Seemingly everywhere I turn, I am attuned to the suffering, angst and overwhelming depression around me. If I focused too much on that heaviness, I could easily find myself wallowing in self-pity and inactivity; paralyzed and allowing fear to control my life. Is that living or merely surviving? Recently, I’ve felt more compelled to do something to further the causes that are important to me and not just be a passive bystander.
Those of you that follow me may remember that my 2018 motto is “Be Brave.” What does that mean? Have I been too fearful? Maybe. More like timid. In the past, I often found myself holding back to keep the peace. But why? We all know life is not black and white. Free thinking and the freedom to learn and grow allows for change and betterment. It’s those shades of gray that make life interesting. So, for me, being brave, is letting people know my authentic self. It means to take risks and speak (or write) my mind without worrying that someone, somewhere might be offended or not like me because of it. This was and is a huge, step for me, but one that feels incredibly right and liberating.
Discussion and differing view points are what allows us to come together as a community to find a meaningful solution instead of a “knee jerk” reaction or passively leaving it to someone else to decide. Having a voice, being informed and taking a stand, while listening and being respectful of others is the key to making a difference. It’s no longer enough for me to passively let “them” determine my destiny.
While issues big and small weigh on my mind at any given moment, as the title of this blog (“serendipity”) implies, it’s those little simple surprises that remind us to smile, to be grateful and to always hope. So as the ides of March sets, I bring you the hope of spring and the promise sunnier days will come.
The first flowers of spring, sprout and bloom despite being frosted and snowed upon as the edge of winter recedes. And, now I just need to spot my first robin. Always hope.
My fifth grader recently finished up her first season of basketball. She’s been learning the basics, since third grade and attended Coach Huger’s Basketball Camp last summer and fall. This, though, was her first year where she got to play actual games and not just a scrimmage at the half time of someone else’s game. She spent countless hours in the driveway shooting hoops and dribbling. She loves to play. Nevermind she’s this little, waif of a girl, she is tenacious and not afraid to shoot. She was ready to play.
Her coaches were awesome and gave all the girls on her team equal opportunity to play in games, even when they weren’t winning, which was most of the time. In fact, her team didn’t win one game all season. They lost a lot and by a lot. However, she didn’t let that get her down. She kept practicing and pushing forward. She and her team made strides and improved immensely as the season progressed. By her last game they only lost by single digits. It didn’t matter to her that she lost (OK maybe it did a little as who doesn’t like to win once in a while?), only that she played her best. She learned and she grew as a player. I am proud of her. Not because she scored baskets or got to be the point guard once in a while, but because she is a team player and worked hard. At basketball camp she was on the team that won the end-of-camp tournament both times. However, the best sport trophy was the one that made me proudest.
Juxtapose her experience with that of my oldest daughter. She played her last game as a ninth grader after spending countless hours on the bench. From seventh grade through ninety grade her playing time in games wasn’t more than an entire game total. I am just as proud of her as my younger daughter though. I cheered even louder and encouraged her even more for those last few minutes or seconds when she got in to the game. I don’t think I could have been more excited when she was finally in a position to shoot, was passed the ball and scored a basket in the very last game she played. My heart broke for her on those games when she didn’t get to play at all. I think my heart ached for her more than her own disappointment in not getting to play at all. And why didn’t she get to play, I thought to myself after every game when she didn’t even when her team was beating their opponent by more than 20 points. She worked hard and she practiced hard.
Our school district has a strict policy about asking the coaches about “playing time,” so I kept my mouth shut as my disagreement in coaching philosophy grew. I watched as her love for playing the sport and being on a team dwindled to nothing. She has no desire to play any more. She, too was a small side. However, she was more timid than her sister. As parent I understand that not everyone can be a starter or the MVP of the team. What I fail to understand though why all players aren’t developed as opposed to only those that showed some natural ability. In the beginning she went to basketball camp and practiced in the driveway; however, her enthusiasm diminished as even though her skills improved, her playing time never did.
As I was prohibited from asking the coaches about playing time, I encouraged her to talk to them to find out what she could do to improve and see more time in the game. After finally finding the courage to ask, she came home more discouraged than ever when she was given a vague answer of “improved basketball skills and knowledge of the game overall.” What??? The lowest day came when the coaches dismissed her and a couple other players from practice early to work with the starters as they weren’t “needed.” I only heard her side so I don’t know if that was meant, but it’s what she heard.
I was frustrated to learn later that she and several other players not deemed “good enough,” sat against the wall during many practices and watched the starters scrimmage and learn the plays. She wasn’t even given the opportunity to learn the plays during practice. Is it any wonder that when put in the game she had no confidence. If she made any small error I could see her eyes travel immediately towards the coach’s, waiting to be pulled out. Sure enough as if it were a self-fulfilling prophecy, she’d be back on the bench in one or two plays. Even the very best players make mistakes in games, they: foul, travel, miss shots and rebounds, throw bad passes, and step out-of-bounds. The difference is they have the confidence to know they won’t be pulled from the game if they aren’t perfect. Mistakes are part of the game. A field goal percentage of 50% and above is considered good. That means most players miss at least one basket for everyone they make! You have to shoot to score. If a player is not given the opportunity to play during practice or allowed to gain experience in actual games (in middle school!), how will they ever grow into the players they could be? Is it politics? Coach ego? The drive to win? I’m not sure, but it sure sucks. I can understand the “must win” mentality at the college level and obviously at the pro-level as those coaches are being paid mega-bucks to win.
As far as I can tell even the starters of our winningest team didn’t go out to play Big 10 basketball or even little 10 basketball. Our stands are not crawling with scouts. Would allowing all team members the space and time to make mistakes and become better players in lieu of a perfect record be that horrible? I worry that this same fate is in store for my younger daughter as she moves into junior high in the coming years. I want her to learn that hard work does pay off in the end. I want her to know that winning isn’t the end all and be all. I want her to have a positive experience and good memories. I have fond memories of my time as a basketball player. Granted I played in our local CYO league, but I got to play the game I loved without worrying about being judged or punished for not being perfect. I may not have scored every game and our team definitely didn’t win every game, but when I look back on that time I remember the laughter, the camaraderie and the excitement of playing on a team and being part of something bigger than myself. That is what I want for my daughters.
I truly don’t get the need to win at all costs. Why is winning more important than encouraging and developing all our young athletes into becoming better players? I don’t think we need to give our kids participation awards to make them feel good, but I do think we need to give them all the opportunity to be better. Just think how good Michael Jordan’s high school team might have been had his coach spent time developing him instead of cutting him from the team. Luckily for basketball fans (especially those in Chicago), Jordan didn’t get discouraged. He continued practicing and practicing to improve his skills instead of giving up and believing he’d never be good enough.
Life is unfair. I get that. It’s a lesson we all learn sooner or later. However, I’d rather it be later than sooner. What do you think? Do we place too much emphasis on winning in middle school/high school sports?
A couple of times a year my mother, sister and I spend a girls’ weekend away from the hustle and mundaneness of everyday life. This past weekend we set off on one of these said adventures. Our journey took us to Ravenwood Castle in New Plymouth, OH. We participated in a murder-mystery themed weekend entitled: Death in the Fire Swamp. When my sis asked us whether we’d like this get-away weekend as a Christmas gift, I immediately texted back, “I’m in!” without really reading the fine print (oops!) The Princess Bride is my all-time favorite movie, so I figured, why not?
We surmised we might be in over our heads when a few weeks before we received an email from the nice Mr. Denham requesting baby photos for wanted posters, encouraging us to dress up and bring fake clues and reminding us it was a 24/7 adventure for which we might want to sleep with one eye open! All three of us where thinking the same thing: “WTF did we sign up for!?!” Alas in line with my “Be Brave” mantra of 2018, we emailed our pics and briefly discussed and then dismissed the idea of wearing costumes. Going in we knew this was not going to be our typical girls’ weekend of mani/pedis, followed by a bit of shopping and maybe taking in a chic flit and holing up in our hotel room to read a good book with a glass of Moscato in quiet, uninterrupted bliss.
For a trio of introverts, this elaborate weekend expertly put on by the Shadow Stalkers was a bit outside our (my – I really should only speak for myself) comfort zone. Luckily we were part of a team that included two hilarious sisters from Long Island that almost single-handedly found all the items on our scavenger hunt (such as an interaction with a fire department and feeding a live white deer!) and the Scooby Doo gang from Columbus. Our mission was to determine who killed Miracle Max’s assistant, find a missing diamond, bring back various items in a scavenger hunt and participate in night searches to recover body parts (fake ones of course) to earn bonus points. Additionally there were other puzzles and brain teasers to solve mystery artifacts, pictures and bones to identify as well as well as an insurance policy number to secure.
Within hours of arriving at the castle, my mom had contracted “the grip” and had to speak with her fist on her head when she spoke and wear a look of extreme constipation. Luckily a healer was on site and eventually she was cured. At breakfast the next morning; however, my sis and I found out that we had an unfortunate brush with the killer the previous evening and were now “mostly dead.” By the end of the weekend all but one of our teammates was “mostly dead.” While our team came in last place and didn’t find the diamond or sleuth out who the killers were, I think it is safe to say well all had a good time (thanks sis!).
Although I probably won’t sign up for another murder mystery weekend (especially ones with zombies), I would go back to Ravenwood Castle. When I awoke Sunday morning to a beautiful dusting of snow, I found myself rethinking how much I usually hate snow, the cold and anything winter. (Being a February baby you’d think I’d be a winter person, but no.) As the snowflakes gently wafted down and settled in my hair, I wandered about and made the first footprints in the untouched snow and snapped some photos with my iPhone along the way. My heart thawed just a little, teeny bit at the beauty winter can bring. I could have spent hours exploring and taking photos from various angles. I can imagine myself spending a long weekend taking photos, writing and of course reading in this beautiful setting. While these seem like solitary endeavors to some for me it is exactly what I need. I feel comfort when my loved ones are sitting in the same room with me as we each enter our own imaginary worlds and as we escape into our books. I enjoy walking and chatting and of course laughing as we take funny pics along the way. Even more than the time away, I appreciate coming back home to my girls. This weekend embraced all of that and more.
Here are some of my favorite pics from the weekend. Enjoy!
No drama. What does that even mean? Seriously. No drama. I’ve read these words in hundreds of dating profiles. I’m not exaggerting either. There seem to be many single 40 and 50 something men out there who seem to have serious aversion to drama (or at least in Northwest Ohio anyway). I’m not a psychologist or a dating coach – far from it. But, I am a writer and an observer.
As I read over profiles (yes, women do read them! Thank you very much!), looking for my “Ultra Match” or “Chemistry Match” or “My Top Prospect” or whatever match, I’ve noticed patterns that instantly throw up a red flag for me. For every “How you doing” message I receive, I find myself itching more to message back not that I’m interested in a date, but to offer my help in re-writing his profile so someone else might be! Alas, I hold back and just delete the messages, unanswered. Although, I actually think I could really help people and make a small fortune on the side! Afterall, people put in a lot of effort in their resumes to land a job, why not put just as much into finding the love their life? Especially, if you are paying to be an upgraded user, why wouldn’t you want to make the best first impression possible. I can picture it now — a small store front, a laptop, a camera, an Internet connection and I’m in business. If only it were that easy!
And so, free of charge, I give you…
Shar’s Top 5 Dating Profile Red Flags
No Drama: Delete these words from your profile. Go! Do it now! If someone is overly dramatic, she probably doesn’t realize it and even if she does, saying you don’t want drama is probably not going to prevent it. If you say you lead a drama-free life, I think you are either a liar or boring or don’t want to put in any effort to the relationship.
No Cheaters, Liars, Players or Gold Diggers. Duh! Does anyone want to date someone like that? Do you think they’d tell you if they were? This just gives off a negative vibe that you have baggage you haven’t dealt with yet.
Ask me. Come on. What a cop out. You can’t take ten minutes to write a coupe of sentences about yourself? If a person doesn’t have time to write a short bio, do they really have time to date and build a relationship?
I’m a nice guy. OK, if you have to say you are a nice person, it kind of makes me think maybe you aren’t. Show her you are a nice guy.
I workout every day! That’s wonderful that you have so much time available to commit to fitness. I wish I did. Us single mom’s with mom bodies and full-time jobs, typically don’t have the time (or energy) to devote to the gym every day. Oh wait…that’s why you are looking for women 10-20 years younger than you. Nevermind. Carry on. Good luck with that!
What are your online dating profile red flags? Please share in the comments. I can use all the pointers I can get:)
Happy new year! Yes, I know technically I’m fourteen days late with this sentiment. To be fair though, my birthday is February 9, so I’ve always considered that to be the first day of my new year. So in my reality, I am four weeks early!
This year as I’ve done in the past few years, instead of setting a lame resolution that’s destined to fall flat, I am focusing on a mantra: Be Brave. I didn’t choose this mantra because I am necessarially afraid, but to remind myself to think bigger, to be bolder and to let go of control.
Letting go of control, might not seem related to being brave, but for me it really is. I like to feel in control of my life whether or not I truly am is another story. I want to know what’s coming around the corner. I’ll read the last page of the book first. I’ll peek at my horoscope just to see if there is some glimpse of what the future might hold for me. Waiting is hard. Not having control of a particular outcome is hard. Asking for help or relying on someone else for something is hard.
I want to know. As a Christian, I’ve been taught that God has a plan for me. He knows me by name and knows what I will choose before I do myself. If I relinquish control and my will over to Him, I will be rewarded. I want to believe that. I want to let go, yet my will to know holds me back. If there is already a plan and God knows what I am going to do before I do, what’s the point then? Why can’t He cut to the choice and just tell me what that plan is? Do I really have free-will or am I destined to be someone determined before I was even born?
Life is so random. I had no control over being born and to who my parents and family are. Happenstance placed me in midwest Ohio to the family that loved me and raised me. I’ve been out-of-control from the moment I was conceived. Yet the choices I’ve made have taken me down different paths. Each decision I made takes me in a new direction. The words I am writing in this post are different than they would be if I had written the yesterday when I first pondered writing this post or tomorrow had I procrastinated writing yet another day.
To me being brave means to finally release control and letting the suspense build. I can’t control the outcome, so I might as well sit back and enjoy the ride. I will know what life has in store for me soon enough. Time marches on. I can either fight it or go with it. I’m choosing to go with it.
Yes, as you might infer from the title (which could also double as a cool band name), this post is going to be one of those crazy dog lady sappy musings…
Back in college when I was writing a weekly column for the campus newspaper, I once was accused of having a happy-go-lucky, perfect world where nothing went wrong. When I read those words printed in an underground rag where someone had written a spoof of one of my columns, it felt like a knife stuck me. I wanted to defend myself . Are you kidding me? My life is not perfect that was the whole point. Isn’t there a place in the world for light-hearted thoughts? Don’t people want a break from reading about all the disasters, short-comings and negativity that regularly filled the newspapers and now cyberspace? It wasn’t long after that, I retired my column from the paper. For some odd reason, I let the criticism get to me and take away the joy I felt writing about the little things. As you can tell, I have a hard time letting go of criticisms (as I still remember this moment vividly and it happened over 20 some years ago.)
I’m not entirely sure why I felt the need to share that particular story as an introduction to this blog post besides the fact that this is indeed another one of those feel-good stories I so enjoy writing. In fact a smile is crossing my lips as I type these words (can you see it.?) The topic of the day? Puppy love.
My first dog was a black and tan mutt, named Kip. I don’t remember much about Kip as I couldn’t have been but 4 or 5 when we first got him. I have a shadowy memory of him as little puppy with his liter-mates and bumping his head on a wheelbarrow. Poor little thing had my heart right then. The only other memory I have is the cold windy night that my dad answered a knock at our door. The man on the other side inquired if the dog he’d hit was ours. My heart broke in two as you might imagine.
We had another dog in between, but the dog that captured my heart next was a brown chihuahua named, Pedro. One morning as my sister and I were getting ready for school, my dad called to this little dog walking along the side of our road. We got him a bowl of water and put him in our little shed. We put up a sign at the local market and notified the dog shelters, but no one claimed him. He became ours. He slept with me, he rode in my bike basket, my friends (you know who you are) and I dressed him up and put him in the toy box.
He was the best dog. For sure he didn’t know he was only five pounds. He had a loud bark and big balls. We never did get him “fixed” as my dad joked he’d lost half his body if we did. I have so many fond memories of Pedro. He was the dog of my childhood. He lived a long life and died when I was a junior in college. I came home from class and found him lying next to the step down into our family room. He didn’t come great me like he normally did and before I laid my hand to stroke his head I knew he was gone. I called my dad at work sobbing. Dad buried Pedro under the lilac bush in our backyard. My heart was broken again.
It didn’t take long before I was ready to let another fur-baby into my life, although it took much longer to convince my mom to let us get another dog (she’s really a push-over though as she’s has a dog of her own even to this day – love you Buttercup, the wonder puggle). Piper, a red cocker spaniel, was the fur baby of my twenties and early thirties. I loved that dog best I think. She was spoiled rotten. She’d get sad and mopey when I was out-of-town and get so excited she’d pee when I came home (yes I know that peeing thing was annoying, but that was her).
She was the first dog I actually trained. I took her to obedience class and she actually passed. She could sit, lie down, shake hands/paws and bark in that order too. If I held up a treat, she go through all her tricks one after the other. She liked to ride in the car and sit on my lap, ducking her head whenever we drove under an overpass. She curled up in the bend of my legs and rest her head on my booty. She didn’t enjoy other dogs and would pace back and forth across the top of the sofa, barking at them from her perch – she tolerated my ex-husband’s dogs at best, but she was the queen and she knew it. While Pedro inspired my action-hero story (see The Story Teller to read about his alter-ego), Piper got a poem, aptly entitled, Piper’s Big Eye.
My oldest was 18 months old when Piper at the age of 12 had a stroke while I was away shopping for the day. I came home and learned she was at the vet hospital. I hoped beyond hope she’d recover. I visited her and in my heart I knew she was suffering as she couldn’t move her hind legs and was so confused. The hardest decision I ever made was putting her down a few days before Christmas. For those who say, “it’s just a dog” I’d say you’re wrong and guess you’ve never loved a dog.
For a multitude of reasons, more than a decade passed before I truly connected with another dog and in this case it’s a duo of dogs. After my divorce in 2015, the girls and I rescued a quirky Jack-Russell Terrier-mix puppy, name Maggie Mae. She is quite the character and keeps me on my toes. She’s helped us heal and has brought laughter into our home. My oldest really wanted a “fluffy” dog so this past February, we rescued 3-year old cockapoo. The girls named Oliver Queen aka “Ollie.” He’s more laid back than Maggie and would rather lay in the sun than chase a rabbit. Sure they can be total pains in the ass when they chew a hole in the crotch of your favorite undies or shred a roll of paper towels and spread it around the living room or wake you up at 3 am to bark at a squirrel in the back yard or eat the last piece pizza in two rapid bites that you only left unattended for a brief moment. But, for all the hassles and frustrations they cause, they bring me happiness and comfort twofold. I love when I pull in the driveway and see them perched on the back of the chair watching out the window. I love when they race to the garage door to greet me. I love watching my girls play with them and cuddle with them. I love how the lick my cheek when they can tell I’m down. They are truly part of our family and we love them. Their lives are so brief, but they bring so much. I know we spoil them and give them a good home, but I sense they give us back more than we give them. Their unconditional love and trust is a gift I cherish.
I’d love to hear about those special dogs that had/have a place in your hearts! Please share in the comments below.
As I pulled into the driveway this evening after finishing up a long work week, my youngest came running into the garage to greet me. She stopped short, looked at me and asked, “Why are you so sad, Mommy?”
It seems lately she’s asked me that question a lot. I am quick to reassure her. “I’m not sad, sweetie. I’m just tired.” That is not a lie. I am tired. Some days I think I was born tired. My mini-me follows me into the dining room and continues to ask me, “What’s wrong?” Again I reiterate that “nothing’s wrong.” Yet, she continues her interrogation, “Please tell me!” she pleads. I’m starting to feel exasperated with her and try my best to convince her that “I’m fine.” I’m not sure if she bought it or not though, but she finally let it go – for now.
I look in the mirror and study my reflection. I guess I do look a bit sad. I think I might just have resting, “sad face” and I force myself to smile. If you’ve followed my blog, you know I am filled with gratitude. So much so I should be shining with happiness, but my little one is right. I can’t put my finger on it exactly, but I have been feeling a little down lately. I’ve turned to comfort foods and sitting on my porch with a nice glass of wine. I go out with my brilliant friends and I laugh. Yet still somehow deep down, I still feel an aura of sadness and negative energy seems to follow me around. I’m not quite sure how to shake it off. Do I push myself outside my comfort zone and socialize more or turn into myself and go into hibernation mode to recharge? I haven’t decided yet.
I think it comes back to the overall feeling of discourse that we as a county are amidst. Where ever you turn there is another story of despair, conflict and meanness. I know without a doubt that absorbing myself in that world does bring me down. I like to read and know what’s going on in the world around me. I thrive on on knowledge and looking at topics from different points of view. I whole-heartedly believe that there is more than one right answer. What I find most distressful is the lack of respect we seem to have for each other. With the popularity of social media platforms, it is easier to call people names and write them off as “stupid,” than it is to really listen to what each other thinks. We’ve let the “agree to disagree” mindset die and tend to quickly cast others with differing ideas as nefarious or stupid. If I elimated name-calling, arrogance and condensation from Twitter, my feed would be very short. It is so easy to get sucked on to that band wagon — no matter what “side” you are on. Why can’t “both/and” replace the “either/or” mentality? People would be much happier.
A few weeks ago I went to a Joe Crookston concert in a neighboring town. He commented on how music can connect and bring us together no matter our differences. He began to playing the beginning notes of a song that he said everyone would recognize no matter how old or young, Democrats and Republicans and anyone inbetween. He then began to sing “Amazing Grace.” Sure enough everyone in the audience knew the words and joined in. His words resonated with me. It wasn’t more than a week or two later that Ed Sheeran’s song “What Do I Know” came on the radio as I was driving my kids from one activity to the next.
“We could change this whole world with a piano
Add a bass, some guitar, grab a beat and away we go
I’m just a boy with a one-man show
No university, no degree, but lord knows
Everybody’s talking ’bout exponential growth
And the stock market crashing and their portfolios
While I’ll be sitting here with a song that I wrote
Sing, love could change the world in a moment
But what do I know?
Love can change the world in a moment
But what do I know?
Love can change the world in a moment.”
Music tends to move me and this song really nailed what I’ve been feeling lately. Music is a common language that connects and makes that world a better place. A song or a melody or the first bars of a song can take your back in time and lift your spirit.
Maybe I am a sucker for the happy endings and the positive beat, but it feels a hell of a lot better when my daughter asks me “what are you smiling about?” This weekend I’m going to X out of the negative. I’m going to binge watch the Hallmark Channell, sit on my porch with the sun in my face, and ask Alexa to play upbeat music in the living room:)
How do you pull yourself out of the doldrums? I can always use more smiles.