Freedom of Voice

The other day on Facebook, I asked my friends to drop a positive word I could carry into 2019. I got the idea from my husband’s cousin’s post and figured my friends would not disappoint. They didn’t. Here’s the thing: These words only carry weight if I actually do something with them. And I truly plan to incorporate each and every one into my life on 2019 (except maybe the suggestion of kinky...lol). So much better than some lame resolutions I won’t keep. These are more than words. They are sincere well-wishes, prayers, blessings. And just to irritate one of my poetry-hating friends who shall remain nameless, I’m putting them into a NYE poem. Words carry weight only when you      collect them like stones,             each one carefully chosen                   for its uniqueness, its beauty. Adaptability leads to serenity. Caring increases kindness. Daring to unleash some hellfire, ...

"Too blessed to be stressed!" memes dot the social media landscape. It's such a catchy saying, there are shirts, a planner, even a book. Wait. Can't I feel both blessed AND be stressed?  I wasn't aware that these two things were mutually exclusive until someone pointed it out in an annoyingly delusional way. Like many platitudes, I worry about the message it sends. It implies if I were just more grateful, more focused on my blessings, I would be a better person. Like a mother scolding a naughty child, wagging her finger in my face while saying, "Now, now. You have nothing to be stressed about. Your life is easy. Others have it way worse. Just think about how lucky you are." And, you know what? I am not disagreeing that I am a) blessed, b) lucky, and c) others have it way worse. What I am calling foul on is the implication that I am not allowed to be stressed because a, b, and c are true. I think that's a dangerous precedent to set, kind of Step...

Living a fulfilling life is risky business, and some perceive that risk at a much higher level than others. Full disclosure: I am NOT comfortable as a risk taker. At. All. At times, this risk aversion has served me well, especially as a teen, a time when precarious behaviors are tempting and encouraged by peers. It kept me from dropping acid on the way to school at the age of 12 with the neighborhood girl I used to walk with. It stopped me from entering into sexual relationships with boys in high school who were just that--boys. In my gut, I knew neither of these situations would lead to anything good, so I politely said, "Thanks, but no thanks." I also had the safety net of my religion and severely strict parents. I could always blame not going to parties on my parents. That is not to say I didn't do anything risky as a teenager--I still managed to make some pretty irresponsible decisions--but these were carefully measured and planned, and I was still a nervous w...

Last night, my friend with whom we are traveling looked at me and said, “You look so relaxed.” I instantly jumped into, what’s-that-supposed-to-mean mode. Is looking relaxed code, like “ you look tired” usually means, “you look like crap”?  What she really meant was I looked at peace, like I had no cares in the world versus my usual wound up look. And I was. That’s what a day of wine tasting will do for you. Really, what a week in a beautiful landscape with the love of my life, good friends who I can be myself with—framily I call them—locally sourced food, and wine will do for you. I left work behind, I left school behind, I left it all behind.  I am ready to get back to my routine, my own bed, my dog, my life, but I needed this hiatus. It made me once again realize I live a charmed life, even with its ups and downs. I just need to remember that when I get wound up once again (and I’m guessing that will take less than 24 hours). 

Last week, my post was inspired by "These Are Days" by 10,000 Maniacs. In her response, a dear friend dropped another gem by Natalie Merchant: "Kind and Generous." The lyrics really hit home, especially these days. I've been working hard to overcome some pretty unsavory and deep-seeded feelings, emotions I thought I was doing a bang-up job of ignoring and squelching. Until I wasn't. I've always been empathetic and compassionate with others but have always struggled to extend those kindnesses to myself. Somehow I got the message that I wasn't worthy of it, that I had to live up to some impossible set of standards just to be good enough. And, don't misconstrue this as me blaming my mother (everyone blames the poor mother) or my upbringing in general. These messages come fast and furious from all directions in our society. I just did a stellar job of internalizing every single one of them. I am so blessed to be surrounded by people who see all t...

I've been feeling a little uninspired and worn down these days--mentally, not necessarily physically. So much to do, so much to fret about, all the craziness and sadness in the world too much for this empath to bear. It's my thing: I have a hard time separating others' feelings and energy from my own. I allow myself to be drained. It's the thing I most need to change. Not to say I want to give up being empathetic. I believe that's one of my most valuable strengths and what draws people to me. And, being there for others physically and emotionally is important to me. But, what about saving some of that compassion for myself? That was what was on my mind last Friday as I drove home from an after-work appointment. It was still on my mind Saturday morning as I drove home from Publix. And, on cue, one of my all-time favorite tunes, "These Are Days" by 10,000 Maniacs came on, bringing me to inexplicable tears, the words stripping away the hard candy shell pr...

I've been struggling all weekend about the topic of my blog. I had a great thing about Florida storms being the perfect metaphor for life brewing in my head as I drove home silently right into a monster storm Friday. Then, I got distracted by a song Saturday morning--These Are the Days by 10,000 Maniacs--on my way home from Publix and thought, I'll write about that. But the words didn't come. Sometimes I hesitate to write because I don't want others to say I'm wrong. Sometimes I don't write because I don't want to wrong others in the process of telling my truth. So, right or wrong, I'm holding back this week. Some day,  I will write my whole truth, but today is not the right day.

I am the queen of the Shoulda, Woulda, Coulda's. I should have worked out. I should drink more water. I shouldn't have eaten that pizza (wings, burger, fries, and so on). I should clean my house. I shouldn't have let myself gain so much weight. I would have gotten my Master's degree a long time ago if only I had had the funds and the time. I would have been a better parent if only I could go back in time. I would have had more fun when I was young if I didn't have to hold a full-time job. I would have responded differently to... I could have avoided so much stress if I had just... I could have been... I could be a better person if I only... Today, I should be working out, cleaning my house, and finishing up a couple of projects for work. Today, I would have gotten up earlier to get these things done if I weren't so lazy. Today, I could be getting a lot accomplished if I would just get off my butt. Instead, I let myself sleep in (or rather, m...

How? How is it my “babies” are 21 and 23, both bonafide, legal adults? It happened in a flash. I was never in a hurry for them to grow up, but I never begged time to slow down either. I just tried to  enjoy—or survive—each stage, knowing it was fleeting. And now, on my youngest’s 21st birthday, I am enjoying this day, perhaps a little too much enjoyment when the clock struck midnight last night. I’m impressed (and so are the others with me) that I’m not feeling any ill effects. I know this time is fleeting, and in a flash, we will be celebrating other milestones like marriages and grandkids. But for now, I’ll resist the temptation to flash forward. I’ll live right here, right now.

In the 1970's, Kellogg's rolled out its "Let Go My Eggo" commercials, and they persist today. Of course, they have changed quite a bit. The battles have become more snarky, and in this commercial , the struggle even gets high tech when a family in a smart phone battle over an Eggo has it snagged by the little sister without a phone. True confession: I have always hated these commercials. I know they were intended to be light-hearted and humorous, but they aggravated me. Why didn't these people just share  the Eggos? Couldn't they just wait for another one to toast? Maybe there was an Eggo shortage in their homes, and that was the last one? And, if so, couldn't they cut it in half? The martyr in me would have selflessly sacrificed the Eggo to whomever wanted it but then would secretly resent them for it. After all,  I was the one waiting patiently by the toaster for the crispy disc to pop up. The unfairness of the scenario was too much to bear. Man, tha...

I've been "jokingly" dubbed Ms. Perfect in my family, probably after the umpteenth time I gave unsolicited advice by way of an example of how I handled a situation. A couple of family members (that I know of) have even gone as far to say that I think I'm better than everyone. I'm not going to lie: that hurts. But, the truth often can. Reflecting on this, it is pretty presumptuous and pretentious to assume people are seeking my advice, like I'm some sage on top of a mountain with all the answers to life's problems. I would tell you I'm the opposite, that I feel inadequate 99.9% of the time, that my "confidence" is a ruse. But, that's a lie. Truth is, I do feel inadequate in certain situations--many situations--but I am also confident in a few areas of my life. But, thinking I'm perfect or that I always handle things perfectly is not at all who I am. But, God forbid I let anyone see that. I have messed up so many times--with frien...

A couple of weeks ago, I wrote about 13 things we might regret when we're old. Today, I'd like to add a 14th: lying to yourself--and others. When I decided to post to this blog weekly and share it out with a larger audience, I vowed to be vulnerable, wear my heart on my sleeve, stop holding back. I am a liar.  I was not ready for that--still not ready for that. I show some vulnerability, some of what it is my heart, but I lie by omission. I also lie by making excuses. I don't think I'm alone. Our hearts are like sponges, soaking up the full range of emotions, and wringing it out in a public forum would just be too messy.  So, we let it remain saturated. It's better that way, right? That's a lie. A lie I tell myself--a lie you may tell yourself. It's certainly easier but not necessarily better.  I'm not making any big promises here, no proclamations to never lie again. I'm human, and true to human nature, I will surely falter...

Last week, one of my “13 things you’ll regret when you’re old” was turning down invitations to have fun. After a particularly grueling and emotional two weeks—both professionally and personally—I really wanted to bag out on plans to go see Imagine Dragons in Tampa. It was hot. I was tired. I was grumpy. We saw them in Orlando last year. My tummy hurt. I had all my excuses locked and loaded. I am so glad I didn’t pull them from my arsenal. John and I love their music, but this was more than just a trip to see a band. Our dear family friends’ son is taking off in a week to go to Boston College. I took care of this kid when he was an infant and love him like my own. So, there was that. And, we just have fun when we are with them. I needed to have a little fun, as evidenced by my extended grumpy stint. No housework. No dog duties. No homework. Just fun. After a great dinner at a cool place downtown (I have already forgotten the name), We headed to the amphitheater. It was hot, bu...

Today, my friend Melissa posted an article, " 30 Things You'll Regret When You're Old ." We laughed at #27: Not learning a party trick. I am willing to let that one go. My best trick is leaving by midnight so I don't embarrass myself, or worse, fall asleep. My firm commitment to that strategy has earned me the nickname "Cinderella" by another friend. I decided to write my own list. Let's see how many I can come up with! 1. Obsessing over a number on a scale.   I've battled this my whole life, even vowing to end it all in my teens if I ever went over 120. Obviously, I'm over 120.  I'm still here. And, my happy weight is way higher than many women would be able to stomach. I'm currently working on thinking about all the things my body has done--birthed 2 beautiful humans, run a half marathon (well, run/walk, but I crossed the finish line), hiked to the entrance of Angel's Peak at Zion National Park, and carrying me through this ...

I have this crazy habit of bringing home my work laptop and ridiculously heavy teacher editions of the ELA textbooks for multiple grade levels many nights of the week and even on weekends. Just in case I get motivated to get some work done.  This is a new phenomenon for me. Typically, when I brought work stuff home, I did work stuff. I would venture to say I did work stuff most nights of the week. As a teacher and ESE case manager, there were always papers to grade, lessons to plan, emails to answer, IEP's to write. If I didn't work at home, I would have never been able to keep up on it all. As a district coach, there were always trainings to plan, data reports to analyze, emails to answer, resources to build. I am willingly, happily back in that world, but something in me has shifted. It may be a consequence of my time alone: first as a part-time reading teacher where, yes, I worked at home but was more cognizant of how much time I spent off the clock, mostly because the...

Asbestos. Fire Extinguishers. Blood borne pathogens. Bullying prevention. Safety data sheets. Hazard communication. And, now, active shooter. I know so much about all of these topics, I score 100% on the quizzes without watching the videos. But, I have to watch the videos. Some are easy peasy, 10-15 minutes. Others drag on for 40+ minutes,  the pace of the reader painfully s-l-o-w for this speed reader. Fast forwarding is not an option. I tried that last year, only to be shot back to the same video because I didn't meet the time requirements. GAAAAAAAAAH!!! Since I definitely don't have time to do these things at work,  they become homework, as they do for 99.9% of my colleagues. I am a firm believer that we should be allowed to CLEP out of these things like you can some college courses. Instead of CLEP, (College Level Examination Program) we could call it the STEP (Safety Training Exemption Program). Seriously.  We differentiate learning for students all the ti...

John and I spent hours in the back room of our home yesterday, a room we don't hang out in all that often. It serves as the den where we house our printer, important documents, and other office whatnots, so it gets a lot of pass-through traffic, but not a lot of extended-stay visitors. It is also the room where we decided to hang our gallery wall of vacation pictures and other family pictures. I'm a little embarrassed to admit it took 10 months to get that ball rolling. First, it took us a while to decide it was a priority (moving and getting settled poops a person out). Then, we had a hard time finding frames we wanted (the old ones were a hodgepodge, and many were scratched up from all the moves). Once those frames arrived, we had to unpack them (those suckers were packed with more foam, cardboard, and tape than necessary). Once they were unpacked, we had to put the selected pictures in them (luckily, I had already taken the pictures out of the old frames, a seemingly easy ...

Breathe. It's something we do all day everyday without thinking about it, an autonomic reflex. However, unlike some other reflexes, our breath is something we can actually control--to some degree.  Think about the little kid who holds his or her breath in the midst of a temper tantrum. Not that I've witnessed this, but apparently, if said kid passes out, breathing will resume. Let that be a lesson to small children everywhere who might think this tactic will freak their parents out and get them what they want. It won't work.  Disclaimer: I'm going to publicly admit something that may paint me as a monster mom, so if you don't want your opinion of me tainted, stop reading here. My son actually pulled this stunt once. He wasn't even a year old, and I was at my parents house with him. I can't even remember what triggered the tantrum, but the little sucker threw himself back in a fit of rage and held his breath. My mother begged me to pick hi...

When the going gets tough, the tough get cleaning. I know that's not the official saying, but I guess you could say it's my motto. Not that things are tough right now--in fact, things are going really well. But, there are lots of things. They swirl around me like the dust particles that float gently to my wood floor, dancing in the sunlight, teasing me with their presence. I contemplated journaling, then tried knocking out a project for work, but I couldn't get my body to be still, much less my buzzing brain. So, I cleaned. I needed to do it anyway. I had company last weekend, a college kid home on a short break, and more company is on their way next weekend. And, I can't have them thinking I'm living like an animal in a prairie of dust and hair tumbleweeds. Something magical happens to me when I clean. I get in a zone, immediately prioritizing and organizing tasks in a super efficient way. First, throw a load of laundry in. Then, clean the kitchen so I can ...

No preconceived eXpectations, just an afternoon with a friend at an eXhibit     --actually two--      one characterized by the mark of the X, the other by gold. Both eXtraordinary, the art successfully eXpressing images both eXquisite and disturbing, eXploiting the inner thoughts of the artists, eXceptional in their uniqueness and commentary, worthy of careful eXamination, eXpanding our horizons, challenging our perceptions. An eXhilarating way to spend part of the day. Photo by  Andrej Lišakov  on  Unsplash

I am truly at a loss for words. I doesn't happen often, but right now, my head and heart are so overwhelmed with thoughts and emotions that I can't focus. I can't recount any funny stories, make any quippy observations, tell any touching tales.  I'm just at a loss. At a loss for why, as my son put it yesterday, everything has to be so black and white. Life is not cut and dry, but we try to operate as if it is. And, it's turning us into a society without a heart, without a soul.  Laws and rules aside, we have to remember this: circumstances and situations are as individual as the people stuck in them. So, why do we insist on blanket solutions to everything? Sometimes there are no easy solutions--many times no solutions at all.  Sometimes, there are just no words. 

Who makes soup when it's over 90 degrees outside and the air is as thick as a long-simmered broth? This girl. On a hot and humid Sunday--armed with the spoils of a recent Target shopping trip and some veggies that either needed to be used or tossed--I settled in to chop, sauté, boil and simmer, getting into a relaxing rhythm, forgetting about all the other things I should be doing instead. I realize in this moment that the process of making soup is almost as comforting as eating the end result. How can you eat soup in the summer?  I've been asked. I honestly don't see the difference between a spoonful of soup and a bite any of hot dish. At least with soup, I don't have to turn on the oven--just a couple of burners on my gas stove. Or better yet, dump all the ingredients into a crock pot and let them slow cook all day. And, I'm sitting inside an air conditioned house when I eat it anyway, so I won't spontaneously combust or anything. I've also gotten ...

There is nothing like a dog's unconditional and undying devotion to make you feel loved. Then, there's sick obsession. Our dog, Semi, falls into the latter category. In fact, John often says we should have named him Brian after the family pet in Family Guy  who is completely in love with and obsessed with Lois, dreaming of ways he can get rid of Peter. Although I doubt Semi is plotting John's death, he does show signs that he may have a problem. Case in point: I left for the evening to pet sit our daughter's dog, Clyde, (she calls him my fur grandson and goes as far as calling me GiGi) and Semi plopped down in the entryway, staring at the elevator door, waiting for a return that wasn't going to happen any time soon. Apparently, this is his spot whenever I am away for the night. Why he doesn't just enjoy a guy's night in, I'm not sure. You'd think those two would throw a party--watch some action films, drink beer out of a can, eat chips or Pop...

As much as I did not enjoy, no hated,  living in Orlando (perhaps the lack of friends and a husband who worked 12-15 hours a day--sometimes more--had something to do with that), I will say I liked, no loved,  who I was while I was there. On the advice of my friend and fellow writer, Helen, I delved into The Artist's Way  by Julia Cameron and not only found, but nurtured my creative self. I journaled daily, devoured books, photographed nature as I explored the area trails and parks, went to museums, took up calligraphy, and started a book. I sat on my patio every morning and evening to reflect and write some more. I found fulfillment in the solitude, made time for the things the demands of life never allowed. I should note I was also not working, so there's that. It's amazing what one can accomplish with a wide-open schedule. So, I find myself being completely irritated with myself at the moment. I finished that book--well, the shell of it anyway--before I realized som...

My head feels like it's about to explode. Well, one side of it anyway. I wish I were speaking in a figurative sense, but I'm not. My head literally  feels like it's about to explode. The pressure has been building behind one eye since the impending arrival of subtropical storm, Alberto. We desperately needed the rain around here--typical Florida going from drought conditions and fire dangers to flood warnings--but, I really wish it didn't have to come in the form of a system that causes changes in the barometric pressure. Luckily, this type of headache only hits every once in a while, a few times a year. I've learned to function with them, dull them enough to move along with my life and daily activities--as long as I don't bend over to pick anything up. I just look at it as an opportunity to get some squats in. Figuratively speaking, I do the same at work and in my personal life. Work has been a little bit of a pressure cooker lately. Not big news at the e...

Hi, my name is Annmarie, and I'm addicted to sarcasm. I honestly don't know how I would survive without it. Or, at least stay out of jail without it. Wielding it takes the edge off, lets me release the building pressure in little spurts so I don't blow. Sometimes, it's pretty funny, downright hilarious even. And to my family who will tell me I'm not as funny as I think, I get lots of laughs at work and with friends. So there. However, at times, my snarky comments are just plain mean. I can see it on the faces of people who laugh nervously, all the while their darting are looking for the escape. Too far? I want to ask. I just apologize instead. The trick is to find that fine line. I often fail, crossing over to the dark side of biting sarcasm. I always feel better letting it out, but I may leave others feeling wounded. And, that's a problem for me because believe it or not, at my core, I am a kind person. I truly enjoy helping people out, making someone fee...

I committed to writing a weekly blog, and with the exception of one week, I’ve honored that promise to myself—no easy task for someone who lies on her own food journals. But,  when we lost all cable and internet connection this morning, I was ready to throw in the towel. Instead, I decided to turn my WiFi off on my phone and type in tiny letters on a tiny screen—not easy for someone whose multi-focal contacts don’t provide perfect vision near or far. Add a raging one-sided sinus headache to that. Not a perfect formula for writing. But, I’m determined to write anyway. That’s commitment in my book. For the past few weeks, I’ve been questioning my commitments and lack thereof. I’m over committed to things that are wearing me down and not committed to things that have in the past built me up. And just like the food journal, I lie to myself about what is important and what is not, over prioritize some things as an excuse to not prioritize others. One truth stands: I do it to mysel...

Lately, my Facebook stream has been flooded with pictures of proms, awards ceremonies, and high school and college graduations. I've known a lot of these kids since they were chubby-cheeked pre-schoolers--some since they were in diapers. My first thought is, man I'm old.  My next thought goes to how cool it is to be able to witness these milestones, even if only on social media. For all the negative talk about Millennials and Generation Z, I think these kids have the perfect mix of moxy and assertiveness to make some significant strides.  They're willing to navigate the gray areas, not get stuck in destructive black-and-white thinking. They'll discover things we never thought possible, work in careers that aren't even defined as of today. Their lack of boundaries--however annoying to those who are more comfortable living inside the lines--is the very thing that will lead to advances in medicine, education, technology, politics, and society itself. Yes, they don...

An empty box and a bouquet of tulips greeted me when I got in from walking the dog yesterday evening.  John stood there, a smile on his face. He knows my favorite flowers are tulips, and these vibrant purplish pink ones just looked like the color of love. I read the card stuffed inside the box and sniffed back a few tears.  I knew the box itself had significance, but unlike the 27 tiny boxes I stuffed with memories on paper, the purpose wasn't obvious to me. In my defense, it was stressful day, and my brain was not functioning at full capacity.  (Disclaimer: I know lots of women would be irate at receiving an empty box for an anniversary gift, but we vowed to go gift-free this year.) I must have looked at him quizzically. "It's empty so we can fill it with 27 more years of memories."  This. This is why I love this guy with all of my heart. After all this time, he still wants to make memories with me.  As I ran my hand over the box this mor...

When I began this blog, I promised to show my heart. Currently, it's divided among 27 tiny boxes, each one containing a memory I've shared with John. (If you read my post,  Sound of My Soul , you know the song, "Boxes" by the Goo Goo Dolls has become our theme song.) After a tumultuous and expensive year and a half of moving many times and not being sure of anything except for the strength of our marriage, we have settled back into a comfortable groove. Unfortunately, both of us have been busy acclimating to new jobs, so were haven't had tons of mental energy once we get home. Sometimes, we spend our time at home working. Often, I think about doing something nice for him, but I can't seem to gather up enough will to peel my butt off the couch. I try to say nice things, to show how much I still appreciate him, but I get sidetracked. Our upcoming anniversary on the 27th seemed like a perfect time to wow him with a meaningful (and cheap) gift. When the song ...

A funny thing happened this week: My drives home from work were relatively stress-free, the areas that usually stack up considerably lighter. And, lighter traffic means a lighter Annmarie. Like laundry, traffic is on my top ten list of annoyances. My family tells me I'm an aggressive driver. Perhaps. I prefer to think of it as defensive driving. The problem is, I do become a tad too defensive and get myself all riled up, every misstep by another driver giving me an excuse to rant. But, this week was different. I found myself just cruising along, and other than the orange jeep that almost ran me off I75 yesterday, I didn't have moments I feared for my life. I sat in the middle lane for the most part, not worried about the people doing 100 zooming by me or the others puttering along at 55 I was passing. I let a couple of cars in when they were in the merge lane. What's the difference, I thought, if I am the 3rd or 5th car in line? I did draw the line, however, at lettin...

I've been feeling more than a little uninspired these days, even with potential muses all around me. But, yesterday, I went on an adventure with two dear friends and writing circle buddies that helped renew my intention to live life in the moment. At first it didn't seem all that promising. It was the opposite of swampy due to the time of year and the dry conditions we've had. But, as I  gazed up at the ancient cypress trees, listened to the wind dance through the tall, impossibly skinny pines, and opened my ears to the bird  symphony, I began to feel inspiration well within me. But, other than a couple of bees getting busy with a flower, there wasn't a lot of wildlife making itself visible. Yet. When I tell you we walked smack dab into the middle of a paradisal oasis, I am not exaggerating. I don't have pictures to show the scope of how magical the place was because I decided to leave my big camera home in an effort to be in the moment, so you'll just hav...