Ya know those times when you wish you would have just stayed in bed? Yesterday was that day for me. The first few hours were uneventful, spent house cleaning, emailing, ect... but then the tide turned.
Steve comes home from work daily hot and tired, so I decided to save him some work and attempt to mow the yard. Hey, I have spent many hours mowing, this is not a big task plus my yard is quite small. I didn't get 10 feet in the first swath and a rock (or a stick or some other projectile) came zinging out of the mower right into my leg. Yes, I was wearing shorts. Yes, I know that is wrong. Yes, I am an idiot with a bruise the size of a quarter on my leg.
So I pouted a while and went out to the back yard to catch up on some renagade weeds growing in my garden. Not a big deal at all until Wham! something black was on my arm and it felt like fire. Little did I know a bunch of wasps had chosen to make my fence into low-rent condos while I was gone. Bastards. Screw the weeds. They will wait.
Ok, it is about lunch time. I have had a really shitty morning. Fully entrenched in the moron zone, I decide to BBQ. Now, any sane person would take into account the type of day it had been so far but do I? Oh hell no. I am invincible! I shall now play with fire! Well, all was going as planned and I had a batch of red-hot coals in the Weber chimney, carefully (so so carefully) I dumped them in the BBQ and carried it to a place that heat would not bother. Good, right? Almost. As I was walking back to my trusty outdoor cooking device, little did I know my briquette chimney had rained little tiny (or not so tiny) embers all the way across my path. I had bare feet. You can guess the rest.
Here is a good piece of info to stack away however. Did you know that well calloused feet don't blister? They get sore as shit, but no blisters in site. Just in case anyone ever asks how to walk on hot coals.
Wednesday, August 24, 2005
Tuesday, August 23, 2005
Memories
Sunset at Harris Beach Oregon.
View of Hood from my seat on the plane.
Surf games with the brothers and the granddaughters.
Unfortunately, I won't post anything with recognizable faces... too many freaks on the net hunting for innocence, but these three pics are just a taste of heaven in the Northwest.
Saturday, August 20, 2005
Trippin'
I planned it. I bought the tickets before they were off the phone that night. It essentially was my fault we were going... good or bad. I knew I would have to live with the outcome. The scariest part is the unknown. People can be one way on the phone, and entirely different face to face. That is the part that just freaked me out.
John and Steve have been down the road, so to speak. There was so much anger built up that started years and years ago. It has been out of control on both sides for a long time. A struggling parent deals with a headstrong willful child and challenges will always be there. In hindsight, it is because they are sooooooo much alike. It is almost like they are a clone instead of different people.
Steve and his son have been getting back in touch with each other over the phone for about a year now. They have talked about a lot of different things over the phone... hours and hours and hours. It was good. Sometimes it was not so good. But they kept talking. I did not talk to John. I was on the outside watching this budding relationship grow. It was a positive thing to see, but feeling part of John's anger was initially directed at me I was not sure really where I stood in the big picture.
I had heard so many things over the years from the family. Some of them were true. Some of them were just pure bullshit.
"John is straight up. You will always know where you stand with him, even if you don't like it." (True.)
"John wants retribution on you. Don't ever get in a place where you are alone with him." (Bullshit.)
"John hates women." (Big bullshit.)
"John is the neatest kid you will ever meet." (True)
and the list goes on and on. 90% of the crap I was fed was bullshit.
The days leading up to our trip to Oregon got harder and harder for me. It is easier I guess to take in the negative comments. Anyway, those were the ones shouting at me loudest. Little tiny insignificant crap that happens on a daily basis in life became magnified into monumental issues. I held up a tough facade because I didn't want to share with Steve how scared I really was. That only made things worse for myself. What a dipshit.
I got on the plane in KC with my stomach in knots. We didn't have a car rented on the other end. John insisted he and Melanie pick us up. We were scheduled to go camping for a few days on the coast. If it all went to hell in a handbasket we were screwed.
As we landed in Salt Lake, my knotted stomach became stone. I would have gladly payed out the ass and bought a ticket to anywhere else. Anywhere but Portland, Oregon.
As we landed in Portland, I knew I was going to have a heart attack at any moment. Everything I had consumed in the last week was knocking at my tonsils. Did I really have to deplane????? Can't I just sit here a while longer???
We walked down the concourse. No John. Steve can't see him anywhere. Oh shit. I reach back to get the cell phone and I heard a man say, "So are you going to just walk past us or what?"
Oh my god. This is real.
John reached for his dad and gave him a big hug. Melanie, his fiance, hugs Steve too. They have spent many hours on the phone as well. I have never spoken to either of them. Ian is being very quiet. My little psychic baby can feel the tension in us.
John said hello to me and I stuck out my quivering clammy hand to shake. He reached over (in a classic "Steven" move) and gave me a bear hug. What??? My mind is spinning.
So we set off to fetch our camping gear we had flown out, find their car, and mosey to Roseburg where they live. It gave Mel and I time to talk on the way. I discovered there is another woman in the world that is like me. It is uncanny the things we have in common... besides Howell men. Mel and I have been relatives in a former life... that much is obvious.
We stayed up until wee hours of the morning the first night, just getting to know each other. We laughed, talked, drank, and connected in a very special way. It was going very well, but I knew there were some topics still to come up eventually that would either make or break the week. I waited.
Off to the coast we went. If you have never been there, it is hard to describe. There just aren't words in my tiny vocabulary to describe the majestic beauty of the Oregon coast. Our campground was among towering fir trees, wild fuscia, blackberry brambles loaded with fruit, salal, and heaven knows what else, but it is all gorgeous.
Every day we were there was spent in long long conversations, playing on the sand, feeding a campfire in the fog, and staying up until daybreak 3 out of the 4 nights.
I have to say this. I didn't really want to go initially. I wanted Steve to have his son back in his life is a positive way. I wanted to stay on the outside due to fear and ignorance of the situation. But then I came to the conclusion all I wanted out of the vacation was to see Steve and John sit and talk. Talk or scream or cry or whatever it took, but just communicate.
I got what I wanted.... and so much much more. I got to see my husband reconnect with a son he thought was lost to him forever, and I got a friend and new family member in John and Melanie and their daughters. It was the best experience I have had in years. It honestly was the first time I traveled that I didn't want to go home at all.
I struggled all the way to the airport on Friday. We had to leave. I wanted to sob. I felt like I was leaving home, not returning home. It sucked. When John hugged me at the airport, I couldn't even talk. I knew if he did I would lose my cool and cry like a baby. I cried anyway, but not like I wanted to. I honestly felt like wailing. It was quite a weird sensation for me. I noticed he kept his sunglasses on and didn't talk much either.
John, I don't know if you will ever read this. Just know I feel blessed to have met you and your family. The healing that took place during our week at Harris Beach is one of the high points of my life.
With all my heart, thank you.
John and Steve have been down the road, so to speak. There was so much anger built up that started years and years ago. It has been out of control on both sides for a long time. A struggling parent deals with a headstrong willful child and challenges will always be there. In hindsight, it is because they are sooooooo much alike. It is almost like they are a clone instead of different people.
Steve and his son have been getting back in touch with each other over the phone for about a year now. They have talked about a lot of different things over the phone... hours and hours and hours. It was good. Sometimes it was not so good. But they kept talking. I did not talk to John. I was on the outside watching this budding relationship grow. It was a positive thing to see, but feeling part of John's anger was initially directed at me I was not sure really where I stood in the big picture.
I had heard so many things over the years from the family. Some of them were true. Some of them were just pure bullshit.
"John is straight up. You will always know where you stand with him, even if you don't like it." (True.)
"John wants retribution on you. Don't ever get in a place where you are alone with him." (Bullshit.)
"John hates women." (Big bullshit.)
"John is the neatest kid you will ever meet." (True)
and the list goes on and on. 90% of the crap I was fed was bullshit.
The days leading up to our trip to Oregon got harder and harder for me. It is easier I guess to take in the negative comments. Anyway, those were the ones shouting at me loudest. Little tiny insignificant crap that happens on a daily basis in life became magnified into monumental issues. I held up a tough facade because I didn't want to share with Steve how scared I really was. That only made things worse for myself. What a dipshit.
I got on the plane in KC with my stomach in knots. We didn't have a car rented on the other end. John insisted he and Melanie pick us up. We were scheduled to go camping for a few days on the coast. If it all went to hell in a handbasket we were screwed.
As we landed in Salt Lake, my knotted stomach became stone. I would have gladly payed out the ass and bought a ticket to anywhere else. Anywhere but Portland, Oregon.
As we landed in Portland, I knew I was going to have a heart attack at any moment. Everything I had consumed in the last week was knocking at my tonsils. Did I really have to deplane????? Can't I just sit here a while longer???
We walked down the concourse. No John. Steve can't see him anywhere. Oh shit. I reach back to get the cell phone and I heard a man say, "So are you going to just walk past us or what?"
Oh my god. This is real.
John reached for his dad and gave him a big hug. Melanie, his fiance, hugs Steve too. They have spent many hours on the phone as well. I have never spoken to either of them. Ian is being very quiet. My little psychic baby can feel the tension in us.
John said hello to me and I stuck out my quivering clammy hand to shake. He reached over (in a classic "Steven" move) and gave me a bear hug. What??? My mind is spinning.
So we set off to fetch our camping gear we had flown out, find their car, and mosey to Roseburg where they live. It gave Mel and I time to talk on the way. I discovered there is another woman in the world that is like me. It is uncanny the things we have in common... besides Howell men. Mel and I have been relatives in a former life... that much is obvious.
We stayed up until wee hours of the morning the first night, just getting to know each other. We laughed, talked, drank, and connected in a very special way. It was going very well, but I knew there were some topics still to come up eventually that would either make or break the week. I waited.
Off to the coast we went. If you have never been there, it is hard to describe. There just aren't words in my tiny vocabulary to describe the majestic beauty of the Oregon coast. Our campground was among towering fir trees, wild fuscia, blackberry brambles loaded with fruit, salal, and heaven knows what else, but it is all gorgeous.
Every day we were there was spent in long long conversations, playing on the sand, feeding a campfire in the fog, and staying up until daybreak 3 out of the 4 nights.
I have to say this. I didn't really want to go initially. I wanted Steve to have his son back in his life is a positive way. I wanted to stay on the outside due to fear and ignorance of the situation. But then I came to the conclusion all I wanted out of the vacation was to see Steve and John sit and talk. Talk or scream or cry or whatever it took, but just communicate.
I got what I wanted.... and so much much more. I got to see my husband reconnect with a son he thought was lost to him forever, and I got a friend and new family member in John and Melanie and their daughters. It was the best experience I have had in years. It honestly was the first time I traveled that I didn't want to go home at all.
I struggled all the way to the airport on Friday. We had to leave. I wanted to sob. I felt like I was leaving home, not returning home. It sucked. When John hugged me at the airport, I couldn't even talk. I knew if he did I would lose my cool and cry like a baby. I cried anyway, but not like I wanted to. I honestly felt like wailing. It was quite a weird sensation for me. I noticed he kept his sunglasses on and didn't talk much either.
John, I don't know if you will ever read this. Just know I feel blessed to have met you and your family. The healing that took place during our week at Harris Beach is one of the high points of my life.
With all my heart, thank you.
Friday, August 05, 2005
update
Well, the previous post was obviously a rant. Just when I thought that was the worst thing in the world, the phone rings. My initial self pity was instantly replaced by rage on a whole new level.
Am I the only one that thinks it is wrong to sell a child? Is blackmail legal now and I just missed the announcement? That must be it. ...because let me tell ya, I had an offer today and all I have to do is give up my last link to motherhood and I am off the hook.
What the fuck?
Is that for real?
hhmm.... if I had only........
btw.... I love my hubby, and he is wonderful. Don't even begin to think otherwise.
Am I the only one that thinks it is wrong to sell a child? Is blackmail legal now and I just missed the announcement? That must be it. ...because let me tell ya, I had an offer today and all I have to do is give up my last link to motherhood and I am off the hook.
What the fuck?
Is that for real?
hhmm.... if I had only........
btw.... I love my hubby, and he is wonderful. Don't even begin to think otherwise.
Bricks
Once upon a time, there was a little girl who grew up as a farmers daughter in the middle of the plains. Her childhood was plain, uneventful, even boring to some. She didn't know it at the time. It was just the way things were. Emotions were not to be dealt with openly. Basic skills like finances or how to deal with an intense disagreement were taboo to discuss. She didn't understand it would be her emotional undoing until it was too late.
Then the little girl got married to the boy next door. This event happened because she didn't trust herself. She didn't trust her ability to stand on her own two feet and face life. She feared being by herself. It was easier to hide behind a false exterior than show who she really was. She lived like this for 17 years. It almost killed her. The little girl became a fat woman to further wrap herself in protection from living her life. Her walls were high and wide. It was comfortable for the little girl.
Then the facade went away. The little girl was left alone with her turmoil. She found a new friend who made her feel wonderful about herself. This emotion was a foreign concept. It was scary, like standing on the edge of the Grand canyon. She began to feel like she could take down a few bricks from the wall. The fort around her began to crumble, and she welcomed it. She trusted. She hoped.
But there was still the inability to deal with little (or big) things. It bit her on the butt regularly. At times the little girl felt like she was living with a pitbull in the shadows, waiting to lock its jaws over the littlest things. She began to fear again.
Now the little girl is putting up the bricks again. Every promise made and broken is another brick. It is as it was. No windows in these walls.
Now the little girl has a fort to hide in again. This one is thicker than before. It is different this time. Now the little girl knew what it was like to live without the walls and wants to be free, as before. She now lives in a self imposed prison. This time it is not comfortable. This time she knows the tenuous edge of love/hope/trust. She wants all of it and more to be restored.
But, alas, the little girl waits. She waits for that glimmer announcing she can trust. She waits for that flicker of hope in the future.
She waits, counting her bricks.
Then the little girl got married to the boy next door. This event happened because she didn't trust herself. She didn't trust her ability to stand on her own two feet and face life. She feared being by herself. It was easier to hide behind a false exterior than show who she really was. She lived like this for 17 years. It almost killed her. The little girl became a fat woman to further wrap herself in protection from living her life. Her walls were high and wide. It was comfortable for the little girl.
Then the facade went away. The little girl was left alone with her turmoil. She found a new friend who made her feel wonderful about herself. This emotion was a foreign concept. It was scary, like standing on the edge of the Grand canyon. She began to feel like she could take down a few bricks from the wall. The fort around her began to crumble, and she welcomed it. She trusted. She hoped.
But there was still the inability to deal with little (or big) things. It bit her on the butt regularly. At times the little girl felt like she was living with a pitbull in the shadows, waiting to lock its jaws over the littlest things. She began to fear again.
Now the little girl is putting up the bricks again. Every promise made and broken is another brick. It is as it was. No windows in these walls.
Now the little girl has a fort to hide in again. This one is thicker than before. It is different this time. Now the little girl knew what it was like to live without the walls and wants to be free, as before. She now lives in a self imposed prison. This time it is not comfortable. This time she knows the tenuous edge of love/hope/trust. She wants all of it and more to be restored.
But, alas, the little girl waits. She waits for that glimmer announcing she can trust. She waits for that flicker of hope in the future.
She waits, counting her bricks.
Saturday, July 09, 2005
Changes
School is going well. I am almost done with my technique classes. It is tough, I don't like inflicting pain, deep tissue makes me uneasy as my client is flinching on the table, so don't expect a lot of deep work from me. I can affect the body on a somatic level by gentle touch as well as one can through deep work. Or so it seems to this uneducated budding therapist.
It is hard to watch changes going on around you and not want to intercede. I know my dear friend will land on her feet as she is going through this shake down, but the mother hen in me still wants to help her... even though I know I can't. It is also hard to have my loving daughter call me in tears because her Great Dane is going to have to find yet another home. I want to rescue her from that, but can't do anything more than lend a shoulder to cry on. If it was a perfect world, the lottery would be mine tonight, all my friends and family would be out of debt, my acreage would hold all the strays I run into (human and animal), and this twisted reality we live in would become clear.
Jody, we need to meet and just have a beer and talk over what is happening. Remember when I went through the funnel? It started long before the fire, and you were always there for me. By the way, thanks for that.
I am here for you.
But SH** girl! Can't you find something slightly more tropical than Nome? Nonetheless, I'm with ya... no matter where this takes you.
It is hard to watch changes going on around you and not want to intercede. I know my dear friend will land on her feet as she is going through this shake down, but the mother hen in me still wants to help her... even though I know I can't. It is also hard to have my loving daughter call me in tears because her Great Dane is going to have to find yet another home. I want to rescue her from that, but can't do anything more than lend a shoulder to cry on. If it was a perfect world, the lottery would be mine tonight, all my friends and family would be out of debt, my acreage would hold all the strays I run into (human and animal), and this twisted reality we live in would become clear.
Jody, we need to meet and just have a beer and talk over what is happening. Remember when I went through the funnel? It started long before the fire, and you were always there for me. By the way, thanks for that.
I am here for you.
But SH** girl! Can't you find something slightly more tropical than Nome? Nonetheless, I'm with ya... no matter where this takes you.
Tuesday, June 28, 2005
Jody's blog, always my first stop is wonderful as usual. Jody, just know we would all do our jobs in our jammies if possible. In fact, can you imagine how laid back the world would be if everyone dressed this way? How can anyone be pissed at a cop wearing Sponge Bob flannels as he is writing you that ticket?
As for my wardrobe? Garage sale retro would be the best explaination I can come up with. I actually participated in a conversation lately regarding "How To Spend My Powerball Ticket". The first stop on most everyone's lips was.... go buy a bra without the elastic blowing out of the sides and hooks that won't jab you 600 times a day. A close second was underwear without holes. I would include hosery here. I finally parted with my final pair about 2 months ago when I needed to dress up for Sarah's college graduation. Needless to say her mom showed up looking like a granola queen, but who really gives a shit? :)
I can say for sure the jammie look is for me. Now if only the rest of the world would agree.
As for my wardrobe? Garage sale retro would be the best explaination I can come up with. I actually participated in a conversation lately regarding "How To Spend My Powerball Ticket". The first stop on most everyone's lips was.... go buy a bra without the elastic blowing out of the sides and hooks that won't jab you 600 times a day. A close second was underwear without holes. I would include hosery here. I finally parted with my final pair about 2 months ago when I needed to dress up for Sarah's college graduation. Needless to say her mom showed up looking like a granola queen, but who really gives a shit? :)
I can say for sure the jammie look is for me. Now if only the rest of the world would agree.
Wednesday, June 08, 2005
Good fences
Took Maya for a walk this morning. The humidity level must have been about 600% down by the river. Who knew I have curly hair after all these years? Let me tell ya, I do now. If I could only figure out how to make it stay that way....
Not much to discuss today. I am a bit perplexed regarding the inability to find a simple job for 3 days a week. And the unwillingness of friends to come and get a massage. And the lack of communication from people I care about. And the realization that absolutely no one reads this. Oh how do I know? because no emails came my way after I requested it. Ah, such is life, and my personal rant shall remain just that... mine.
Off to dig in the dirt and contemplate the circulatory system.
Not much to discuss today. I am a bit perplexed regarding the inability to find a simple job for 3 days a week. And the unwillingness of friends to come and get a massage. And the lack of communication from people I care about. And the realization that absolutely no one reads this. Oh how do I know? because no emails came my way after I requested it. Ah, such is life, and my personal rant shall remain just that... mine.
Off to dig in the dirt and contemplate the circulatory system.
Saturday, June 04, 2005
Fear Factor
My Swedish Massage class is history. The final was Thursday. Final meaning each student had to give a massage to a client we had never seen. We had to remember the entire routine and execute it with precision and confidence, keeping in mind these people were there simply to critique technique. Yes, the nerve vibe was a bit uncomfortable to say the least. Ok, lets just be honest about it... every one of us were a wreck, acting like we had only had class for a week instead of 70 hours. Alison, our teacher, did her best to calm the spiking energy, but to no avail.
I tried every thing I knew to try, sitting alone, laying on the floor, cleaning (first clue I am loosing my composure) and eventually just gave into the feeling of terror. In hindsight, I have no idea why I was overwhelmed, but I was. My techinque is good. I know that. It was the whole "do it from memory" thing that tore me up. What if my client hated it? What if I just froze?
The first group went and my group had 90 minutes of stewing to endure. This was really hard. 90 minutes can really do some classy tricks on your head when you are out of control with your stress. Trust me, my psyche even suprised me how cunning it can be. All the questions roll through like a river well past flood stage. Will I remember every nerve stroke and every petrissage? Are my fingernails short enough? Did I bring enough linens? Did I bring the right oil? Will he want creme instead? (I was assigned the only guy in the group and I don't like using creme) Is he a snot about technique? How well does he know the routine if I screw up? If I fail this massage will I have wasted our money and my time? Am I even in the right field? ohmygod..... it's time....
The first seven emerged from the room all looking totally relieved to have it over with. Glancing at the remaining seven, we are pretty wired. I wished for a miracle to happen and my head to get in the groove for this. It didn't happen.
Alison introduced me to Chuck. Not a big strapping man, just average height, but well muscled. Good. Not a lot to deal with in locating groups and landmarks. cool... breathe lori breathe... Chuck emerges in my sheets and gets on the table. All the proper questions evaporate from my head so I moved to the table and just stare blankly at the wall. Oh shit I am in it now.
Come on Lori, you know this. Just start in... I made contact and went for it. I knew I was screwed when I did the wrong turn after the face massage. It continued through the rest of the session. I forgot stretches. I forgot routines. I drained one arm and not the other. I nerve stroked one leg and not the other. I redraped before nerve stroking the back. I worked really hard to stay focused on my client and not look at the others in the room. This was a real bitch. Angela was next to me and so was Stephanie. I looked at Angela at one point and just wanted to bolt I felt so bad about delivering what I conceived to be a wretched massage. She looked so happy and confident, and I was freaking out. I didn't have the guts to look at Steph. She and I have gotten to be very good friends and I was afraid she would read me like a book.
I knew if I didn't get a grip Chuck would feel my energy and know just how crappy of a massage he was getting. An old habit cultivated from a life long practice of stuffing my feelings came into play. I kept telling myself to just get through it. Just finish. Don't run. Just finish. I did notice I was ahead of everyone else in the room. Oh shit, how much have I forgotten?
Done. Push the solar plexus. Redrape the feet. "Chuck, your massage is over." I helped him off the table and started to remove the linens. I couldn't deal with it anymore. I bolted like a rabbit, ran outside and sobbed my eyes out. I must have been outside for 15 to 20 minutes. I called Steve on his cell, he didn't answer. I cried some more. I truly knew I had just delivered the worst massage in history. It would be a miracle if he passed me at all. I fully expected to get a recommendation to retake the class. I went back in hoping he had left and I could at least get a drink of water and calm down. As I rounded the corner, Steph was sitting on the lobby benches. "Hey! Where were you?" she asked. Oh Crap! She is sitting with Chuck! He is still there!!! I bolted for the classroom because I just couldn't face him. How do you look in the eyes of a client and face the fact you are crappy and your dreams are just wasted. I am not strong enough for that.
Well, thank God for friends. Steph followed me into the classroom and then I lost it all over again. She looked at me like I had lost my mind. In her words, Chuck was sitting there barely able to communicate. She said he was completely wiped out. Oh hell is this good? He finally asked for my last name when she asked him if he was ok. Now I am sure I failed. Had to get the name right so he could tell teacher Alison how shitty I was. My energy is not subsiding.
Alison entered the room with the sentence sheets. (critique sheets) She handed mine to me and said... "wow Lori, very good!" What? What?? Yes, I freaked over nothing. Chuck loved it. I recieved all outstanding marks except for one. Care to guess which one that was? Yep... memory of sequence. For that he rated me "Above average". His comments on the back said I have a good strong touch and should be successful in the field. WooHoo!!! Successful!!! ~doing the happy dance now~
So I did it. I looked my fear of failure in the eyes and it damn near kicked my ass. During the massage I came very close to apologizing to Chuck and asking him if he minded me starting over. Now that would have been a monumental mistake. Today I feel like I will be a good therapist. I believe I can accomplish my goals and build on my dreams.
Here's the picture in my head. Standing on a wind swept beach, waves peeling perfect rights behind me, oil holster on my side loaded, ready to go, me wearing a tee shirt that says "massage therapist". Smiling. Solidly confident. Well, mostly confident. Facing my fear factors.
I tried every thing I knew to try, sitting alone, laying on the floor, cleaning (first clue I am loosing my composure) and eventually just gave into the feeling of terror. In hindsight, I have no idea why I was overwhelmed, but I was. My techinque is good. I know that. It was the whole "do it from memory" thing that tore me up. What if my client hated it? What if I just froze?
The first group went and my group had 90 minutes of stewing to endure. This was really hard. 90 minutes can really do some classy tricks on your head when you are out of control with your stress. Trust me, my psyche even suprised me how cunning it can be. All the questions roll through like a river well past flood stage. Will I remember every nerve stroke and every petrissage? Are my fingernails short enough? Did I bring enough linens? Did I bring the right oil? Will he want creme instead? (I was assigned the only guy in the group and I don't like using creme) Is he a snot about technique? How well does he know the routine if I screw up? If I fail this massage will I have wasted our money and my time? Am I even in the right field? ohmygod..... it's time....
The first seven emerged from the room all looking totally relieved to have it over with. Glancing at the remaining seven, we are pretty wired. I wished for a miracle to happen and my head to get in the groove for this. It didn't happen.
Alison introduced me to Chuck. Not a big strapping man, just average height, but well muscled. Good. Not a lot to deal with in locating groups and landmarks. cool... breathe lori breathe... Chuck emerges in my sheets and gets on the table. All the proper questions evaporate from my head so I moved to the table and just stare blankly at the wall. Oh shit I am in it now.
Come on Lori, you know this. Just start in... I made contact and went for it. I knew I was screwed when I did the wrong turn after the face massage. It continued through the rest of the session. I forgot stretches. I forgot routines. I drained one arm and not the other. I nerve stroked one leg and not the other. I redraped before nerve stroking the back. I worked really hard to stay focused on my client and not look at the others in the room. This was a real bitch. Angela was next to me and so was Stephanie. I looked at Angela at one point and just wanted to bolt I felt so bad about delivering what I conceived to be a wretched massage. She looked so happy and confident, and I was freaking out. I didn't have the guts to look at Steph. She and I have gotten to be very good friends and I was afraid she would read me like a book.
I knew if I didn't get a grip Chuck would feel my energy and know just how crappy of a massage he was getting. An old habit cultivated from a life long practice of stuffing my feelings came into play. I kept telling myself to just get through it. Just finish. Don't run. Just finish. I did notice I was ahead of everyone else in the room. Oh shit, how much have I forgotten?
Done. Push the solar plexus. Redrape the feet. "Chuck, your massage is over." I helped him off the table and started to remove the linens. I couldn't deal with it anymore. I bolted like a rabbit, ran outside and sobbed my eyes out. I must have been outside for 15 to 20 minutes. I called Steve on his cell, he didn't answer. I cried some more. I truly knew I had just delivered the worst massage in history. It would be a miracle if he passed me at all. I fully expected to get a recommendation to retake the class. I went back in hoping he had left and I could at least get a drink of water and calm down. As I rounded the corner, Steph was sitting on the lobby benches. "Hey! Where were you?" she asked. Oh Crap! She is sitting with Chuck! He is still there!!! I bolted for the classroom because I just couldn't face him. How do you look in the eyes of a client and face the fact you are crappy and your dreams are just wasted. I am not strong enough for that.
Well, thank God for friends. Steph followed me into the classroom and then I lost it all over again. She looked at me like I had lost my mind. In her words, Chuck was sitting there barely able to communicate. She said he was completely wiped out. Oh hell is this good? He finally asked for my last name when she asked him if he was ok. Now I am sure I failed. Had to get the name right so he could tell teacher Alison how shitty I was. My energy is not subsiding.
Alison entered the room with the sentence sheets. (critique sheets) She handed mine to me and said... "wow Lori, very good!" What? What?? Yes, I freaked over nothing. Chuck loved it. I recieved all outstanding marks except for one. Care to guess which one that was? Yep... memory of sequence. For that he rated me "Above average". His comments on the back said I have a good strong touch and should be successful in the field. WooHoo!!! Successful!!! ~doing the happy dance now~
So I did it. I looked my fear of failure in the eyes and it damn near kicked my ass. During the massage I came very close to apologizing to Chuck and asking him if he minded me starting over. Now that would have been a monumental mistake. Today I feel like I will be a good therapist. I believe I can accomplish my goals and build on my dreams.
Here's the picture in my head. Standing on a wind swept beach, waves peeling perfect rights behind me, oil holster on my side loaded, ready to go, me wearing a tee shirt that says "massage therapist". Smiling. Solidly confident. Well, mostly confident. Facing my fear factors.
Friday, June 03, 2005
Camping on Quindaro
What an exciting couple of weeks I have had. Let's run down the list. Whew!
Memorial weekend we decided to take a float trip down the Niangua river. Beautiful idea in concept, may have worked had we not picked that particular campground, but a total flop in reality.
Hitch #1. We left Friday afternoon for a leisurely drive down to the Ozarks. Word from our friends who have made this trek was a 2 to 2 1/2 hour drive. It took us four hours. Traffic was backed up, stop and go, basically rolling hell for two of those four hours. Yeah, it took us two hours to just get out of the city. We took our dog with us to introduce her to camping. It is that whole "socialization" thing. She is a great puppy, but a puker. Yes, you got it, she was chucking kibble before we got on the open road. Do dogs outgrow motion sickness? hhmmm....
Hitch #2. We finally rolled into NRO campground about 9:30 pm. It was raining. Oh well, no biggie... we asked for a "wet" weekend just by going down the river right? The rain was placed firmly in the neutral column, and the campground was really remote. Well as remote as one can get on Memorial weekend in an over-populated area. As we went down the switchback road I just had a bad vibe. My red flags were aflappin' but I just bit my tongue because Steve wanted to take me down the river in the worst way. Ok. Be a big girl Lori and suck it up. As we pull up to the office to get our "reserved" campspot, we are surrounded by Way Too Intoxicated 20-somethings. (red flag #348) Who knew this was going to be a floating Daytona Beach?
Hitch #3. Reserved camp spot? What???? nope. "Sure there are camp spots left. Just drive around until you find something. Don't go toward the river, but I am sure there is plenty of space behind the store. Besides, there is more grass there." It has been a long time since anyone has just fed us a line of bullshit that wide. Grass? Grey round hard grass in the shape of stones maybe. Ok, ok. We finally found a wide spot on the trail they called a road and threw our tent up in the rain. We looked at each other, passed around the high-fives, and broke out the tequila to celebrate getting out of the city. Neither one of us was mentioning the fact we had left one city full of creature comforts for another city full of rocks and drunks. Real troopers eh?
Hitch #4. No fire. It stopped raining actively, but now we are in a solid forest with the passive rain thing. Not a problem, but a bit on the chilly side when you are edgy to begin with. (come on Uncle Quervo, warm me up) We take the alternate route and join the hoards of drunks. We kept to ourselves, but we promptly getting well rounded after the stress of the drive, ect...
Hitch #5. Neighbors. My neighbors in the apartment complex were not that close. Plus we had solid walls instead of nylon. Well,.... in the inner tent city, drunkeness lead to What? fights. Of course. What would a good camp trip be without fisticuffs? At this point I am thanking my lucky stars I out grew that 20-something bullshit (or maybe just skipped it altogether) years ago. Here's the picture, We are sitting in our damp lawn chairs, pounding down tequila to get warm, and listening to bullies scream out "who is next? You want some of this mutherfucker?" smack smack flump. "Somebody pick him up" laughing "Where's my beer?" Keep in mind this is going on all around us, not to mention throwing gasoline on fires in the middle of tent city. "My fire is bigger than yours!!" Who knew there was such a thing as a pissing contest over campfire size. Meanwhile, we are watching these two poor fools trying to put up their tent with flashlights (batteries failing). They were in the same predicament we were, but they were camping on the extreme edge of a drainage to the river. Can we say please let it stop raining? Empathy got the best of us, and we set out to take our lantern over and extend a neighborly hand. Good concept. Who knew they were just the first of their gang to arrive? Keep that word in mind. (gang)
Hitch #6. More neighbors. Success with the first group led to us feeling pretty damn good about helping these poor stupid children out, and when their friends rolled in with the same thing in mind, we once again extended the welcome pineapple. Ok, if I am old in spirit, so be it, but would someone please tell these idiots about the whole camping experience? Get your own light source. Make sure you are camping in something basically water-proof. Leave your colors at home. Saying hello is not a bad thing. When someone is helping you say fucking THANK YOU! I did my best to warm up the women in the camp because they were not having a damn thing to do with putting up the sleeping facilities. I have made a solid decision in my life. I will take a gang of men over a gang of women any day! I was completely shocked at girls behavior toward me. Talk about frozen souls. Those little girls were the meanest spirited females I have ever met. Needless to say, I went back to helping with tent city.
Hitch #7. Here comes Barney Fife. Imagine all 5'2" of rent-a-cop with the big wad of chew telling these gang-bangers it is time to quiet down. Gutsy little guy. He didn't stay long. I am sure he knew it was a bad plan. At this point, Steve looks at me and we both knew this tent was not going to be up tonight. I went to make the bed out and he followed shortly.
Hitch #8. The air mattress we brought was the twin size instead of the queen size. Ok. No problem. We need some serious snuggle anyway. Would have been pretty cool had the damn thing held air. By the way, still raining.
Hitch #9. Campground rules. No fights. Well that one is out the window. No fireworks. Do roman candles fall under that heading? Saw plenty of those. No firearms. As I am shivering in my damp clothes in my sleeping bag I am just happy fist fighting is the worst that has happened at this point. Then the gunshots start. Then the car alarms start. Then the fights rev up again. By this time Steve is so pissed he is in the car. I am at the point of "lets just get this damn thing over with", trying to sleep off the tequila and all hell breaks loose. Steve is pissed beyond pissed and decided it is time. Time for what I ask? Yes, you got it. We are loading our crap in the car. Wet tent. Flat mattress. Damp sleeping bags. Exhausted german shepard. Did I mention it is now 4 A.M.????
We tore out of that slum-lord hell spitting gravel and screaming at each other out of pure frustration. We fought valiently for 2 hours, calmed down, I of course cried for most of it, then we finally started communicating. He had the same vibe I had when we went into the pit of hell. He went through with it because he thought I wanted to and he wanted to give me my first float trip. I squashed my feelings of camping on Quindaro because I wanted for him to be happy about camping.
Can you imagine???
At least there was no traffic on the way home, and the dog slept through the trip with no kibble chucking. We slept all day, regrouped, dried out everything, washed the sleeping bags and headed off for a wonderful camp experience at Smithville lake. Had the fire, no fights, people quiet and just outdoors for the joy of being outdoors. We still couldn't see stars because we were only 20 minutes from KC, but hey, we had lightening bugs and no gunshots. Good trade.
Memorial weekend we decided to take a float trip down the Niangua river. Beautiful idea in concept, may have worked had we not picked that particular campground, but a total flop in reality.
Hitch #1. We left Friday afternoon for a leisurely drive down to the Ozarks. Word from our friends who have made this trek was a 2 to 2 1/2 hour drive. It took us four hours. Traffic was backed up, stop and go, basically rolling hell for two of those four hours. Yeah, it took us two hours to just get out of the city. We took our dog with us to introduce her to camping. It is that whole "socialization" thing. She is a great puppy, but a puker. Yes, you got it, she was chucking kibble before we got on the open road. Do dogs outgrow motion sickness? hhmmm....
Hitch #2. We finally rolled into NRO campground about 9:30 pm. It was raining. Oh well, no biggie... we asked for a "wet" weekend just by going down the river right? The rain was placed firmly in the neutral column, and the campground was really remote. Well as remote as one can get on Memorial weekend in an over-populated area. As we went down the switchback road I just had a bad vibe. My red flags were aflappin' but I just bit my tongue because Steve wanted to take me down the river in the worst way. Ok. Be a big girl Lori and suck it up. As we pull up to the office to get our "reserved" campspot, we are surrounded by Way Too Intoxicated 20-somethings. (red flag #348) Who knew this was going to be a floating Daytona Beach?
Hitch #3. Reserved camp spot? What???? nope. "Sure there are camp spots left. Just drive around until you find something. Don't go toward the river, but I am sure there is plenty of space behind the store. Besides, there is more grass there." It has been a long time since anyone has just fed us a line of bullshit that wide. Grass? Grey round hard grass in the shape of stones maybe. Ok, ok. We finally found a wide spot on the trail they called a road and threw our tent up in the rain. We looked at each other, passed around the high-fives, and broke out the tequila to celebrate getting out of the city. Neither one of us was mentioning the fact we had left one city full of creature comforts for another city full of rocks and drunks. Real troopers eh?
Hitch #4. No fire. It stopped raining actively, but now we are in a solid forest with the passive rain thing. Not a problem, but a bit on the chilly side when you are edgy to begin with. (come on Uncle Quervo, warm me up) We take the alternate route and join the hoards of drunks. We kept to ourselves, but we promptly getting well rounded after the stress of the drive, ect...
Hitch #5. Neighbors. My neighbors in the apartment complex were not that close. Plus we had solid walls instead of nylon. Well,.... in the inner tent city, drunkeness lead to What? fights. Of course. What would a good camp trip be without fisticuffs? At this point I am thanking my lucky stars I out grew that 20-something bullshit (or maybe just skipped it altogether) years ago. Here's the picture, We are sitting in our damp lawn chairs, pounding down tequila to get warm, and listening to bullies scream out "who is next? You want some of this mutherfucker?" smack smack flump. "Somebody pick him up" laughing "Where's my beer?" Keep in mind this is going on all around us, not to mention throwing gasoline on fires in the middle of tent city. "My fire is bigger than yours!!" Who knew there was such a thing as a pissing contest over campfire size. Meanwhile, we are watching these two poor fools trying to put up their tent with flashlights (batteries failing). They were in the same predicament we were, but they were camping on the extreme edge of a drainage to the river. Can we say please let it stop raining? Empathy got the best of us, and we set out to take our lantern over and extend a neighborly hand. Good concept. Who knew they were just the first of their gang to arrive? Keep that word in mind. (gang)
Hitch #6. More neighbors. Success with the first group led to us feeling pretty damn good about helping these poor stupid children out, and when their friends rolled in with the same thing in mind, we once again extended the welcome pineapple. Ok, if I am old in spirit, so be it, but would someone please tell these idiots about the whole camping experience? Get your own light source. Make sure you are camping in something basically water-proof. Leave your colors at home. Saying hello is not a bad thing. When someone is helping you say fucking THANK YOU! I did my best to warm up the women in the camp because they were not having a damn thing to do with putting up the sleeping facilities. I have made a solid decision in my life. I will take a gang of men over a gang of women any day! I was completely shocked at girls behavior toward me. Talk about frozen souls. Those little girls were the meanest spirited females I have ever met. Needless to say, I went back to helping with tent city.
Hitch #7. Here comes Barney Fife. Imagine all 5'2" of rent-a-cop with the big wad of chew telling these gang-bangers it is time to quiet down. Gutsy little guy. He didn't stay long. I am sure he knew it was a bad plan. At this point, Steve looks at me and we both knew this tent was not going to be up tonight. I went to make the bed out and he followed shortly.
Hitch #8. The air mattress we brought was the twin size instead of the queen size. Ok. No problem. We need some serious snuggle anyway. Would have been pretty cool had the damn thing held air. By the way, still raining.
Hitch #9. Campground rules. No fights. Well that one is out the window. No fireworks. Do roman candles fall under that heading? Saw plenty of those. No firearms. As I am shivering in my damp clothes in my sleeping bag I am just happy fist fighting is the worst that has happened at this point. Then the gunshots start. Then the car alarms start. Then the fights rev up again. By this time Steve is so pissed he is in the car. I am at the point of "lets just get this damn thing over with", trying to sleep off the tequila and all hell breaks loose. Steve is pissed beyond pissed and decided it is time. Time for what I ask? Yes, you got it. We are loading our crap in the car. Wet tent. Flat mattress. Damp sleeping bags. Exhausted german shepard. Did I mention it is now 4 A.M.????
We tore out of that slum-lord hell spitting gravel and screaming at each other out of pure frustration. We fought valiently for 2 hours, calmed down, I of course cried for most of it, then we finally started communicating. He had the same vibe I had when we went into the pit of hell. He went through with it because he thought I wanted to and he wanted to give me my first float trip. I squashed my feelings of camping on Quindaro because I wanted for him to be happy about camping.
Can you imagine???
At least there was no traffic on the way home, and the dog slept through the trip with no kibble chucking. We slept all day, regrouped, dried out everything, washed the sleeping bags and headed off for a wonderful camp experience at Smithville lake. Had the fire, no fights, people quiet and just outdoors for the joy of being outdoors. We still couldn't see stars because we were only 20 minutes from KC, but hey, we had lightening bugs and no gunshots. Good trade.
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