Oh, how I love the Olympics!!!
I didn't love the Olympics this much before this year, but I am just nuts about the whole deal this time around (except ice dancing). I really can't say why I'm so crazy about it all this year, but I just want to watch it all night and day.
Ok, to be honest, I don't really care that much about the figure skating routine, and ice dancing really just makes me want to barf, but even the Nordic events hold a relatively reasonable amount of interest for me. It just all makes me so thrilled!
And can I rave enough about curling??? NO!!! I love, love, love curling! It is such a wild and wooly sport, I can't even believe it! I've decided it is the perfect combination of bowling and chess. What a hoot! Oh, that game gives me an ulcer! I just love it!
Hockey - do you know that I have never liked hockey before this very year? These Olympic games have made me love hockey! I've become a hockey fan. Seriously! Who would have guessed!? I can hardly stand it! So now I'm this person who yells at the tv screen during a hockey game. What is that all about??? Sheesh!
The Olympics.
Go figure!
Thursday, February 25, 2010
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
Who am I, anyway?
I am . . . ?
We gain a great deal of sense of identity from the security we garner from our parents and the family we grew up in. At least, those of us who grew up in a family do. I don't know how it works for those who didn't grow up in a family. I can't really address that subject because I don't know.
So I have been struggling over the past year, really struggling because I've had to try to redefine myself as I've had to redefine my family. I've discovered that my family was not what I thought it was. My parents were not who I thought they were. I've become so disillusioned.
The truth is that they probably didn't really change. They've probably always been just who they are now. Or maybe my parents are different now because they are elderly, which does make sense (so maybe I should cut them some slack?). I don't know. Maybe my eyes are opened now and I see things for what they have really been all along. I know that I've put most of my family up on a pedestal my entire life, and I'm seeing things without rose colored glasses for the first time. I'm seeing things from a realistic perspective now.
It frustrates me.
I have to figure out not just who they are, but who I am. It isn't just that they look different from this perspective, but I do too. I understand that if I see them with all their flaws more clearly, mine are more evident as well. I'm not blind to all that. All that is painfully obvious to me. I spend too much time inside my own head, trying to figure out where and how I fit in this new world I've discovered.
I still haven't figured it out.
Let me know if you have any clues.
We gain a great deal of sense of identity from the security we garner from our parents and the family we grew up in. At least, those of us who grew up in a family do. I don't know how it works for those who didn't grow up in a family. I can't really address that subject because I don't know.
So I have been struggling over the past year, really struggling because I've had to try to redefine myself as I've had to redefine my family. I've discovered that my family was not what I thought it was. My parents were not who I thought they were. I've become so disillusioned.
The truth is that they probably didn't really change. They've probably always been just who they are now. Or maybe my parents are different now because they are elderly, which does make sense (so maybe I should cut them some slack?). I don't know. Maybe my eyes are opened now and I see things for what they have really been all along. I know that I've put most of my family up on a pedestal my entire life, and I'm seeing things without rose colored glasses for the first time. I'm seeing things from a realistic perspective now.
It frustrates me.
I have to figure out not just who they are, but who I am. It isn't just that they look different from this perspective, but I do too. I understand that if I see them with all their flaws more clearly, mine are more evident as well. I'm not blind to all that. All that is painfully obvious to me. I spend too much time inside my own head, trying to figure out where and how I fit in this new world I've discovered.
I still haven't figured it out.
Let me know if you have any clues.
Sunday, February 14, 2010
Rocky Mountain High!
It's a miracle!
Please welcome the newest member of the Brandt family, Miracle!
We just couldn't stand it any more, so we made some frenzied phone calls on Friday, threw some things in overnight bags, and hopped in the old family truckster. We headed out for Denver, where we ended up on Saturday afternoon, to meet our new doggie. We adopted Miracle, who we are calling 'Mira' from a racetrack there. The racetrack had been closed (HOORAY!) and is being used to house dogs now, ironically, which are being adopted out. Colorado is no longer a racing state. Actually, Mira came from a closed racetrack in Tucson, Arizona, and was shipped in to Denver for adoption. So - our dog, which we are transporting to Utah to live with us, was born in Arizona, and sent to Colorado where we drove to adopt her! She's definitely well travelled for a doggie of less than 3 years!
So, funny story that isn't so hilarious - we're now trapped in a hotel in a charming little ski resort town called Silverthorn. We decided to pull off for a potty break for Mira and a couple of others in the family, and as we came to the traffic signal at the end to the highway offramp, I said to Darrin, "Wow, that car in front of us really smells bad! What is that, burning brakes?" (We were coming down the grade from the Continental Divide.) We agreed that it must be burning brakes, and felt really bad for that car in front of us. So we pulled into the gas station parking lot and got out. Darrin decided to check under the hood, just to make sure it wasn't our car that had that awful smell. Good news - nothing under the hood smelled bad! We started heading in to the store and as we did, Darrin paused and pointed to the passenger side wheel. I looked down and saw that there was smoke coming from the wheel well, and there was actually boiling liquid emanating from the center of the wheel hub.
Um, I don't know much about cars, but that didn't seem very good to me. Also, we had found the source of that "bad car smell". It wasn't that car in front of us!
So, here we sit with our super neat (honestly) new doggie, Mira, in a great (honestly) hotel room, completely stranded! It's Sunday, so no repair shops are open. Also, tomorrow is President's Day, so we don't know if any repair shops will be open then! This is a big adventure, to say the least. We're just going to hunker down and have some fun, whatever comes. That's really just our style, anyway.
We are nestled in at the tippy top of the Rocky Mountains, somewhere between the big tunnel under the Continental Divide and Vail. It is just as beautiful as it can possibly be. There was a big storm that came through last night, and another one is supposed to come through tomorrow. Hopefully we can get our axle fixed and it won't break the bank! Won't it be exciting to see what tomorrow brings???
Until then, the entire Brandt family, including our new addition, is experiencing an extreme Rocky Mountain High!
Please welcome the newest member of the Brandt family, Miracle!
We just couldn't stand it any more, so we made some frenzied phone calls on Friday, threw some things in overnight bags, and hopped in the old family truckster. We headed out for Denver, where we ended up on Saturday afternoon, to meet our new doggie. We adopted Miracle, who we are calling 'Mira' from a racetrack there. The racetrack had been closed (HOORAY!) and is being used to house dogs now, ironically, which are being adopted out. Colorado is no longer a racing state. Actually, Mira came from a closed racetrack in Tucson, Arizona, and was shipped in to Denver for adoption. So - our dog, which we are transporting to Utah to live with us, was born in Arizona, and sent to Colorado where we drove to adopt her! She's definitely well travelled for a doggie of less than 3 years!
So, funny story that isn't so hilarious - we're now trapped in a hotel in a charming little ski resort town called Silverthorn. We decided to pull off for a potty break for Mira and a couple of others in the family, and as we came to the traffic signal at the end to the highway offramp, I said to Darrin, "Wow, that car in front of us really smells bad! What is that, burning brakes?" (We were coming down the grade from the Continental Divide.) We agreed that it must be burning brakes, and felt really bad for that car in front of us. So we pulled into the gas station parking lot and got out. Darrin decided to check under the hood, just to make sure it wasn't our car that had that awful smell. Good news - nothing under the hood smelled bad! We started heading in to the store and as we did, Darrin paused and pointed to the passenger side wheel. I looked down and saw that there was smoke coming from the wheel well, and there was actually boiling liquid emanating from the center of the wheel hub.
Um, I don't know much about cars, but that didn't seem very good to me. Also, we had found the source of that "bad car smell". It wasn't that car in front of us!
So, here we sit with our super neat (honestly) new doggie, Mira, in a great (honestly) hotel room, completely stranded! It's Sunday, so no repair shops are open. Also, tomorrow is President's Day, so we don't know if any repair shops will be open then! This is a big adventure, to say the least. We're just going to hunker down and have some fun, whatever comes. That's really just our style, anyway.
We are nestled in at the tippy top of the Rocky Mountains, somewhere between the big tunnel under the Continental Divide and Vail. It is just as beautiful as it can possibly be. There was a big storm that came through last night, and another one is supposed to come through tomorrow. Hopefully we can get our axle fixed and it won't break the bank! Won't it be exciting to see what tomorrow brings???
Until then, the entire Brandt family, including our new addition, is experiencing an extreme Rocky Mountain High!
Thursday, February 11, 2010
End of the world . . . and I feel fine!
My thoughts have been racing like crazy lately - random and wild like this song. One minute I feel sad and blue and depressed and sure that things will be that way forever, and then I'm just happy and glad and I know that everything will be ok.
My whole family has been this way. It's wild how losing our Cairo has effected us this way. My sweet Jared, only 9 years old, has been having awful dreams. He dreams of loving and hugging Cairo, only to awake and find himself alone. Then he lays there awake and crying, all alone in the darkness. It isn't the dream that is so awful, but what he awakes to afterward. And then last night, he dreamed again of Cairo, and then dreamed of losing his grandparents who he had loved so much.
Damn them a million times over. Damn them to a thousand corners of hell! And I'm not kidding! I told them if they banished me they would be breaking my children's hearts, and that the choice was theirs. My children lived in their home for three years and grew to adore them in ways they could never have imagined. And then they made the conscious choice to abandon not only me, but to completely turn their backs on my children, their own grandchildren, who they knew to adore and esteem them in the highest fashion. My children felt that their grandparents could do no wrong! And then they did this to them! Oh, the deepest betrayal of all to their dear, young hearts! Oh, the pain and confusion! My poor darlings! What can I do for them? How can I mend their sweet little spirits? The poor things are having dreams of their abandonment by their trusted ones. What am I to do?
Somehow, I will pick up the pieces. I absolutely must put this back together.
This is the mess that caused me to attempt suicide. Can you imagine what it did to my tender little children?
It's the end of the world as we know it, and I feel fine . . . or at least I must pretend that I do, until my children believe it. Then maybe I'll really feel fine and we can move on.
BTW, I really like this frenzied rendition of this song. It really displays how I feel.
My whole family has been this way. It's wild how losing our Cairo has effected us this way. My sweet Jared, only 9 years old, has been having awful dreams. He dreams of loving and hugging Cairo, only to awake and find himself alone. Then he lays there awake and crying, all alone in the darkness. It isn't the dream that is so awful, but what he awakes to afterward. And then last night, he dreamed again of Cairo, and then dreamed of losing his grandparents who he had loved so much.
Damn them a million times over. Damn them to a thousand corners of hell! And I'm not kidding! I told them if they banished me they would be breaking my children's hearts, and that the choice was theirs. My children lived in their home for three years and grew to adore them in ways they could never have imagined. And then they made the conscious choice to abandon not only me, but to completely turn their backs on my children, their own grandchildren, who they knew to adore and esteem them in the highest fashion. My children felt that their grandparents could do no wrong! And then they did this to them! Oh, the deepest betrayal of all to their dear, young hearts! Oh, the pain and confusion! My poor darlings! What can I do for them? How can I mend their sweet little spirits? The poor things are having dreams of their abandonment by their trusted ones. What am I to do?
Somehow, I will pick up the pieces. I absolutely must put this back together.
This is the mess that caused me to attempt suicide. Can you imagine what it did to my tender little children?
It's the end of the world as we know it, and I feel fine . . . or at least I must pretend that I do, until my children believe it. Then maybe I'll really feel fine and we can move on.
BTW, I really like this frenzied rendition of this song. It really displays how I feel.
Friday, February 5, 2010
Lost Tribe - not so lost
I read this amazing and very stirring article on CNN.com about a woman on a tiny island in India who died last week. Her name was Boa. She was the last surviving member of her tribe, and the last woman on the face of this entire earth who spoke her language. Can you imagine such a thing? How lonely that must have been for her! What a beautiful relief to finally die and return to the presence of all your loved ones and be able to speak your native tongue with those who understand you! What a blessing, seriously.
She was part of a tribe that is believed to be one of the oldest known human cultures on earth, dating back 65,000 years. How cool is that? They lived on the Andaman Islands, about 150 miles off the coast of India.
I wanted to post this neat video of her singing some of the old songs of her tribe, but the best I could manage was the link. I hope you'll follow it and see her and listen to her voice. It is a record of a culture that has died with her. It is a treasure that we can take with us, carry in our memories even though she and her culture have gone. Her entire language and culture have now vanished from the face of the earth, but here is a brief moment captured in time for us to relish. I hope you'll enjoy it as much as I have. It really delighted me to know that I've been able to share in a part of something that has otherwise disappeared from our planet. I'll keep it in my mind forever, and that way it will live on after a fashion. It's nice to think of that way.
http://cnn.com/video/?/video/world/2010/02/05/bo.lost.language.cnn
She was part of a tribe that is believed to be one of the oldest known human cultures on earth, dating back 65,000 years. How cool is that? They lived on the Andaman Islands, about 150 miles off the coast of India.
I wanted to post this neat video of her singing some of the old songs of her tribe, but the best I could manage was the link. I hope you'll follow it and see her and listen to her voice. It is a record of a culture that has died with her. It is a treasure that we can take with us, carry in our memories even though she and her culture have gone. Her entire language and culture have now vanished from the face of the earth, but here is a brief moment captured in time for us to relish. I hope you'll enjoy it as much as I have. It really delighted me to know that I've been able to share in a part of something that has otherwise disappeared from our planet. I'll keep it in my mind forever, and that way it will live on after a fashion. It's nice to think of that way.
http://cnn.com/video/?/video/world/2010/02/05/bo.lost.language.cnn
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
Dea
Dea was my cousin. I found out today that she died last week. I'm not altogether surprised, because I've been thinking that a family member had died. It was just a sense of something like that, an unsettled feeling that there was something I should have been aware of.
Dea and I became friends close to 10 years ago, over the internet. We would link up via instant messenging, and chat for hours. She was really sweet and good. She was several years older than I was, but we had shared similar life experiences. We became good friends right away. Dea had lived a hard life. She had made some lousy choices that had led her down some tough paths, and she hadn't been able to correct her course quite the way she would have liked. That never changed the fact that she had an incredibly good heart, though. She was a good woman, through and through. I loved her so much, although we had lost touch over the years.
She suffered from some major physical challenges, and dealt with awful pain. That was something we had in common, and something we understood about each other. Pain sears your soul and bonds people together, I think. She struggled with addiction to painkillers at times. I'll never judge her for that, because I know how it feels to be wracked by pain and have your body just cry out for relief. No one who hasn't experienced that can possibly understand, and there's just no point in trying to explain it.
Dea's family - her parents and her siblings - loved her and supported her. They may not have agreed with everything in her life, but they never deserted her. She wasn't a perfect person, of course not. Who is? But her family loved her. Dea seemed to have always been searching for the right person in her life. I don't think she ever found him, but I hope God, in his infinite wisdom, will help Dea work that out. I'd like to think of her happy that way - spending eternity holding hands with someone wonderful who makes her feel as completely special as she really is.
Dea and I became friends close to 10 years ago, over the internet. We would link up via instant messenging, and chat for hours. She was really sweet and good. She was several years older than I was, but we had shared similar life experiences. We became good friends right away. Dea had lived a hard life. She had made some lousy choices that had led her down some tough paths, and she hadn't been able to correct her course quite the way she would have liked. That never changed the fact that she had an incredibly good heart, though. She was a good woman, through and through. I loved her so much, although we had lost touch over the years.
She suffered from some major physical challenges, and dealt with awful pain. That was something we had in common, and something we understood about each other. Pain sears your soul and bonds people together, I think. She struggled with addiction to painkillers at times. I'll never judge her for that, because I know how it feels to be wracked by pain and have your body just cry out for relief. No one who hasn't experienced that can possibly understand, and there's just no point in trying to explain it.
Dea's family - her parents and her siblings - loved her and supported her. They may not have agreed with everything in her life, but they never deserted her. She wasn't a perfect person, of course not. Who is? But her family loved her. Dea seemed to have always been searching for the right person in her life. I don't think she ever found him, but I hope God, in his infinite wisdom, will help Dea work that out. I'd like to think of her happy that way - spending eternity holding hands with someone wonderful who makes her feel as completely special as she really is.
Monday, February 1, 2010
Carry you home
Today we sent our dearest friend, Cairo, home to God.
Maybe that seems trite or insignificant to some, but to me it was really a very big thing. Cairo wasn't just a dog to any of us. She was a dear, dear friend and sweet love. She was the best dog ever. She came into our lives at a vital time, and bridged some great gaps that seemed impassable for us. Cairo filled holes in my heart when I was bleeding. She gave me unconditional love and hope. She was our plucky comic relief when we were desperate for it. In short, she saved our lives.
After much prayer and deliberation, Darrin and I decided that it was time to let Cairo go. The medication we had been giving her didn't seem to be helping her much. She was miserable. She wasn't improving like she needed to. Poor Cairo just couldn't walk, and she needed constant attention. She could not be left alone for a moment. She was not happy. I kept feeling impressed that she was unable to fulfill the measure of her creation.
So, after the kids went to school this morning, we got ready and took her to the vet. They kindly gave her a shot, and she went to sleep. She fell asleep in our arms as we loved her and urged her to run home.
She was a beautiful dog, with a beautiful spirit. I know that she is racing like the wind now, unfettered by the broken body that bound her.
Maybe that seems trite or insignificant to some, but to me it was really a very big thing. Cairo wasn't just a dog to any of us. She was a dear, dear friend and sweet love. She was the best dog ever. She came into our lives at a vital time, and bridged some great gaps that seemed impassable for us. Cairo filled holes in my heart when I was bleeding. She gave me unconditional love and hope. She was our plucky comic relief when we were desperate for it. In short, she saved our lives.
After much prayer and deliberation, Darrin and I decided that it was time to let Cairo go. The medication we had been giving her didn't seem to be helping her much. She was miserable. She wasn't improving like she needed to. Poor Cairo just couldn't walk, and she needed constant attention. She could not be left alone for a moment. She was not happy. I kept feeling impressed that she was unable to fulfill the measure of her creation.
So, after the kids went to school this morning, we got ready and took her to the vet. They kindly gave her a shot, and she went to sleep. She fell asleep in our arms as we loved her and urged her to run home.
She was a beautiful dog, with a beautiful spirit. I know that she is racing like the wind now, unfettered by the broken body that bound her.
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