Of course I fully understand that rejection is a part of life. And as I stated before, I realize it makes me stronger. In fact, I have been known to take rejection and use it to motivate me. The word ‘quit’ is not a part of my general vocabulary, so when I take a punch I generally brush it off, get back on my feet, and press forward.

But, there are times when the getting back up part becomes extra difficult. I’ve been working toward getting my first novel published, and the number of no’s far exceeds the number of potential interests. Every once in a while the ‘quit’ word flashes inside my head, and I start to wonder if that is the most viable option. It might be but I probably will never know, because let’s face it, I can’t quit.

On the flip side, I understand that to get my books published, I might have to publish them myself. And that takes money, and to get money one must get a job. For those of you looking, I get it. The job market is tough. Rejection rears its nasty head around every corner. And it’s incredibly easy to succumb to the negativity, to simply let the oil take over and drown out all of your good and noteworthy characteristics. But succumbing can’t be the answer. To give up means to relinquish who you are, and that just isn’t right or acceptable.

Rejection is tough. We get rejected by lovers, by employers, by friends, in school, in our jobs, in life. It can beat us down to the point where we stop believing in ourselves, and our sense of purpose becomes a blank feeling of emptiness. We wonder not just what our next move should be, but if we can even muster the strength to make that next move.

I wish I had a tried and true answer for the ‘best way to pick up the pieces and push through rejection’. I wish I could say that every time I cross the dastardly beast I don’t give it a second glance. But that’s not the case. Sometimes it feels like rejection is winning, like it’s taking over and drowning out the me that I keep striving to push upward. Sometimes the oil is so thick that the vinegar gets shoved to the side, like an afterthought, or worse like it’s a single drop in a large vat of grease.

But then I seek solace. I surround myself with my husband, with my family, with my friends, with those who believe. I take a time out and concentrate on the good and on my achievements. And then I make a plan. And with one step, one drop of vinegar at a time, I fill back up. And slowly, sometimes very slowly, the flavors even out and the vinegar starts to come back through. It takes courage, it takes strength, and it takes the will to omit the word ‘quit’ from you vocabulary, no matter how inane things might seem.

So I will take rejection. Sometimes I will use it as a catalyst toward improvement, sometimes I will work beside it to achieve my end goals, and sometimes I will struggle to keep my head above it as it strives to overtake me and wipe me out. But I will always rise to the top and bring that tangy flavor that makes up who I am right along with me.

With the downed lines darkness and total silence filled our home as every light, every appliance, our heater, and our pump died. I lit several candles and my husband got a fire going in our fireplace. With nothing else to do we sat in the dark and enjoyed a glass of wine.  No big deal, we would soon be headed off to bed and I figured our home would be back to normal by morning.

By the time the power came back on at around ten a.m. I felt somewhat abashed by my reliance on it. Without electricity we not only lost our lights and the ability to maintain a cold refrigerator, but we were also without our computers, our telephones, our coffee pot, and our source of heat.  Additionally my husband and I have a waterbed which gets very cold when the power is off for more than a couple of hours and by morning the chill of the bed had set in. And to top it off we live in the country where we utilize a well. No electricity equals no water and no water equals no way to flush the toilet.  We do however, have a small generator. My husband started it when he got up. He used it to power a light in his office, one phone, his computer, and fortunately for me – our coffeepot.

In the gray of the morning I pulled myself out of our frigid waterbed, threw on some warm clothes and then proceeded to walk my dogs, sip hot coffee, fold a load of laundry, and actually pick up the newspaper.  Any of my usual morning rituals could not be accomplished. My cell phone was dead and I had no internet.  I couldn’t check emails or Facebook, I couldn’t shower, I couldn’t do any leftover dishes, I didn’t have a radio, and I couldn’t run the vacuum or iron or use the sewing machine. Okay, I really didn’t want to do any of the latter.

There is no doubt that I take our modern lifestyle for granted. That morning I had to get the fire going in order to warm up and I had absolutely no connection to the outside world.  To get my morning exercise in I had to take my dogs out in the winter weather and run them. I couldn’t take a jog on the treadmill or join Billy Blanks and his TaeBo workout team on the DVD.  If the power had remained off all day I would have been forced to hand write my blog for future upload and after completing that task I would have had to find something else to do to engage my brain and accomplish my goals.

Our modern world certainly is not a bad thing. In fact I thoroughly love all of my modern conveniences. But I think it can become a detriment, a crutch instead of a tool, when we allow the modern world to control us instead of controlling it.  The manner in which some of us take today’s lifestyle for granted and allow ourselves to become engrossed in it disturbs me. I hear many people complain that their children don’t know how to run around outside and play house and make-believe and come up with creative games. They worry that today’s kids spend all of their time in front of a computer or a television or a gaming system. But I wonder how many of us adults do the same thing.

I wonder how we’d function if all of us lost our electricity for a week, or even for two. If we wanted to talk to friends we’d have to go and see them in person, if we wanted to write we’d have to pick up a pencil and paper, in our down time we’d have to converse with our spouse or read a book or get outside and take walk or go to the mountains or the ocean or a park.  It would certainly be a very different experience for all of us.

Think about it. Consider what you would no longer be able to do and how you would have to compensate. How much are you engrossed in our modern world? Is it controlling you or are you controlling it?  I’m making no judgment, it just makes me wonder. And, at least for this one day, it makes me appreciate.

Twenty years ago, when I held and fed and diapered our first baby, it never crossed my mind that my children would be getting married while they were in their first two years of college.  Yet here we are today – in the midst of planning a wedding this summer and another for next spring – one getting married at the ripe age of twenty, and the other at nineteen. And I confess, I’m feeling more than a bit out of sorts.

The crazy thing is that my mind keeps flashing back to images of my kids as little girls. I’m continually seeing them in pigtails with dresses that extend like parachutes as they spin around and around in giggle filled circles. In fact the other day I went gown shopping with my oldest daughter, and I couldn’t help it – nearly every time she came out of the dressing room in a bridal dress I didn’t see a twenty year old. I saw my daughter, my child, smiling and laughing and playing dress-up with her little sister. I saw my ballerina excited to dance in The Nutcracker and learning how to pirouette on her toes. I saw a six year old climbing all over her dad, and I saw a sixteen year old driving away on her own for the first time.  But when she settled on a dress, I saw a beautiful young woman ready to embark on the greatest adventure of her life.   

For the most part my kids just don’t seem old enough to break away from my apron strings.  Their time here at home doesn’t feel like it should be over. But when I take a moment to really look at them, and I put my own ego aside, I see that they are well prepared and that it’s their time to fly.  And then if I’m still not sure? I only have to look in the mirror. The middle aged woman with a few extra wrinkles and strands of gray hair says it all – time has moved right along and I’ve moved right along with it.

I’m sure that my emotions will continue to feel like they are in a state of perpetual movement for some time. But I know that I will eventually sort myself out. So here’s to all of us middle-aged folks and to our kids.  May we release you with confidence and may you step into the world of adulthood filled with our love and support and the knowledge that no matter what – we’re still here.  And while you’re at it, please forgive our craziness.  Someday you too will experience what it feels like to have an emotional enema.

And – a little plug for my youngest and her fiancé. They have submitted an entry to receive a free engagement photo shoot.  Please go to the following site, click on their picture (they are the couple wearing hats and standing in the snow), scroll to the bottom of their story and click ‘Like’. The deadline is January 15^th. Thanks!

Vote Here for Chad and Jessica! 

My girls are at the 18 to 20 year old age.  And so far their behavior is right on cue. When they are as old as me, my guess is that they too will remember feeling terribly independent and a bit self-important during this period of their lives.  A few years back they were in the midst of that awkward stage of adolescence and the dramas that play out in middle school and high school. During that time they butted heads with us and pushed at the walls of discipline. Both girls attempted various displays of self-expression and independence, and I know that they have strong memories of those times.

All of these stages of life bring about a real mixed bag of emotions for me as a parent. Some days I’m thrilled out of my mind for them.  They are happy and free and full of a passion for life that for most of us only exists during those almost twenty and twenty-something years. They believe in some kind of new-found knowledge that only young adults of those ages possess, and with that they believe they can change the world.  Deep down they have fears and worries and uncertainties, but they strive to push those concerns as far away as possible and assure us, their ‘meddling’ parents, that they know exactly what they are doing and why. And for all of the above reasons, I am also sometimes filled with fear and worry and an occasional bout of anger, because I’ve been there, and I remember.

Lately I’ve been thinking about the 1960’s and 70’s, more specifically the civil rights movement and the protests against the Vietnam War. I grew up primarily in the 70’s so I did not experience those events in person, but I do recall very vividly many of the images I saw in classes I took in high school and college. What strikes me is the passion of the youth at the time.  Those who protested the war and stood up for the rights of our African American neighbors were most often young adults fresh out of high school and on into their mid-twenties.  They were invincible, they believed they had all of the answers, and they struck out to make a difference.

It’s an exciting time, that ten or so year period right after high school. In some ways I envy that time in my own life, the way I felt, the strength of my own convictions, the assuredness I had that I could bring value to the world.  But I’m not sure I saw life in real terms. Five years still felt like an eternity, the struggles of third world nations seemed easily resolved if people would just ‘listen’ and ‘do the right thing’, and in many respects the world still revolved around me.

Now I’m older, hopefully a bit wiser, and I’m still a believer and a dreamer, just a bit more realistic about both.  As I stated before, my passions and my enthusiasm have matured. And I know my kids are diving into this segment of their lives with similar passion and courage and enthusiasm that I did at their age.  They will set out to make a difference and to leave their mark on the world. And like many of us older folks they will achieve at least a portion of those goals and will hopefully remember and carry some of that youthful fervor with them on into their thirties and forties and beyond. That is my wish for all kids of that age – make sure you remember.  And if my own girls are reading this – I sure do love you guys.

I’ve always loved the mountains, more specifically when I go to the mountains in the winter to ski. As a little kid my family and I did a great deal of skiing at Steamboat Springs in Colorado.  When I first learned the sport the area had just a handful of lifts, and we often didn’t have to wait in line. Consequently the runs were not jam-packed with skiers. The mountains and the snow and the trees and the wildlife far outnumbered the human aspect. I think that’s when my nearly symbiotic relationship with snow and mountains and the concept of strapping two boards to my feet developed.

Over the last few years I have stowed away a wealth of wintry memories into the many files of my mind. I have enjoyed the early morning and sometimes late night trips over the mountain. The mornings and evenings with barely another vehicle on the snow packed highway, with snowflakes hitting the windshield of my car like feathers of down that have been spilt out of a huge blanket in the sky. On those trips when no one else is around the snow looks pure – unsoiled by the chaos of the city.  Sometimes I even roll down my window and let the cold winter air fill the car. The scent of pine and the cool smell of freshly fallen snow hit my nostrils and I can’t help but smile.

When I’m on the mountain my favorite time occurs when only a handful of people are on the slopes. I especially enjoy it when the area is covered in freshly fallen powder and the only sound I can hear is the swish of the snow as I make one carve after the other.  It’s then that I really soak up the mountain, and the replenishment of my spirit takes place. Bit by bit I let go. And bit by bit my body, my mind, and my soul relax and find solace. For me, that’s the sweet spot, that’s my sanctuary, my nirvana.

My husband has a similar place of rejuvenation. He too goes to the mountains, but instead of strapping two boards onto his feet he sits over the top of a motor and rides on two wheels.  For him, a motorcycle provides spiritual and mental freedom. He loves to travel along wilderness trails, drive over steep and sometimes muddy terrain, plow through trees and puddles, and push himself to the point where he is teetering on the edge between safety and danger. When he returns home I know he’s found his refuge. His step is lighter and the smile on his face can’t be erased.

These places, these havens that provide us with that ever-so indispensable brush with nirvana, are essential to our well-being.  And it doesn’t matter where your place resides – in a book, in a church, in a quiet moment with a cup of coffee on your living room couch, in a garden, at a spa, on a ski slope, or with a fly rod in the middle of the river – where ever you need to go in order to rejuvenate and return to your life with renewed vigor and determination is good.  The important thing is to go there. Go there for you, and go there for your family and friends – just make sure you take the time and go.

As a little kid I totally believed in Santa – hands down no questions asked. Although in hindsight I now realize that the man generally visited our house at some rather odd hours. I vaguely remember a couple of years when my parents dropped my brothers and me off at our grandparents house on Christmas Eve where we’d play games, read stories, and anxiously await the arrival of Mr. Claus and his eight prancing reindeer.  My parents always had some place to go, and at some ambiguously prearranged time our grandparents would load us up in their old brown station wagon and tote us home. Of course Mom and Dad were already there and somehow, someway, Santa had come and gone.  Christmas morning didn’t come with Santa gifts, since we got those the night before. Instead, we played with our toys, watched the Christmas Parades on TV, and later in the day ate a huge dinner of Turkey and mashed potatoes.

And then there were the other years when we only opened family gifts on Christmas Eve, and Santa and his reindeer showed up while we slept all snuggled up in our beds.  Those nights I found it hard to go to drift off into dreamland. I desperately wanted to catch the chubby man in the red suit and pet all of his reindeer.  I just knew they were soft and cute and that they would love me and Santa would think I was the most adorable little girl in the world.  But, I never did see him or his four-legged friends. I did hear them on the roof one night (I swear I did!) and we always had presents from him in the morning along with stockings stuffed full of candy and assorted treats, but that was the extent of my contact.

Of course these days we all see Santa Claus everywhere we go once Thanksgiving is over.  He sometimes hangs out at the entrance to a major shopping store ringing a bell and shouting “Ho, Ho, Ho”, he’s inside the mall greeting young children in Toyland, he shows up at parties and parades and a whole slew of holiday events.  Pictures and replicas of our white bearded friend can be found in every store and in most advertisements.  Endless movies have been made with him as the star and songs that boast of Santa and his holiday cheer serenade us everywhere we go.

But none of that is the Santa I believe in, and really – it never was.  When I think back to my childhood fantasy, my faith had more to do with a belief in something good and accepting and unblemished by worldly chaos.  Santa and Mrs. Claus and the elves and the North Pole and Rudolph and all of the reindeer and the trees and decorations and lights – all of that has to do with faith.  About faith in each other and the goodness that resides within, and for me it’s about faith in God and faith in the birth of Christ.

As I work at home during the month of December among my ridiculously oversized Christmas tree (17.5 feet) and all of our decorations, or head off to the store to run errands or shop for Christmas presents, I can’t help but feel a twinge of hope and a bit of joy.  And I see the same in the faces of so many of those I meet.  Something about this time of year helps to bring down some of those defenses we work so hard to erect during the other eleven months. Sure there are the grinches and the grumps of the season, but mostly I run across people who are helping each other, people who are chatting and laughing idly as they wait in the check-out line, folks sharing shopping secrets and asking for an opinion excited to give a gift no matter how small. And more importantly I see children running around, if just for a moment, without a care in the world and with a twinkle in their eyes.  And that’s Santa.  So yes, I believe.  We have to, or at least I do.  And maybe this year I’ll catch him next to our tree and get the chance to pet his reindeer!

Merry Christmas.

First off I am not one of those summer-time Christmas shoppers.  I’ve known a few of ‘those’ over the years. These are shoppers I have defined as The Early Birds, and they really pretty much annoy the heck out of me. As Thanksgiving rolls around these people tend to brag about the fact that their holiday shopping is not only done, but in fact was completed months before.  I often wonder – how do they know what to get people for Christmas in the middle of June?  And what kind of things are they buying? I can only guess – beach towels, flip flops, clothes and toys that the kids have out grown.  No, I don’t get it.  And it surely can’t be fun, the Christmas spirit isn’t around in June.

And then there is the Grab and Go shopper, as defined by my aunt and my husband.  If I put myself in the right mindset I can usually manage shopping with these people, although I rarely do any buying.  Just a few days ago I did a bit of Christmas shopping with my Aunt.  Somehow she knows what she wants before she heads out, or has a good idea. And when she arrives at the store she walks in with full determination and confidence, grabs the aforementioned item, pays for it, and leaves. And my husband does the same.  If the store includes a cart he simply takes to the aisles and drops merchandise in as he goes. I’m not sure he even stops to check out a size or a color. Yep, the Grab and Go shopper does not hesitate. I don’t think they even engage their brain when they shop. They can be fun to watch, amusing really. But in my opinion, I think they’re missing out.

The third kind of shopper is the Procrastinator. My husband fits right into this category too.  He doesn’t even realize it’s Christmas time until the 24^th of December. Oh sure, he helps us get the tree up and sees it daily right along with all of my lights and decorations, but I really don’t think any of the holiday spirit registers until the day before. On the 24^th he can be found wandering the aisles of any one of our local discount stores filling his cart with whatever items remain on the shelves. Usually gifts from him are terribly practical like Tupperware, lotion, food items, or any kind of tool or kitchen gadget.  This kind of shopping would never work for me – way too much stress and way too little thinking.

Finally we have the last shopping technique – The Browser.  And yes, this is me. And because I am a Browser I only like to shop at Christmas or for my kid’s birthdays.  After all, the act of browsing requires a great deal of thinking, hours of store hopping, the checking and comparing of prices and colors and styles, and of course time to enjoy and bask in the spirit of the season. The gifts, the wrapping, the decorations all have to be as perfect as possible, and this can take a lot out of a person!  I know the Browser is not well liked by the Grab and Go shopper and generally not very much appreciated by the Procrastinator. My aunt and my husband can attest to this.  But it’s okay. I’m totally comfortable with who I am and my shopping persona, even if it does drive people I love a bit crazy and makes them wonder what’s wrong with me.

The Christmas Shopper truly is a unique individual.  Each of us steps into the shopping arena with our mood of the moment and with our shopping style.  Some of you may wander back and forth, testing out all four of Shelley’s Sagacious Slants Shopping Techniques, but in the end, I think we all tend to gravitate toward one that we favor over the rest.  Personally I think the Browser is the only shopper that can fully embrace the Christmas spirit, and I know that those of you who aren’t Browsers prefer not to shop with me. I don’t mind, I can shop alone. I’ll love you all anyway, and there will just be more out there in the world of shopping for me to enjoy.

Rationality requires prudence and orderliness and purpose.  It causes one to search for logic in the craziest of situations. But let’s be honest, sometimes it’s okay for common sense to get tossed out of the window and allow crazy to come on in. Like when we got married. My husband to be and I were poor college students who paid for our own wedding. And I went out and purchased an $800.00 wedding dress. That definitely lacked reason. But I wanted that dress, and to this day I’m thoroughly pleased with the choice I made. I also know that this year the erecting of a seventeen foot plus Christmas tree in my house is utterly ridiculous.  Decorating it presented quite the challenge and getting it inside provided us with some serious practice in problem solving. But, the tree is pretty impressive and my kids love it. The emotional appeal and the happiness on their faces sealed the deal for me.

And I do understand that on occasion my emotional outbursts and my tendency to worry aren’t always reasonable. Sometimes I’m irritable just because, sometimes I cry at the most inane television commercial or song on the radio, occasionally my husband can hurt my feelings at the drop of a hat, and once in a while I’m bursting with love and joyfulness without any explanation.  I also know that I worry about my kid’s health, their happiness, their safety, their schooling, their finances, and so on even though I cannot control any of these items and my worry is not doing anybody any good. These concerns can haunt my dreams and the irrational side of my brain no matter how hard I try to suppress them. It’s just the way it is.

And honestly, the irony of this whole notion that the female of a relationship is the only irrational one cracks me up. My husband has engaged in quite a range of activities that lack any common sense whatsoever. Years ago at a college party he and another guy thought that it would be a good idea to head butt.  His friend grabbed him, smacked his forehead into my husband’s, and promptly popped his own skin open to the point where blood spurted all over the carpet and the guy required a trip to the hospital and multiple stitches.  I just don’t see how that could be described as rational!

My father-in-law, as a young college student, along with a couple of buddies decided to push a small airplane onto the lawn of the Dean’s house in the middle of the night.  And that made sense why? And then there is my own father, who in High School, joined his friends in disassembling a small car outside in the parking lot and reassembling it inside the school on the second floor landing.  Once again I am stumped. Both of these men have been known to deem females as irrational. I really don’t get their logic.

Rationality, order, logic, level-headedness – I suppose it’s all good in theory and often in practice. But if we followed those rules without deviation we really wouldn’t have any of those wonderful stories to tell, our emotions would be rather staid, and the silliness of life would dissipate into nonexistence.  Boring.  There’s a time and place for everything – and I say bring it on.  Be careful how you do it, but let go every once in a while, lighten up, and enjoy a little nonsense and a touch of folly.  After all, logic and rationale will only get you so far.

Simple, random, spontaneous displays of appreciation – what a wonderful and relatively easy way to lift the spirit and warm the heart of someone.  Makes me think.  Makes me think of those who have zipped in and out of my life over the years, the wonderful family and friends who currently touch my little world, and the people who I will meet in the future. Each person leaves me with a blessing, causes me to learn a little bit more about myself, more about our world, and for me – each one brings me that much closer to God.

Those of us here in America will soon be celebrating Thanksgiving.  Most will surround ourselves with family and friends – some whom we adore and some whom we find a little nutty. We will stuff ourselves with a nearly ridiculous amount of food, and we will play games, watch football, engage in good and not so good conversation, and participate in a host of crazy traditions that we find we absolutely must carry on whether they’re worthy or not.  As we sit down to a table full of turkey and ham and mashed potatoes and Grandma’s famous cranberry sauce and the stuffing that no one eats – most of us will take a moment to share our thanks.

Of course I won’t see most of you on Thanksgiving, and I know I’m not always good at letting you know how much I do appreciate you and how deeply you touch my life.  My husband’s act of a simple phone call, a few words expressed with sincerity and affection, lifted my spirit and brought about the theme for this blog. And I know I won’t be able to get all of this out when we sit down for dinner at our house and it’s my turn to share. So, here are my thanks:

Thank you…

To my husband – for your sense of humor and your support and encouragement, for never ever giving up on me, for loving me unconditionally, for the simplicity of being you.

To my kids – for your inspiration, for your hearts that have infinite depth and your spirits that reach out and touch everyone around you, for the connection I have with both of you that I will never have with anyone else, for being my little girls.

To my to-be son’s-in-law – for your faith in God, for your faith in my girls, for your open hearts and open minds, for the good families and friends who raised you.

To my extended family – for believing in me when I didn’t, for holding my hand when I needed it to be held, for carrying me when I needed to be carried, and for still being here.

To my female friends – for coming into my life when I needed you, for making me laugh and smile, for inspiring me to be a better person, and for movies and lunches and dinners and yoga and wine and skiing and Tahoe and walks and golf and childhood memories and the incredible act of friendship.

And to all of those who touch my life whether you’re a ski patroller, a fellow writer or blogger, a facebook buddy, or just an new or old friend  – Thank you all for bringing your smiles and your encouragement and your joy of living into my life. Thank you for teaching me a more about myself every time I’m with you or every time I read your words. Thank you for all of your gifts and for your willingness to share them.

Happy Thanksgiving

Most of my greatness occurs when I’m alone in the car, especially when my drive is longer than fifteen minutes – not unusual for where I live. And the talent of the moment is dependent upon my mood and my current life circumstances.  The writing and communicating and skiing usually are a result of a recent incident or an upcoming event. Especially if I’ve just sent my novel to a publisher, or I’ve got to sit down with someone and hash out a difficult problem. Or, on the flip side, my trip to excellence happens after I have tackled a tricky issue and I’m now obsessed with reviewing the conversation with the person and coming up with all of the great and motivating things I should have said.

But a good eighty percent of the time, my gift is not any of the above mentioned aptitudes.  Generally when I’m in the car the radio gets cranked as loud as possible without blowing out my eardrums, and my vocal cords strive to reach the same caliber as singers and bands such as ZZ Top, Big and Rich, Sugarland, and Alison Krauss.  I pay no attention whatsoever to whether or not I’m on key, instead I let the music fill me and I bellow the words to my heart’s content.

And I know I’m not alone in these bursts of stardom.  I can’t count the number of times I’ve pulled up to a stop light only to glimpse the man or woman next to me totally enwrapped in a concert of their own.  Smiles, tears, anger, love, heartache,… one of those emotions is often written all over the faces of my automotive neighbors as the song in their car is turning them into an amazing singer who can capture the hearts of the masses.

In many respects our alone time really should help us to increase our focus, boost our confidence, and even delve into our emotional and ever-so-

slightly irrational side where glory and adoration reside.  That’s the beauty of that time we spend by ourselves, no matter how we spend it. For me, and for many of my roadway buddies, it’s often all about the song.   And I say good for you and good for me – let the singing commence.

Now I gotta go – my car and my fan club await me.