Thanksgiving Minus One
Today was a good day, but it was also a tough one. I thought about it as soon as I woke up this morning. My Grammom is gone. This is the first Thanksgiving without her.
I figured that the first round of holidays without her would be difficult, and I was right. My sister made the Cope's corn that my Grammom always insisted on making. Grammom didn't like it baked, the easy way. She liked it soaked for hours in milk and then cooked on the stove top. When it arrived at our Thanksgiving get together, it was usually partially burnt and the casserole dish that housed that corn was overflowing with dried on liquid corn. It didn't matter that it was partially burnt. It always tasted amazing.
Today I tried to give my Pop-Pop some extra love. I knew he had to be feeling it as much as the rest of us were. When we finally sat around the table, my Dad decided to say the prayer. At one point, he stopped speaking and I snuck a peek at him. The words, already in his head, couldn't come out without hesitation and some choked up tears. He then asked God to continue to watch over my Grammom and said that one day we'd all be joining her. My Pop-Pop didn't cry. He just nodded. I know he'd like to join her as soon as possible. Knowing that makes it even harder.
Today, my Mom picked up the Grammom tradition and gave each of the women a bag of dish towels. Grammom never went anywhere without dish towels for everyone. That dish towel was yet another reminder that she is gone. I tried not to allow myself to think about it too much because I just got choked up and it made my throat hurt.
When we were getting ready to go today, I put a sweater and scarf on and my Grammom's watch. Sassy insisted on wearing a sweater and scarf too. She brought me the scarf she has from my Grammom and asked me to tie it around her neck. I asked her if she remembered where she got that scarf from and she said, "Yeah, it's Great Grammon's scarf." She's still so present in our house.
Last Christmas, I had to turn away to wipe tears as my Grammom handed present after present to my Mom. Each one seemed to stab me deeper. They were all her prized pictures of her Mother and Grandmother. They are family heirlooms and she wanted them to go to my Mom. She knew what was coming, despite the fact that she only started hospital admission after hospital admission after the holidays were over last year, before finally leaving us in April.
I know that Christmas is going to be even harder this year. It is so hard to keep her memory alive without letting it eat you up inside and out at the same time. I had a wonderful day today with my family, but I know we were all missing her terribly. It just wasn't quite the same without her.
That Elf
My Mom was watching my girls this week and was discussing how it will soon be Thanksgiving. "Then, once it's Thanksgiving, before you know it, it will be Christmas!"
Sassy got that familiar look on her face that tells everyone she is skeptical or just plain irritated. Then she said, "Great, that's when that elf who tells on me comes."
This morning, we were talking about the return of Elliott and that he could arrive any day now. Sassy said, "I don't want him to come because then he's going to see us (Sassy & Big I) fight."
Mr. BBM said, "Well, don't fight then!"
Something tells me, that for Sassy, that's not an option.
To Password Protect or Not
It happens to every blogger. At some point, someone leaves a rude comment or even one that might be scary, and it makes you think. Am I taking unnecessary risks? Am I putting myself out there in ways that I shouldn't be? Is blogging really worth whatever risks I might be taking?
I've taken pause several times over the last almost five years of blogging. The first time came when one of my pictures was stolen by a forum rampant with pimply 12-year-olds with internet muscles. It nearly wrecked my family vacation when that happened. However, I didn't take it lying down. I fought back and eventually everything related to me was removed and I received a written apology.
I read with horror a few months ago, when a picture from Heather's blog of her deceased daughter, ended up on the computer of a child predator overseas. She was notified by authorities and it was a moment that I'm sure probably shook her to her core.
Yesterday I received a comment on my blog regarding a post I put up years ago when my self-tanner and I decided we weren't going to get along. The pictures that accompanied that post were crucial to the overall post. One picture featured the bottom of my foot, stained indefinitely with self tanner. It was a funny post and it took a lot of guts for me to even take a picture of my feet. Personally, I can't stand feet, even when they're mine. This is the comment I received on a recent post yesterday. Comments on individual posts close two weeks after the post goes live:
your feet in *that* post are great. I cant believe you blocked the comments. anyways I now added them to "collection". u should post more.
I guess I thought the person was kidding, so I joked back that I was happy to see their IP address was in the UK. The first rule of self defense, after all, is creating distance. I felt secure in that distance being a giant ocean. It's a creepy comment.
And then today, a second comment:
Do not fear woman, I actually live in the US I just use Proxies. You should be smart enough to know that what goes online stays online. I actually found the site thanks to a popular foot forum. I do offer my compliments. It is a very nice foot.
It's certainly a friendly enough comment, but it gave me pause. First, my picture (or I should say, another one of my pictures) has been added to a site without my approval. Second, the distance that I took comfort in before, is no longer there. Third, Hannibal Lecter was kind of charming in a polite but scary kind of way too. It is a stark reminder for me, that not all those who frequent this website are here because they are interested in me, my life or my writing. Not all are here because we've bonded through martial arts, raising daughters, or going through a torn ACL. Some readers are just interested in pictures of my feet, maybe my face, or God forbid, the rare picture that I post of one of my children.
So what's a blogger to do? Heather installed a Word Press plug-in that I really wish my blogging platform would offer. Perhaps a transfer to a blogging platform that allows me to do this is in order. However, moving almost 1000 posts from one site to another seems daunting and overwhelming. How does one even do that?
There's also the option of password protecting my entire site. However, how does one manage the permissions? What if some crazy person has been pretending to be a nice little reader all along when in reality they have a bulletin board of pictures of me somewhere in a dark closet? I'd also be giving up the ad revenue that this site generates. Although it's not much, it is something and it does help our family.
Perhaps I should relax a bit. When I told Mr. BBM over the phone about the comments, he laughed hysterically. "It's not funny!" I told him. "What do you think these people are DOING with that picture of my foot?" He got quiet then too; but then reassured me that it was simply a picture of my foot. Maybe I should relax about it a bit.
But then again, it's a picture of one of my body parts and it's been used without my permission, on a website forum where I would never frequent. It feels dirty and wrong. I don't like it one bit; and I'm considering all options that might make me feel better.
Stick a Fork in Me. . . I’m Charred
Writing, working out and karate are all therapy for me. It can be challenging to find time for these three things in my life, but when I don’t there is a big difference in how I feel. I realized last night that for the past few weeks, I haven’t been writing nearly enough. I haven’t gone to the gym. . . at all. I can’t even fathom when I can fit karate back into my crazy family schedule. Something needs to change.
I’ve now spent a year of my life on the board of directors at our local swimming and dining club. To say that it has been frustrating and that we have had struggles is a gross understatement. Yesterday was our annual membership meeting and only about 10% of our members actually showed up. As I sat at the front of the room and looked around, I didn’t see very many friendly faces.
Some nice things were said about the job we’re doing, but I heard the criticism. Some of our older demographic didn’t like the way I did the membership cards (the ones I had only a couple weeks to throw together with little help). The previous secretary threw a hissy fit because we retyped her minutes from last year (since the ones she provided were printed out with a toner on its last legs) and put them in a smaller font so that we could fit it on the front and back of one piece of paper instead of printing out four pieces of paper per person. She attacked me before the meeting, spitting my name at me as if it is a dirty word, while I calmly explained font size and paper usage to her before telling her that if she wanted to continue to discuss it, we could do so at a later date. I simply didn’t have the time to get into a pissing match over a font size; and frankly, if you're going to raise your voice at me about a font size, you have issues.
Instead of letting it go, she made a point of raising her hand as soon as the meeting had started. She then explained to the entire ballroom that she could not certify that these were indeed her minutes since we had changed the font size and there was one minor typo. My friends and neighbors in the audience shot me wide-eyed looks of disbelief. I just smiled. It was either that or throw my shoe at her. I chose to try to stay calm.
Throughout the meeting, various groups gave their reports and they were met with great applause. But when a sub-group in our organization, one that actually made money this year, gave their report? No applause. When I reported that we gained over 100 new members for the first time in over three years? No applause. Something just didn't seem right.
When the membership card issue came up, one woman was beyond angry that her first name was not on the card. Her last name and address were not sufficient enough for her. I explained the reason we had to create the cards in this way, about how our new computer system needed to have husband and wife consolidated under one account instead of each person having their own. I would have had better luck convincing a brick wall. Another woman raised her hand and said that there are many people with her last name so how would we know it was her and not someone else. I calmly stated, "Your address is also on the card."
I began secretly praying that someone would put me out of my misery if I ever become the person who stands up at a meeting, furious that the membership card that I never use anyway (because no one ever requests them and because our computer system knows the names of everyone anyway) doesn't have my first name on it.
When the meeting was over, Mr. BBM came up to me and asked me what I would like him to prepare at home for dinner (since I was heading to the private board meeting where we choose officers, of which I am still one of them). I told him "wine." He said, "No seriously. . . " and I said, "No seriously, wine."
I came home last night and did some serious thinking. I have two years left on my "sentence" and I'm going to try to make the best of it. I'm hopeful that we have some new board members who will step up and spend time volunteering the way only a handful of us already on the board do. However, I am beyond disappointed and frustrated with the fact that three of the people who were running for the board and didn't make it were three people who have spent tons of time volunteering and helping out at the club. To them, I'm sure it felt like a slap in the face. It feels that way to me too, except more like a punch in the gut followed by a palm heel to the nose.
I've also decided that I need to step back a bit. I need to put me and my family first again. I am burnt out beyond belief and when I think about the amount of hours I have put into this club and those stupid membership cards and all the flack I took yesterday, it just makes me sick. Let those people make the membership cards next year. If they have time to complain about their first name not being on the card, then they can surely spend some time doing the mindless nonsense that I did for the past few weeks.
I am burnt out beyond belief and I am just hoping that I can make it through these next two years without needing anxiety or blood pressure medication. I'm going to start trying to remedy this with a little medication in the form of some heavy bag therapy today. I so need it.
One Eye Roll Too Many
The curse of death for any board meeting is the phrase, "Tonight's meeting should be a quick one." It never quite happens like that. This week is a crazy week for me and I didn't count on spending four hours in a meeting on a Monday night. That will frustrate the living daylights out of any normal person, let alone a very stressed out one.
I get frustrated at these meetings for several reasons. First, although I am the secretary on the board and therefore an officer, sometimes I get treated more like a secretary in an office building. Half way through the meeting last night, I had a list with at least seven "to do" items on it. I may be the Secretary, but some people seem to think that I'm their secretary. It gets really annoying. I am hoping that on Sunday, after the election, I can get rid of the secretary title and can just be a regular run-of-the-mill board member.
Another reason I get frustrated is because there's only a handful of people on the board who volunteer and do things to help out, while there is another faction that graces us with their presence once a month at the meeting to complain that the fish at the club is mushy. It would be fine if the mushy fish statement would bea simple statement, like a thesis statement, perhaps. But these statements tend to be more like tirades, diatribes really. We have one board member in particular who is quite talented at taking one sentence worth of information and weaving it into a good 20 minutes of the exact same sentence, just worded slightly different (or sometimes not at all different).
When you have a pile of papers to grade at home and you know you have to wake up at 6:30 to be on campus for your 8 a.m. class the next day, you don't need the world's longest speech about mushy fish.
The frustrating thing that sent me over the edge last night came in the form of a dramatic eye roll directed at me, before I was even able to finish my statement. What happened afterward can only be described as an out of body experience. After being subjected to months of eye rolls, dirty looks, growls and other nonsense from this particular woman, I just completely snapped.
I don't remember everything I said. I know I started off with something like, "Don't you roll your eyes at me!" to which she barked at me that she hadn't and then I basically called her on the table and told her she was a liar and that she had indeed rolled her eyes at me. I felt like I was scolding a child who was talking back to me. I have a feeling she never knew what hit her.
When I was finished with my outburst I apologized to the board for my outburst, but added that "it needed to be said."
It did. No one defended the eye rolling woman. I did get a couple looks of approval from other board members who were probably thinking it was about time that someone said what I said.
I thought a lot about my outburst during the rest of the meeting. I contemplated whether or not I should approach her after the meeting and apologize for yelling. I'm just completely overwhelmed and frustrated with how much I had to do this week. I thought about explaining that to her and how it makes me feel when she sits there rolling her eyes at me. And then I decided against it. She has treated me like absolute dirt since she met me. She hates me because I'm young and outspoken. She hates me because I want to make the club more family friendly and she would rather sip her happy hour drink without my children being there for dinner. In a word, it's hopeless.
It's not like I go around telling people off on a regular basis; but I certainly know how to do it when it's well deserved. Some people need a wake-up call to snap them out of their madness. I don't know if what I said will have any impact on her at all. I do know that she didn't say a whole lot after I went off on her. I probably saved us all another 20 minutes worth of more mushy fish tirade though. If that's the case, that alone was worth it.
After the meeting, another board member came up to me in private and said that she wishes she could speak the way I do. I told her I hadn't the foggiest idea of most of what I'd said. She assured me that I hadn't done any swearing and that I was just firm and professional, while strongly putting that woman in her place. I was relieved to hear this, because I was worried I looked like a crazy lunatic who had completely lost it. I'm sure the woman I was directing it at thinks the latter. That's fine by me.
I tolerate a lot from people; I really do. But I have my limits and I have no problem telling people where to stick it when it's deserved.
My husband doesn't call me the verbal machine gun for nothing.
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