A Year!?

Let me just preface this by saying this is about me, and that feels sort of selfish.  But she was a whole person and there's no way I could describe her to you if you didn't know her.  So instead, today, I'm writing about her impact.  I hope that does a good enough job of honoring her memory...mostly I try to do that by the way I live my life. Occasionally I get it right but I know she'd cut me plenty of slack.

I don't reserve missing my friend for today. I think of her every single day, but it's funny how an anniversary brings up different thoughts and memories. On most days when she comes to mind it's in a happy memory or something that is relevant to whatever is going on. I see things that remind me of her, think of what she might say if I could talk to her, I laugh (a lot) at silly things we did.  But today reminds me more of her illness.  Those two years we all learned what we were really made of; we all learned how much stronger we were than we thought.  That time also softened her.  She was so overwhelmed with all the love and support she received that she learned to let down her guard.  She told me it was the happiest she'd ever been.  That's how powerful all that love was.  That even as she struggled to breathe on a daily basis, even facing death and all that she would lose, she was grateful. Witnessing that changed me forever.  She gave all of us the most amazing gifts.  I used to say that coming home from being with her was like having an overdose of perspective. I couldn't tolerate people complaining about things that seemed trivial to me. She could though.  She could sit in a hospital bed with an oxygen tube up her nose and actually care about some annoying little thing that the grocery store clerk said to me. I tried to follow her example and be more tolerant of people (if you knew her you won't miss the irony in that, lol!).  I don't do a great job of it all the time, but I try.  And often it works, I definitely find it more difficult to get all worked up, or even care, about the small stuff.  More than that though, perspective helps me get through the tough times because I am so aware of how much worse it could be and also so aware of how many magical things there are in my life.  Gratitude for all the little bits of magic helps me tip the scales away from the loss.

So, whether you knew her or not, I hope that loving her or loving someone who loved her will inspire you to honor her wishes: truly live your life, cherish what you have, make sure the people you care about know it, and take absolutely nothing for granted, not even your next easy breath.  This all sounds so cliche...but we all got a very close look at how quickly it can all disappear.  It's funny, when she would introduce me to people she would often say "she's my smart friend."  Turns out she was the smart one; she was the teacher.

Remembering Brandie

My Eulogy for Brandie

I've done my best to capture what I actually said that day in the chapel...and resisted my urge to edit it. It's not all in the notes I held in my hand and my memory of it feels like a dream so it's probably not all in my head either. I hope it's pretty close.

Brandie has a lot of amazing friends and any one of them could be up here right now. The last two years have been nothing if not a team effort. I think I just got voted "most likely to get through it." We'll see, please bear with me.

So the first day of third grade there was a new girl in my class. She sat down next to me and introduced herself. We agreed that we both enjoyed macaroni and cheese and Menudo and that was that; we were friends. Years later I found out that her dad had put her up to it. I believe the instructions were "go make friends with that girl, look at her mom," (I think I may have actually thanked my mom for being hot at this point...that was probably inappropriate). And as far as anyone knows, that was the last time that Brandie did exactly what someone told her to do.

She didn't follow the rules unless she truly agreed with them. And if she didn't, she made her own rules. During her radiation treatments she had to go to St. Vincent's every day and they had a very straightforward process for checking in. You sign in and wait for them to call you back. That didn't work for Brandie, so she made a new system. She would sign in, walk back and announce to the nurses that she was ready for them. When I hesitated, she said, "oh don't worry, it's okay, they know me here." And boy did they. She was their worst nightmare as a patient but she was also a blinding ray of sunshine in that place. She did what she wanted, but with such ease and confidence and with a big sweet smile that they loved her.

Kasey drove her to the rest of those treatments...every day for six weeks. Sometimes the valet attendant wouldn't be at his podium when they arrived. Most of us would wait. Brandie would leave the keys in the car, go to the podium and write her own valet ticket and go on in. Kasey told me that in those six weeks she never once heard Brandie complain about cancer. She didn't spend a lot of time crying "why me?" She accepted that she had it and then she went into battle mode. She was there to win, and she did really.

In February Brandie had to spend about a week in the hospital and I came down to stay with her to give Richard and Rhonda a break. It probably sounds strange, but we had so much fun. We got to have a sleepover like we hadn't done in many years. We talked and laughed and I painted her toenails. We also spent a lot of time talking about today and what it would be like, what she wanted it to be like. She had some instructions for all of us that she asked me to give you. She said, "I don't want a bunch of people standing around crying and talking about how sad they are, y'all should be happy you knew me! I know funerals are sad, but I'm happy. I'm a happy person and I'm okay." I know that one of the most difficult things about this illness for her was that it made other people sad. She hated to make people sad and worried. She spent just as much time comforting me and telling me that everything was going to be alright as I did her. She wanted us to be okay, because she was really okay.

She was grateful...not for the cancer, but for everything good in her life. Sometimes she would just stop and ask me, "why are all these people being so nice to me? I mean, they have jobs and kids and a million things to do...I didn't even know that girl in high school!" She was constantly amazed and humbled and truly, truly touched by all the kindness and generosity she received. Last year she told me that she was the happiest she had ever been in her entire life. She laughed and said something about always having to learn things the hard way. But she said she was happy because she didn't take anything for granted anymore. Anything. Instead of sitting around and feeling sorry about all the unfair things that life had dealt her, she sat around and counted all the blessings in her life.

And look what she did. She reconnected old friends, she created new friendships, not just for herself but for many of us. She was the center of this huge network of people. She inspired people who had never even met her. She inspired us to really live our lives, to be fearless. She made us check our priorities and make time for the people we care about. She gave me, and hopefully all of us, the greatest gift...gratitude. True, deep down to my bones, gratitude. Forever. She changed me forever. She gave me the opportunity to learn what was really important to me, she made me a better friend, a better mother, and a better person. She knew that there were many blessings in her struggle. She loved that song, Live Like You're Dying, and that's exactly what she wanted all of us to do. She knew that there were wonderful, beautiful things that we could all take from this and that is what she wanted this day to be about.

Wal-Mart, Still Painful After All These Years

NOTE: So I wrote this a few years ago and since then have limited myself to 1 trip to Wal-Mart each year (none if I can manage it). It still makes my blood pressure rise; today's trip was no different even though I was alone. I thought I'd share it now, with thanks to Paige Campbell for some great editorial notes.
Enjoy!

In Envy of the Wal-Mart Mommy

After completing the guilt trip I gave myself for entering this evil store and agonizing over the origin and labor practices that produced the items I came to buy, I begin my journey through the aisles as my two year old begins to beg and plead for each and every product emblazoned with his favorite Disney Character (don’t even get me started there, I’ll save that guilt for another time). The plethora of tactics and methods gleaned from the dozens of parenting books and countless articles I’ve read since my son was in-utero leap into action. I get on his level, make eye contact, and use my kindest voice to “explain” to him why it is important to be grateful for what we have and not forever wanting more. My rational and sensitive child takes heed, for the moment. But, alas, the cheery mouse and the giant smiley face have teamed up against me and around every corner looms the aforementioned favorite character.

Take two: (still using the kind voice) “Honey, we cannot get a new toy today, I’m sorry, I know you’re disappointed,” (validate the child’s feelings) “but we just can’t today.”
“But Mommy, it’s a lamp/clock/sippy cup/plate/pillow (you choose), that’s not a toy!” He looks triumphant. I pause and wonder to myself, why did I come here? Not in the philosophical manner but really, what was I looking for, was it toilet paper? More whiny-voiced begging erupts from my buggy.

Take three: (slightly more impatient this time) “Honey, I can’t understand your whiny voice, could you use your nice voice please?”
Yes, toilet paper, that was on the list – where am I? house wares? Okay. Reroute. Paper goods. Louder begging comes from the buggy, so I change my approach.

Take four: (I don a cheerful tone. Re-direct the child, that works, right?) “Hey Buddy! I need your help! Can you help me find all the things on our list? I know you’re so good at finding things and I don’t think I can do it all by myself!” It worked…for about a minute. Then BAM! another picture of the favorite character jumps out of nowhere and just like that we’re headed for meltdown city. I return to my breath and think to myself, don’t freak out, you can do this.

Take five: (calm but serious Mommy voice, stern face) “Okay, that’s enough, this is one. We cannot get a new toy or anything else today that is not on our list. If I get to three…” Oh crap! What am I going to do if I get to three, leave? I am not coming back here to do this again! “…um, if I get to three, I will be very upset,” nice one mom. Oh, so lame.

I think I can actually feel my blood pressure rising, is that possible? Where the hell is the damn toilet paper?

“Hey Mama,” he sounds a little sheepish; I guess he got the point.
“Yes baby?” is that toilet paper?
“Hey, um, Mama…”
“What honey?” oh, nope. Paper towels.
“Um, Mama…”
“What?” But paper towels, that means I must be close, right?
“Hey Mama…”

I snap “WHAT!?” But I think, “oh my god, say my name again, I triple dog dare you! Just spit it out kid! What. Do. You. Need. To. Say?”
“I pee peed.” Silence. Stillness. Yellow puddle under the buggy.

And I think, man, that Wal-Mart Mommy has it all figured out. Hand them some nitrate-filled fast food and a high fructose corn syrup and red dye no. 4 Slurpee and smack ‘em if they open their mouths. Dr Sears didn’t get to her. No parenting literature or guilt trips are slowing her down. Her cart is full, her list complete and a mere glance at her kids strikes fear in their hearts and quiet in their lips. She sails through the check out to her car while I crawl around on the floor cleaning up pee and soothingly reassuring my toddler that “we all have accidents when we’re learning something new.” Sucker!

(c)2008 Lindsey C. Holderfield

Mother of Rylan (now almost 5) and former Wal-Mart shopper.

I'm STILL in love with an inanimate object.

So, I'm re-posting this with an update as I've just returned from spending a week with the Jura, er, my dad. You see, after I talked it up so much last year, my father received one as a Christmas gift from my step-mother (who, coincidentally, gets the Most Awesome Wife Ever award for that). I thought you all should know that it lived up to the hype and I happily drank cup after perfect cup throughout my stay. Upon my return, well, I returned. To reality. To my life without the perfect, smarter-than-me, coffee machine. Which means I've returned to blundering around in the mornings all bleary-eyed and confused trying to find my way to the other side; the side where the caffeinated people live. See below for brand new coffee follies!

I'm in Love With an Inanimate Object (original post)

It's true. And I don't mean that pheromone-driven, baby talking, googly eyed kind of puppy love. I mean the serious "let's grow old together, I cannot imagine my life without you, how did I exist until now" kind of love. This is the real deal. And let's be honest, the fact that it doesn't talk is sort of a bonus.

First, let me say that I don't typically covet material things. As much as I appreciate your fancy new stereo or phone (and I have been thinking about investing in some good headphones) I would generally rather book a plane ticket than add an object to my collection if I have some money to spend. That is, until now.

I met the new object of my affection recently while visiting friends and I was done for. It was love at first sip. Let me introduce you to the Jura Capresso Coffee Center.




This, my friends, is no ordinary coffee maker. "Coffee maker" really isn't even a fair term. This is as close as you get to having your own personal barista. It wants to know things about you..."would you like your coffee strong, medium or mild this morning?" (although, for me this is an irrelevant question...are there really people out there who like weak coffee? probably. So see! Something for everyone!) It also asks what size cup you would like and what you're in the mood for. It will brew you one fine cup of crema coffee, a single or double shot of espresso, make you a latte or a cappuccino or just steam your milk a little so it doesn't cool down your coffee and all this in less that one minute! Seriously! You can also keep it loaded with two kinds of coffee (regular or decaf? espresso or something a little lighter?) AND, with the built in grinder and 64oz. water reservoir you just fill it up every now and then. This is in large part why I'm so enticed by this machine. I don't function well in the pre-coffee hours of the day and this leads me to do really stupid things that hinder my efficiency in getting said coffee into my body (see below for examples). It's a problem. I'm not proud.


So, after returning home I took to the Internet to learn more about this magical coffee genie. I knew it was pretty expensive but I was not yet prepared for my dreams to be shattered. They start at $899.00...ouch. Oh, so sad. I contemplated selling a kidney on the black market (I mean you really only need one, right?). It occurred to me though that after having a kidney removed you probably have to restrict your coffee intake so it seemed a little counter productive. Never one to be deterred, I checked out eBay and CraigsLook and I found a few used ones...even one for $350, but I didn't buy it. I kept thinking about the things I could do with the money if I had it to spend..fly to Central America, pay my booth fees into a good art show, get the new tattoo I really want...I'm sure I could go on, but you get the idea.


The reality is that I don't have $900 to blow on the best coffee machine ever or anything else frivolous. No matter how much I would love it. And the idea that $350 is a "really good deal" on a used coffee machine seems a little out of balance. So, for now, I'm stuck with my regular old coffee maker, grinding my own beans and occasionally staring blearily at the lack of coffee coming out wondering where it all went wrong.

Morning Coffee Follies

(In all instances you can picture me, in my pjs, half awake and barely functional slowly transitioning through confusion, to annoyance and eventually into laughter because I'm ridiculous).

• I neglected to grind the beans; coffee maker runs with whole beans in the filter basket yielding a slightly yellow pot of hot water.



• I remember to grind the beans but neglect to actually put them in the coffee maker yielding a perfectly clear pot of hot water.



• I remember to grind the beans and add them to the filter basket but I neglect to add water yielding...well, nothing.



• I place the carafe in the freezer...then spend several minutes trying to find it (I mean really!? that's just pathetic.)

• I grind the beans, put them in the filter basket, I add water and I push the button (yay me, right?). I walk away only to return to a cold, silent, empty machine. Because it is unplugged.

• This may be the best one yet. I add the water (after checking the plug!), open the coffee grinder, get out the beans and then proceed to pour the whole beans in to the water reservoir of the coffee maker. Know how you get those out? You have to turn the whole machine upside down over the sink and shake it. I couldn't get them all. I made coffee anyway so I would be better equipped to figure out how to get the rest of them out.

*All NEW*

• I grind the beans, I remember a filter, I fill the caraffe and press start.  I go about my business only to return and find that I neglected to actually pour the water into the machine.  Ugh.

The Gypsy Soul was Stirred: Part 2

So in thinking more about my restlessness I've come up with a few thoughts. One is that it is simply the latest installment of the three year cycle and on some fundamental level I can feel it coming. Another is that this cycle has become habitual for me and since I know the three year mark is approaching, I feel restless. Are you feeling the chicken and egg vibe here? Really I think both of these are true and are not mutually exclusive. The trigger is no doubt New York City though. I used to think I knew that I would live there someday. It has always tugged at me but for whatever reason (it was impractical, irresponsible, too expensive, I was in school, there was a boy, there wasn't a boy..I could go on and on) I never made the leap.

I love the energy there, the pace and the creativity...good god the art! It speaks to me (and about a gazillion other people, I know. I'm not unique here, I get that). So all those years that I basically had total freedom and the luxury of making selfish choices, I didn't. I didn't choose it. I chose school and practicality, financial stability, a boy and then a smaller boy. During those years when my friends were on Dead tour, backpacking through Europe, moving "out West" for no apparent reason or otherwise not being "productive members of society," I was studying and working and staying the course. When I finally did veer off course it wasn't really off course, it was to get on someone else's course instead.

Don't get me wrong, it isn't like I wasn't having a lot of fun along the way*. I traveled, went to school in Costa Rica, I backpacked across Panama solo, I went on a thousand impromptu road trips to see music or just because I could. But I always made sure that I was back in time for class and that I had all my shifts covered at whatever bullshit job I was working. I also moved to Antigua alone to do my Master's research...that was certainly an adventure. But it was still work and productive adventures don't count I've decided.

* This is me at 21 on a rope swing on a beach in Costa Rica...swinging over a giant bonfire while drinking beer in the rain. That was fun.

Visiting New York is just a reminder of the path not taken...more like the path not even attempted. This is obviously not a disaster, but it brings out the mystic in me and I think about things like destiny and kismet and other things that I talked myself out of believing in years ago. I want to run away from home and be an irresponsible vagabond...but we all know I won't.

So this is the exact point at which writing a blog like this begins to feel completely narcissistic and ridiculous. I mean seriously, who needs to know this? Nobody. Really. Why are you reading this? Don't you have enough of your own problems? My dear brave (and sometimes infuriating!)friend has a giant tumor growing in her chest and I'm bellyaching about not living it up enough in my 20's? Good lord, go read something productive like how to build a birdhouse or how to green your cleaning products or something. This is utter nonsense. And even if it isn't, I don't have any answers. I'll be as surprised as anyone to see what happens next.

The Gypsy Soul was Stirred

We'll call this part one because I know I don't have time to write what I want to write right now, right? NYC girl trip was a blast...getting to know one friend better and making new ones along the way. What I didn't expect is my absolute inability to settle down since my return. I knew that I had the travel bug and that I have been seriously missing that part of my life in recent years, but this feels like a disease. An affliction? addiction? It is visceral. I feel like an out of luck crack head looking for a hit. I'm restless and antsy and I can't concentrate. I'm distracted and day dreamy and totally anxious because I know that I will pay dearly tonight and tomorrow morning in my attempt to scramble to finish all the things I should have done today. I am eking out work at a snail's pace because I can't stay focused. I'm really not ADD; this is very specific. And familiar, but it has been a while. I'd like to say it is too much coffee, but A. I don't believe there is such a thing and B. I've really only had two cups so that's not legit anyway.

Sometimes people laugh when I tell them about my 3 year gypsy cycle but this is no laughing matter. If you haven't heard me talk about it and you actually care, it goes like this. Pretty much since I was born, every 3 years (sometimes down to the very day) a major life change and often a physical move comes my way. You might say this is a self-fulfilling prophecy and maybe on a subconscious level you'd be right. But as some of you ("you" my friends out in the world, not "you" the non-existent readers of this blog) have witnessed I usually don't have any idea these changes are coming and don't do anything to invite or perpetuate them. Shit just happens. I make a major life change and move far away for a very specific reason with no intention of ever coming back. Three years goes by and WHAMMO here I am, moving back to the very place I thought I'd left forever. Or WHAMMO I'm leaving again for unforeseen reasons to yet another adventure. Or WHAMMO a tiny human comes out of my body (that one was on purpose).

Here's my point, next week it will be three years since I returned to Abingdon and I've been fighting the feeling. Something is coming, I can feel it. The wind is shifting. I should probably mention that these events are not always physical relocation. There have been job opportunities, the birth of my son, tragic losses of friends and family, beautiful unexpected windfalls and much more. The only thing that remains the same is the timing.

To be continued...