the overall emphasis on buy! buy! buy! has put a lot of people into a bad mood, or at least a not-so-jolly one!

While I did find a couple of things that I was looking for, I didn't feel any sort of major joy at saving a few dollars when I know there are people out there who will be placing nary a single thing under their Christmas trees this year, and some might not even be able to afford a tree to trim.   There are others who struggle during the holiday season as it brings grim reminders of better days gone by, the memory of lost loved ones (this is one I myself struggle with), or just a general melancholy fog that descends during what should be a time of joy, merriment, and celebration. 

When my Thanksgiving hangover had passed, I sat down and realized that I wanted this Christmas season to be more . . . more  . . . but I didn't know what sort of "more" I wanted.     While this is indeed the season of giving, I'd hazard a guess that a lot of us are stretched pretty thin right now and the thought of having to give anything else might be too much.    But here's the thing,  you can give something else this season and it doesn't have to cost you a dime!     The greatest gift you can give to another human being is the gift of you.

It's simple.  Here are some great suggestions (OK, so I thought them up myself and I guess I'm patting myself on the back, but you have a chance to chime in and add your own suggestions!) of simple, and often times free, things you can do to brighten someone else's day during this holiday season, and in doing so, you might just bring a little more merriment into your own life!

~Take your neighbor's dog for a walk. 

~Offer to drive an elderly friend or relative to the store and help them with their shopping. 

~Call a friend you haven't TALKED to in ages (Facebook and email do NOT count!) and reconnect. 

~Make breakfast in bed . . . for your kids! 

~Send a Christmas card to a complete stranger. Better yet, send a Christmas card to someone in the military! 

~When filling out your Christmas cards this year, take ONE CARD and SEND it to this address: A Recovering American Soldier, c/o Walter Reed Army Medical Center, 6900 Georgia Avenue, NW Washington, DC 20307-5001. (thanks Claire for posting about this on Facebook!)

~Smile at every single person you come across. You'd be surprised how that simple little act can change someone's day! 

~Do your children's chores for one day. 

~Drop an inexpensive Poinsettia off at your local retirement home. 

~If you're able, pay for the person behind you in line at Starbucks, Dunkin Donuts (I find this works better in the drive-through- less awkward!), or the toll booth! 

~Forgive an old grudge. 

~Volunteer at a soup kitchen for an evening. 

~Bake some cookies for your post-person, or other familiar delivery professional. 

~Offer to take a busy friend's children for the afternoon so she can have a bit of time to herself. 

~Give everyone in your immediate family a hug for no reason and remind them how special they are. 

~Tell a co-worker how much you value them. 

~Prepare a romantic meal for your significant other and put a love note on their pillow before bed.

~Prepare a meal for a busy working mom that you know.  This will be appreciated more than you know!

~If you are one of those extreme coupon clippers, why not take some of the excess and drop it off at a local women's/homeless shelter? 

~Have some spare change rattling around in your pocket?  If you're downtown and walking by some parking meters, how about dropping in a few dimes/quarters into some meters that are about to run out? 

~Do you have a child who is learning to read and loves to read?  Why not grab a few books and head out to your local retirement center and spend a little time reading to the residents.  Better yet, have a musically gifted child?  A lot of these homes have pianos in the recreation centers and the residents would enjoy an impromptu concert.  This would be appreciated no matter what sort of (portable) instrument your child plays. 

~Have some clean Mason or Ball jars sitting around?  Why not put all of the dry ingredients for your favorite cookie recipe inside, create a colorful label for the outside of the jar along with the recipe, and then tie it all with a festive ribbon and drop it off anonymously!  

~Host a mani/pedi day for your little girl and a couple of her friends!  The smiles, giggles and general happiness is sure to put a smile on your own face!

~For my blogging friends, comments are so appreciated.  Take some time to leave some thoughtful comments on the blogs you enjoy reading. 

You can add to infinity to this list.  The possibilities are endless.   Has someone done you a kindness?  Pay if forward.   It's such a simple thing to give of yourself.   And it's often the best gift another can receive and the most appreciated.

I'm challenging each of you reading this post to take some time out of each and every day and do something for someone else, no matter how big or small the act.  Just do it.    Then come back and let me know.    I'm going to be posting each day and at the bottom of my post, I'm going to write about what I did, not in the vein of "Oh look how awesome I am!" but more along the lines to encourage you all to reach out and do the same!   I'm going to attack this challenge in an effort to pull myself out of my own little holiday funk and not be sucked into the never-ending aggravation that is all too often present during the holidays.   If enough of us pay it forward and give a little more of ourselves,  we can extend the joy of this holiday season, perhaps throughout the entire year.  And you never know, through your own actions, you might just inspire someone else to do the same.   

In the spirit of kicking off "31 Days of Giving"  I am hosting a $150 VISA gift card giveaway!   

I wish that I could give away ten, twenty or a hundred of these.   Sadly there is only one.   But I'm hoping that it will be just in time for the holidays for whoever wins it!

There are a couple of ways you can enter the giveaway.   The more items on the list you complete, the extra entries you get! 

• Leave a comment for me on this post. 1 ENTRY
• Follow me on Twitter if you aren't already and then Tweet this post to your followers and then come back and leave me another comment with the link to that tweet (clicking on the time stamp on the tweet will take you to the URL of the actual tweet). 1 ENTRY
• Every day that you tweet this post (you can tweet it once a day!) come back and leave me a comment with the URL to the tweet and you'll get another entry! UP TO 9 ENTRIES - the contest ends December 9th at 10PM EST.
• Mention this post on Facebook and then come back and leave me another comment letting me know you did. 1 ENTRY
• This next one will earn you FIVE EXTRA ENTRIES . . . Take the 31 Days of Giving challenge and post about it on your own blog.    Make sure you link back to this post, and if you want to, you can use the graphic above.  Just make sure you come back here and comment with the link to your post!    Then tweet your own post and include/cc @Barking_Mad in your tweet!  5 ENTRIES

You have a total of 17 possible entries for this giveaway.

Contest starts at 12:01AMEST December 1st, 2011.

Contest ends at 10PM December 9, 2011. 

The VISA gift card will be overnighted (sent out December 10th) to the winner.  

All of your entries will be individually numbered and then I'll use the random number generator to choose a winner.   PLEASE MAKE SURE YOU LEAVE ME YOUR EMAIL ADDRESS ON EACH COMMENT ON THIS POST so that I can contact you in the event that you win!

Now for the boring but necessary legal stuff, AKA the fine print! Void where prohibited...which really is just my fancy way of saying that if you gave birth to me, if I gave birth to you,  if you are a sibling (rivalrous or not), or in any, way, shape, or form related to me, you are not eligible to enter for a chance to win the giveaway.   Dear FCC, no one paid me or compensated me for this post, or the gift cards. They were self-provided!

 Good luck and happy giving!

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