jakorte's blog

May 20, 2013

Gnawing, ME Newsletter, Vol. 6, Issue 21

Still dealing with the shopping mall fall-out…
Still have that overgrown straw-like, dry and ugly mess on my head.
Still another week and a half away from my next hair appointment, it was gnawing at me.
I’m pretty sure I could have survived another week of mirror taunting.

But, miraculously, someone posted a homemade chem-free solution:
“In need of some major hair TLC?? Combine three tablespoons of extra virgin olive oil with two eggs and apply the mixture to your hair. Let the mixture sit for 20 minutes before rinsing in the shower.
The olive oil will help hydrate brittle locks, while the protein in the eggs will promote healthy hair growth.”

Ok, well, with only two ingredients required, both on hand, and half the amount of hair on a regular head, I went forth with half the recipe. The combination easily whisked into a thick emulsion. This made it easy to hand-scoop out of the bowl, and stayed where it was put, without a lot of dripping.

20 minutes later I started to have doubts about whether I was going to have to call in stupid to work on account of my newly acquired, concrete helmet-head full of dried gook. I decided to follow the instructions and rinsed under a hot shower. My hair felt surprisingly smooth and wonderfully tangle free. I towel dried, and reached over to grab a hair brush from the counter basket.

You know that weird thing that happens after a salon visit? The one where you stand and suddenly you can smell the products in your hair? Well, I caught a whiff and thought – no way! If I don’t get this all of out my hair, there’d be a cat fest and probably some huge hairballs for me in the morning. So, I jumped back in the shower, and used a miniscule amount of shampoo followed by a minimal amount of conditioner. Rinsed again. Towel dried, combed, bent over, stood up to smell check. Phew. Still stinky. So, hmmm… there really wasn’t much of a choice to be made. I got back in the shower and rinsed yet again with another miniscule amount of shampoo and another miniscule amount of conditioner. It was getting later in the evening. I briefly considered employing my seldom used hair dryer, and then considered the possibility of cooking up any possible scrambled egg remnants. I set about letting my smooth head of hair air dry, and in a half hour, I didn’t notice a smell anymore.

About 4 hours later I woke up wondering what was dripping onto my scalp. That would be cat with a very cold nose, purring like a fiend. Not really licking and not really chewing my hair, just sort of pushing it around, breathing heavily and poking his snout about. I couldn’t see it, but I imagine he was making that cat face – the one that comes about after they unexplicably stick their nose into an available shoe. I scooted him out the door, simultaneously grabbing a sock to close into the door jamb because it muffles the sound of continual cat-knocking, displeasure communicating, door battery. I succeeded. Not bad for being half asleep!

In the morning, I washed and rinsed again, with regular small appropriate amounts of shampoo and conditioner for short hairt. I was still wondering if my situation was anything like what happens when a car encounters a skunk and the stiff wafts through the auto’s air system. You can’t help getting out of the vehicle and taking a few short sniffs, just to make sure that you don’t now smell like skunk. And then you end up worrying that you may still smell like skunk, but you’ve become used to it, so you’re not the best judge of that situation. I surely hoped not. Just to be sure, I asked a coworker to smell my hair. I probably should have explained the situation before I made the request. Now I know what kind of stuff stops her in her tracks, and that, thankfully, I was in fact hair-mask fragrance free.

The bottom line: it worked! Nicely, I might add.
I’d do it again. On a weekend. Saturday morning. With nowhere to go until Sunday.
I’ll also sock the door to preempt potential cat gnawing. Gnawing what I now know, of course.

Posted by jaselin at 09:21 PM | Comments (0)

May 14, 2013

Brow, ME Newsletter, Vol. 6, Issue 20

So, I was having one of my occasional high-brow threading treatments when I realized, well... I’m old. It happened when I was given the mirror to inspect the new brow-do and, well.. there I sat in my melon pants and floral top, sporting a nose stud, tattoos and looking... old and tired, and well... brow-beaten.

True, I had already made 3 laps around the mall, but was happily counting it as exercise. I ordered a gift, picked up another gift, stopped to have my brows threaded. Actually, even before the inspection, when I had been squished into a waiting area with four young ladies whose stick-figure silhouettes inspired envy, well... that was the start of the recognition of the dawning of the old age of a Cancer/Leo cusp.

Then, short on energy and saliva, I stopped for a diet coke and to place take-out order. As I paid for my dinner, the old-enough-to-know -better- than-to-insult-customers-with-uninhibited-outbreaks -of-inappropriate-freedom-of-stupid-speech-opinions cashier exclaimed, “Oh, wow! Crackle! I haven’t see THAT in a while!” Well, damn. It looks like I may have held onto another trend too long. Of course, it didn’t seem too long to me, because, well.. time goes faster as you get older. I didn’t bother to explain that cracklepolish hides chips nicely, and since I’ve been spending a lot of time packing up stuff, many layers of polish give my nails a little extra strength, too. The things is, she might be right. I do tend to stick with what I like, because, well... I like it.

From that interesting encounter, I trudged back to the first store to pick up my special order, and was finally done with the self-torture errands. Two hours of mall-attack sensory overload, had me slothing to my I’m-going-to-get-as-many-steps-logged-in-today-on-my pedometer end of the row where I had purposefully and enthusiastically parked car. I lugged myself and everything upstairs in one trip. To my delayed dismay, I noticed I was missing the very special gift that started this whole excursion. The thought of having to go back to them mall to try and find it nearly drove me to tears.

So, back down I went, around the corner to the car park, into the trunk, where it thankfully had just managed to escape my earlier attention. Purchase firmly grasped, with the near-end in my unhindered line of sight, I shuffled back around the corner, and used the railing to guide myself back upstairs.

Yep, lapping the mall and stairing repeatedly the first day of May at 80 degrees, well… it was not entirely surprising that I was not a pretty sight in my own mirror. My dry, fly-away and yet still floppy short head of standing almost straight up from wind hair was a brittle straw-resembling ugly mess. I also had some serious eye bags and no more mascara on my right eye due severe watery reaction to overly perfumed stores of stinky stuff.

At least, I accomplished the gifting, survived brisk walking, temporary panic, multiple stair-ing, and my brows were no longer weighing heavily on my mind… or brow. So, even if you are old, and tired and stuck in past current trends, a small $15.00 beauty indulgence still has the remarkable super-strength power required to offset even the worst bad self-image day. Highly recommend it.

Posted by jaselin at 06:13 PM | Comments (0)

May 06, 2013

Why Me? ME Newsletter, Vol. 6, Issue 19

4/5/13

I am always astounded when amazing opportunities present themselves to my friends and their first reaction is to doubt themselves, immediately asking, “Why me?”

It’s happened so often, it never takes me more than a few seconds to respond. I’ve got routine down pat. The first five seconds are usually spent emitting a short snort, tilting my head, opening my eyes wide, raising my brows, and silently giving off the impression of a person suggesting that the person asking the question is being completely ridiculous and purposefully being dense.

And then, I get into it. “Well, let’s see,” I shake my shoulders and abruptly offer aloud or silently let my fingers fly fast in writing, “It’s probably because you… (insert obvious and significant answer here.) One of my recent on-the-spot observations sounded a bit harsh to my own ears. Maybe because I could hear my own sarcasm, or maybe because calling out someone else’s tendency to step-back and question is a just a mite hypocritical.

Generally, though, when any of us find ourselves asked to do something in service, the first negative thought is that you don’t have time, and the second more overwhelming and honest reaction is that you’re not comfortable with the responsibility.

Of course you're not "comfortable" with it. GOD doesn't ask us to step out of our comfort zone into another comfort zone, silly. Comfort zone = complacency. You are by no means meant to be a complacent person - you have a voice and you use it when it matters. I imagine that is exactly the reason you were called or nominated or asked. Oh, and by the way, I'll prayer on it for you, even though we both know how it’s going to go. And, I sign my tiny tirade with a simple {hug}, hoping you’ll feel the love behind it.

How is it then that I am always at a loss for my own answers?
And how is it that so far, no one has called me out on that?
I suppose, if you feel like making up for lost time, now would be your opportunity.
Your one and only opportunity.
Just sayin’.

Posted by jaselin at 08:49 PM | Comments (0)

April 29, 2013

Lessons Learned: A Memorial, ME Newsletter Vol. 6, Issue 18

4/4/13

Feeling the loss of a wonderful person and mentor, and the pain that goes along with it. For those of you who knew her, and those of you who didn’t, the following are my snapshot memories, which I am gladly sharing with you.

It seemed Chris didn’t particularly like having her picture taken. Most of the time, her hands, or her clipboard, or her hair purposefully got in the way. I don’t know why. She was a beautiful woman with an amazing smile. Somewhere, though, I do have one picture. She couldn’t avoid it, since her hands were full carrying a music themed thirtieth birthday cake. I’m sure I could find it in one of many boxes of memories, but I really don’t need to. It’s vivid memory, even without it.

Lessons learned: a picture you may not want taken now, may be a comfort in years to come, and black icing creates black tongues and black lips and lots of laughter.

I very much admired Chris’ ability to not let anyone ruffle her feathers, no matter how hard they tried. In my thirties, it was an unfathomable mystery. Heading into fifty, I well understand it now. I shake my head at the thirty-somethings I know - boiling over, letting off steam, jet-propelling right past an easy solution. I am glad to have such a peacefully, dedicated spirit to emulate.

Lessons learned: be the best example you can even if you’re not getting through to anyone; someday it will catch up to someone and they will finally see the wisdom in it.

A few days before an Asylum staff white- elephant holiday exchange, Chris showed me some canisters she was planning to get rid of. We decided that she would bring them to the event. We were pretty sure that no one else would want them as much I did. They matched the ridiculous chicken border in my kitchen. I’m not 100% sure who I traded a bottle of wine for the chickens. I do remember it was a very fun trade. I still have those chicken canisters. I've thought of her every time I've packed and unpacked them, and sometimes when they’ve unexpectedly caught my eye from their top shelf perch. I really wish I'd told her that they, and she, have stayed with me for all these years.

Lessons learned: Only a true friend would see the value of making someone happy with something no one else would want, and if you’re the recipient of such a treasured gift, you should never stop saying, “Thank you.”

My favorite Chris moment of all occurred in the tiny Asylum Records kitchen one morning. After putting my lunch away, my head came up from behind the refrigerator door to see Chris standing there with an empty coffee cup and a silly grin. She nudged up next to me, and whispered conspiratorially, “I just wanted you to know that Kyle and I are seeing each other… just in case you come around the corner too fast someday and catch us kissing.”

Lessons learned: it’s not always easy to deal with a fast-moving New Yorker, and most importantly of all… when love makes you glow, you should let everybody know.

May your happiest memories carry you through.
With fond regards,

Posted by jaselin at 02:24 PM | Comments (0)

April 27, 2013

Welcome to Midweek Encouragement

Midweek Encouragement is quite simply one page, once a week for the promotion of love and learning.

The entries in this section are a recreated and current history of email messages that have introduced the weekly, Wednesday morning, ME Newsletters, since it's inception.

I have not yet found a reasonably easy way to publish the one page, so for now it remains an email attachment in Word format.

To subscribe please email jakorte@rocketmail.com. Blessings, J.

Posted by jaselin at 04:19 PM | Comments (0)

April 23, 2013

Bad Things Happen, ME Newsletter, Vol. 6, Issue 17

Growing up holidays were more about tradition than religion. Most of the time, they centered about food. Passover Seder dictates historical, emotionally significant dishes; matzoh, bitter herbs, haroseth. Hamantashen for Purim reminded us of Haman’s triangular shaped hat. On Yom Kippur we ate honey and apples to bring us into a sweet new year.

So, I’ve been thinking about Christmas, and Easter, and although there are traditional family recipes we expect to enjoy, there isn’t any specific holiday-honoring food demonstrating or pictorially representing the birth and death and rebirth of Jesus. That is handled in Communion.

Hallmark holidays are pretty much the only ones where no one has suffered. Unless you count the childbirth suffering required in order to participate in a Mother’s Day of your own, in which case I’d have to agree, but not from experience. In the same way, very few of us can claim the direct experience of having lived the history of any given holiday, still we understand the significance of the events

Most Holy Days are set as reminders rooted in seriousness. Bad things happen. National holidays follow this rote, as well. Their main purpose is reflection; often on gruesome events with a “whew” sort of subtext. First the horror or the hardship, then delayed thankfulness.

Freedoms are a huge part of it. I’m having trouble applying that to now, as waves of upset, strife, mass shootings, mass knifings, and explosions rock our world and our souls to the core. I, for one, remain caught; swaying between the repercussions of ’HIS will be done,’ and crying out for intervention.

Posted by jaselin at 06:03 PM | Comments (0)

April 16, 2013

Counting Happy, ME Newsletter, Vol. 6, Issue 16

4/5/13
Post by Philosophical Friend: You don't have to be happy all the time in your life maybe just sometimes
Reply from a near double-decade sage: That's stupid

I recognize it, now; I tortured myself from a very young age with unguided imagery. No one planted these ideals in my head. I gathered them from books, TV shows, and movies. Always, a happy ending made the suffering worth it, whatever the fictional price. No one ever promised me that I would have a happy ending-point and then, from that point on, my life would be… happy. I just believed it would be.

I figured out the obvious in my teens. Nothing had worked out, so far. Nothing had made me happy. That’s when I turned from quiet brainiac to pouting rebel. Rainbow hair, pierced nails, one long & one-short earring. I even clockworked a little bit; right side blonde and short, left side black and longer, left side full make-up , right side significantly less.

Managed to conformed a little for a Manhattan retail job, but even then I was warned I was pushing the limits. limits. I wasn’t following fads or on-boarding trends.The fashion industry expects fashion conformity, so walked away from that.

I found an easy crowd to fit in with: musicians and artists. There office outlandish was acceptable. Fishnets, satin bubble mini-skirt, silk previously retired men’ pajama tops, lace gloves, uniform rebel docs, multiple necklaces and bracelets, funky hats. Negativity was the norm. That wasn’t really happy, either.

Then came London - where I found leopard print, large frame eye glasses no one in New York could boast, and a unique bi-color hairdo a Japanese magazine photographer stopped me on the street to record on film.

Then came Nashville – where eventually someone had to ask me, “Do you ever wear anything but black?” “Of course,” I replied, “Navy Blue, Dark Brown and Storm Grey.” An attempt to keep the white blonde part white in Nashville, turned into pink. Pink so wasn’t me, either.

No matter what, Happiness managed not only to efficiently evade me, but danced away laughing.

Finally, and lastly, Michigan found a way to show me. Here is what I know:

Being pleased with your life is a wonderful long-term thing, but happiness…?
Happiness is a notch above, usually for a shorter time than we'd like.
How would we know what happy was if it didn't sweep in and out of our lives, in response to our changes, while GOD remains the same?
We forget to trust in what GOD has for us. We allow the folly of supposed riches wind us down into the valley and climb for the mountain top believing someday we’ll get there. We believe that someday a dapper-coated gentleman will tap lightly on our shoulder, hand us everything we think we desire, and we’ll spend the rest of our days in splendor. We believe we are forging ahead when we are truly wandering aimlessly. We simply forget to check our path. Because we are human: not GOD-lik. Because we are imperfect. That is why no one can be happy all the time.

Happiness can only be counted in moments.
So, count them.
Immediately.
Safe-guard the memories.
Someday ahead, you’ll need them to remind you
that you were indeed happy once, and for a while;
Trust that now may not be your time,
Act on this: happiness is something you can give away,
To whomever you choose,
Even if you don’t have any, at any particular time.

"Whosoever trusteth in the Lord, happy is he." - Proverbs 16:20

Posted by jaselin at 05:54 PM | Comments (0)

April 09, 2013

Wickity Wak, ME Newsletter, Vol. 6, Issue 15

Wickity Wickity Wak!

13 is an interesting age between silly and seriousness and the switch flips rapidly. Approaching 13 x 3.8462 (not exactly, but close enough) it’s getting easier to be silly.

After all… why not? I think I’ve earned it. Through seriousness and struggling, it’s been chasing me for years. I’ve let it catch up to me once in a while, and it’s always felt good. Still, I’ve always stepped away from foolishness for the chase. I’ve been chasing success for years. That tunnel isn’t exactly straight, though.

Each time I believe I am about to step into that end-place glow, I find myself at a bend staring at a cleverly placed corner mirror that was only ever promising something much further down the line. It’s good to aim for something but the prize can’t be found at an ever moving end.

I’ve adjusted. I no longer care how far away the light is at the end of the tunnel. I can see it there, and that is all that matters. I’ll get there when I get there. And, when I get there, well, then, I will have arrived. Truly, there is no need to rush, which leaves way more time to be silly.

Anyway, back to 13 – the former age of creating cassette tapes of pretend radio shows, interviews and commercials and theme songs, giggling when we came up with new ideas, laughing until we can’t breathe when we mess up our previously awesome rehearsal. Not that much has changed, except now I’m re-embracing my inner 13 alongside a real 13. We’re recording original songs and ringtones on phones. The giggling and laughter remains the same, and that in its own right is quite a success.

Posted by jaselin at 05:44 PM | Comments (0)

April 02, 2013

Care, ME Newsletter, Vol. 6, Issue 14

3/18/13

Just as I am getting back into my post-surgery life, making decisions based on age and supposed maturity, the same old sticky cog throws the wagon into a tight spin. Dizziness ensues as I try to differentiate mature acceptance from post-adolescent apathy. I’m not apathetic. Of course I care. Obviously I care, or I wouldn’t be so beside-myself upset. I just don’t … care.

I don’t care in measurements: Is it too much of an effort? To get upset?
Yeah, that’s too much effort. To fight back? Yeah. Too much effort.
I take a few necessary clarifying and oxygen restocking breaths and sit way back before I file what will undoubtably be unpleasant unopened emails into my “I’m Never Going to Open This” mailbox folder. The only way to control reaction is to eliminate the barb. Yanking it out is the only way, still that leaves a bloody mess and more heart scars.

I was just coming down from an idiot-induced house-cleaning rampage, wearing workout yoga pants, because I figured wearing them would allow me to count chores as exercise, when I came across a forgotten repackaged-for-freshness baggie of Zingermans Raspberry Marshmallow Bunnytails. I popped one in my mouth, moisturized my unhappy hands, and decided to peruse Facebook just to see if anyone else was having as fantastic a day and night as I’ve had. You know, misery loves company and all that malarky. My misery doesn’t love company. My misery has established that inviting difficult persons into my life in order to win them over is a ridiculous way to live. The familiar family motto “keep your friends close, and your enemies closer,” requires energy expenditure.

Is that too much effort? Yeah, it is. I see no reason to keep strife causers close to my heart or even within hug range. Periferal distance is fine.

Another troublesome tole, touted by many, but not entirely understood grows from Mark 12:28-31

28 One of the teachers of the law came and heard them debating. Noticing that Jesus had given them a good answer, he asked him, “Of all the commandments, which is the most important?”

29 “The most important one,” answered Jesus, “is this: ‘Hear, O Israel: The Lord our God, the Lord is one.’
30 Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind and with all your strength.’
31 The second is this: ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.’ There is no commandment greater than these.”

Surface simplicity backfires. We tend to pull this phrase out defensively, erroneously using it as a situational rebuttal and warning. It finds itself lumped in with another hastily thrown defense: ‘Do Unto Others as You would have them Do Unto You.’ We twist it to our advantage – justifying treating others as they have treated us.

The real problem is this: Loving our neighbors as ourselves requires loving ourselves!
We tend to treat others the way we treat ourselves. Who among us really loves themselves?
Who has never had a single “I wish I hadn’t done that,” or “I wish I hadn’t said that,” or “I wish I hadn’t wore that/eaten that/written that,” or other serious non-self-forgiving moment?

If we are to love ourselves as GOD love us; if we are to forgive ourselves as GOD has forgiven us, we could master unusual peace, replacing it with every day peace… and eliminating rage induced house-cleaning altogether.

Posted by jaselin at 02:03 PM | Comments (0)

March 25, 2013

Conspiracy, ME Newsletter, Vol. 6, Issue 13

Thank goodness for the generation behind me, Although, I must admit sometimes I think they are a bit too fanatical. One such reference just blew my mind.

It started out this way: http://action.sumofus.org/a/coke-recycling/?sub=fb
“If Coke supports recycling, why is it bringing this ridiculous lawsuit?
This program could increase recycling by 30 percent, if Coke doesn't succeed in blocking it.”

I thought, "Really? There's a Coca-Cola conspiracy?" I doubted it. I do, however, believe that anyone can write any dumb thing and someone will believe it. And, since my cynical scientific nature says, “Prove it,” I immediately began a round of research about research.

A day later, a Yahoo article caught my eye because the topic was so unbelievably stupid.
http://shine.yahoo.com/healthy-living/does-less-housework-really-equal-larger-waistline-192700982.html

Yes, you read that link correctly. About halfway through the drivel I saw something that just shocked me. Oh, so women are fat because we aren’t doing more housework? Hmm, are y’all sure it’s not because we are sitting at desks all day, sitting in cars driving our kids around, running errands, commuting, and drinking Coke to keep us going? Well, of course it’s not Coke’s fault… oh, and wait – it appears these remarkable findings were gleaned from an intensive study… funded by Coca-Cola.

I shared this link, and my astonishment, with the recycling conspiracy post-er.
Then I did that thing I shouldn’t do because it usually means I disappear into a time-sucking time warp as I delve deeper and deeper. I lose track of time. I’m a research junkie.

I imagine Coca-Cola’s position on funding research is based on a realization that they have run out of ways to positively market the brand. Sorry, but I have to lay another idiocy on you. Another miraculous study funded by Coca-Cola: Coca-Cola Recommended to Treat Stomach Blockages. The soft drink might rot your teeth, but it's actually an effective first line of treatment for some stomach blockages. http://www.livescience.com/26124-coca-cola-stomach-blockages.html

Now I’m giving away my age just a bit, but my mom used to give us kids coke syrup over crushed ice for upset tummies. These study results are pretty amazing. First we're fat because we don't do enough housework, and now Coca-Cola has “proved” we have stomach troubles due to fruit and vegetable build up. It appears I am going to be up all night ferreting out other sponsored "research" studies.

No one was asking these questions when I was growing up, we were just happy that our parents' light-weight, gas-efficient, cost-effective Pintos didn't blow up.

PS. There apparently is a Wrigley's Gum Conspiracy, too!
http://www.livescience.com/28003-chewing-gum-no-weight-loss.html

Posted by jaselin at 07:22 PM | Comments (0)

March 19, 2013

Two Things, ME Newsletter, Vol. 6, Issue 12

There are two things I’ve grown into that are downright scaring me.

One is the willingness to discuss my bowels with my peers. When you haven’t pooped in 12 days, there’s just no getting around asking for advice. Stuff can’t keep going in and not coming out. So what if my arsenal of healthcare professionals assure me that an average colon is 5 feet long and can expand up to 2 inches in diameter – it just ain’t right. No way of getting around that! I lived in fear of sneezing and in dread of any gaseous feelings. Things are fine now, with the exception of never having imagined having to discuss my bowels with anyone. Ever.

The other notable concern is a noticeable lack of mental filing. I don’t think my cabinet is full, but I also don’t think I’m saving as many thoughts. Perhaps, there is just less new stuff for me to want to hoard in hope of making future days more interesting.

Example: rummaging around in my freezer for something other than chicken, I discovered an abandoned half-eaten pint of Vanilla Häagen-Dazs courtesy of a post-surgery home-visit by a sweet friend. Naturally, I went to the pantry for sprinkles. Poking around a bit, I came across a half-used bottle of red, green and white jimmies leftover from holiday baking 2012. I considered them, wondering’ “do these little sugar shots ever spoil?” I decided not to chance it, partly because food poisoning and subsequent vomiting would not be good for my newly repaired hernia, but really mostly because I spotted two other forgotten treasures: almost a dozen mini mostly-intact peanut butter waffle pretzel sandwiches and a handful of dark chocolate covered pretzel-thin shards. How I could have forgotten them is quite the mysterious mystery. Perhaps my memory lapse could be interpreted as divine diet intervention. Either way, these remnant ingredients were quickly, colorfully and quite beautifully combined to be used as an additional semi-lactose intolerant adult play-doh factory offering in hopes of… well… you know…. Still if a faulty memory leads to lovely surprises and by natural order of my creative nature, magnificent couture ice cream creations, so be it.

I was also delightfully surprised by two unopened boxes of Girl Scout thin mint cookies, also so sweetly delivered to me while my mind was altered and otherwise pre-occupied. (Refer to reason one.) If the ice cream doesn’t work, I suppose I will move willingly onto milk and cookies next, for good measure.

Posted by jaselin at 08:15 PM | Comments (0)

March 12, 2013

Spiritual Sprint, ME Newsletter, Vol. 6, Issue 11

My spirituality comes in sprints; short runs after long dry spells. I’ve been pretty pleased with my recovering self; relaxed, unbothered. Physically uncomfortable, for sure, but that has been improving and I can see a near and favorable end. Even so, it only took one moment to be thrown back into the reality of real emotions. Emotions like jealousy and sorrow; so close together. Evoked by where others’ paths have gone and reminders of wrong roads traveled. Loss, and more losses since; family and friends and their loved ones. These are the things that hurt. And just like that – contentedness flees. This isn’t at all where I thought I’d be, who I thought I’d be, or the type of life creative little girl dreams of. Holding a measure stick between my life and others isn’t an accurate gauge of GOD’s will for me. My acknowledgement of this doesn’t always bring about acceptance The past two months have set me up for an unusual spurt. There is no doubt that this is where I am. I’ve been living in a rare occasion, self-convincing; I’m ok. Coasting along in this nice little, quiet, mostly solitary and I-mostly-like-it-fine-that-way life is peaceful and un-dramatically bland. Maybe acceptance isn’t always for the best.. I hope that tomorrow’s sun can blow it all away along with the snow that was beautiful this morning, and is now nothing more than bitter cold. A message notice pops onto my computer screen. I follow along with a click and discover a forgotten note has now become a conversation. I started it:

May 28 2012 9:07 AM
Theresa - I noticed the flag and brokenhearted saying. As I went to share it on my wall, too, I read your post. Just wanted to let you know I am saying a prayer for your broken heart today, and asking my husband in heaven to greet your son with a hug. Blessings.

February 24 2013 12:50pm
Theresa Everett
Thank you so so much. I didn't see your message until months and months later. It went other "other" instead of "inbox". Our family has felt the prayers of many and felt the presence of God like never before over this past year. I'm sorry for the loss of your husband. Someday we will see them both and never have to be apart.

I don’t know how I know her, or if I even do. I don’t remember writing this. I can’t find the picture I am referring to anywhere in the supposed cavernous retention of Facebook postings. Comparatively, though, what, and why are just a minor mystery. For now, just knowing, just tonight, makes a difference to me.

Have I mourned this for the last night? Probably not.
Has turned it around in the remarkable of space of just an hour?
Almost, I’ll still have to see what tomorrow brings.

Posted by jaselin at 08:37 PM | Comments (0)

March 05, 2013

No Stalin, ME Newsletter, Vol. 6, Issue 10

2/22/13
Has this ever happened to you?

I’m sitting on the couch on a wintry Friday morning post surgery.
I’ve established today’s goals: Stay awake and upright all day; cuddle up on the couch with cocoa, and a blanket; watch a few movies to engage my brain. Also floating around in my mind but not committed to: making banana bread, cataloging trading cards (haven’t heard that one in a while, huh?), catching up on email – especially the real estate related ones.

Yep, sitting on the couch, watching the snowfall, two things occur to me.
1. Snow is in fact very pretty flitting down if you’re calling the couch your home for the day.
2. There is a rather large dead tree outside my picture window – but far enough away that I don’t need to worry about it crashing through my porch or window. In the crook of its large-limb reaching “V” is a weather worn likeness of Joseph Stalin.

Since my phone is right beside me I super-zoom and snap. Yeah, well, there are a couple of window panes and a screen in the way. I try to take one out the back door but sticking my arm out in the snowfall but my body and eyes don’t bend that way. Determination has led me thus far and I really want a picture of the Stalin Juncture. I step off my hospital issue sticky-sole socks; the ones with the little grippers so I don’t wipe out on linoleum floors, at least not easily. Swing the screen door open again, and barefoot, yep, barefoot… I toe-step out on the porch. Hovering in the wet-but-not-white section, I super zoom again, taking five pictures at various angles to get the light just right.

Accomplished, I head back inside, thinking about how my feet weren’t really that cold. At least not until I hit the warm carpet, then.... ok, cold toes! Shaking off the snow, I excitedly return to the couch wrapping my feet in the blanket that is right where I left it when I started this jaunt. I check my work. No Stalin. I put on my glasses. No Stalin. I flick the screen to enlarge the detail and for some reason my detail is one of those square composites choosing not to be clear. I check the tree. Stalin is still there.

Befuddled, but still determined, I email them to myself in hopes of manipulating them in picture edit, so everyone else can see what I see. I don’t see it, at least not on the computer screen. From my repositioned view on the couch, I still see it on the tree, though.

Well, huh, knock my socks off. I am still on the sparkly pain pills….
Yeah, well, I don’t care; it still looks like Joseph Stalin, or maybe Freddie Mercury wearing a fur cap.

Oh, wait! Now there’s a gorgeous big breasted flaming red cardinal sitting in the “V.”
Yeah, I’m not falling for that again.

Posted by jaselin at 06:06 PM | Comments (0)

February 26, 2013

Gift, ME Newsletter, Vol. 6, Issue 9

2/20

I don’t remember much about my hospital stay, a few visitors; the new room service food plan that was excellent and has many merits. I remember more about what was going on around me. The two roommates I had; one pleased to be discharged, and the other with a faith of such enormous strength it over-rode years of medical training and hospital experience. Our GODs were not the same, but our faith certainly was. I asked the family member who came and stayed overnight, a doctor from Chicago, if I could pray for them.

It’s hard to describe why I asked. I pray for plenty of people who have their own GOD, and do not know mine. I wasn’t sure it would be appropriate or acceptable for me to pray to my GOD about the situation they believed their GOD would carry them through. It wasn’t for a gap-save back-up plan in case their GOD failed. I have long been stuck on the idea of an Avengers-like GOD collaboration; a plethora of GODs under one One Almighty who created and assigns different GODs to reach different types of people. Though I don’t talk it about it much, I believe the same method of employ must be true of the devil.

My roommate left for surgery, with an expected best outcome of being in ICU. I don’t know, and never will, how that story ends. Instead, I was given another one to share.

A few hours later, getting ready for discharge, a woman came in and introduced herself as a social worker. She was working with a patient a few doors down who needed two witnesses for paperwork he was completing. My sister-in-law and I readily agreed.

I knew there were only two reasons requiring witnesses – either a Durable Power of Attorney or a Living Will, and I knew if the hospital had deployed a social worker to secure those two items the situation could not be good. Just a few steps down the hall, we were ushered through a door bearing a large black print on white paper sign. The sign said "DIFFICULT PATIENT." Through the night I had heard bursts of mumbled moaning and attempted shouting and realized this is where they had come from.

He was sitting in a chair by the window with monitoring tubes everywhere, and another one down his throat. He nodded at us and signed the document he had been holding, while the social worker explained that he was signing over his rights to his ex-wife. We signed them, too. He wrote out a note that said “Thank You,” and then motioned for us to wait. We watched him for a few moments while he scribbled another note. That one said, "I am a prayer warrior. Please write the names of the people you would like me to pray for." Without hesitating, I added my roommate’s name to his list. When I handed it back he had tears in his eyes and kept touching his heart. “May GOD be with you,” I said. He replied with an offering roll of his hand.

I have no idea if his GOD is the same as my GOD or the same as her GOD.
I don’t really think it matters much, anyway. A prayer is a gift, and that’s that.

Posted by jaselin at 03:25 PM | Comments (0)

February 19, 2013

Healing, ME Newsletter, Vol. 6, Issue 8

It’s been a long time since I’ve had nothing to say. I don’t really have nothing to say, but I do have a lack of being able to say it, or write it. Thinking isn’t going so great either. I’m tired, and medicated and looking forward to someday soon being neither of those. In the meantime, though, here are some things others have said that have healed me in one way or another. Healing is a good thing. We should all do it. As often as needed. :-)

Posted by jaselin at 09:18 PM | Comments (0)

February 10, 2013

Hernia, ME Newsletter, Vol. 6, Issue 7

I’m one of those people they write warnings labels for..

This is for sure the earliest early edition of MidWeek Encouragement ever sent. That’s because I won’t be available for more than a few days on either side of this coming Wednesday. In fact, tomorrow late morning I will be having surgery, again. This time it’s for an innocently gained hernia of rather large size.

I managed that by exercising, untraditionally. It seemed to me that I wasn’t getting the same core workout on the elliptical that I did on the treadmill. I know that’s counter-intuitive, but it’s true. My treadmill style included hip-hop moves, boxing, and high marching all while moving. The elliptical pretty much only allows you to do… an elliptical motion. The only way I could think of to jazz-it up was to… well… assume a downhill ski position while pedaling and working my upper arms. That was a work-out I felt the next day, and for a few days afterward. Nothing horrific, just some general soreness.

At first, I though the little bulge was an indicator of weight gain. However, as it grew I became increasingly concerned. Within a few weeks nothing more than a slight horizontal slash remained, and my belly was pretty much button-less. So, off I went to the doctor explaining that it didn’t hurt; it just felt uncomfortable. Sometimes it was hot, sometimes cold. It got bigger and smaller, and until all the poking and prodding and pressing, it hadn’t been the slightest bit painful. After that, it was.

The theory is that I may have had abdominal weakness after they had so much trouble getting my gallbladder out. The hernia’s been living happily above my belly-button since October. An MRI and few visits to other doctors raised some interesting conflicting opinions about what may or may not be going on in there. By the time I finally saw a surgeon, it was estimated that the parting of my abdominal muscles have left 12 x 7 cm gap, and the hernia itself was to quote, “the size of a cantaloupe.” Please don’t panic: in my opinion it would be a very small cantaloupe. Seriously, I wouldn’t buy one this size; not enough bang for my buck.

So, there you have it: a short synapsis of a four month odyssey which won’t come to a complete end after surgery. Repairing the hole is just the beginning. I have no idea what the time-line is for recovery. I was told to expect to be admitted following surgery, and that I would probably remain in the hospital 2-3 nights. There are driving restrictions and weight restrictions and, of course, exercise restrictions. The most important of which would be to only use the equipment in the way it was intended. Sigh.

Posted by jaselin at 07:55 PM | Comments (0)

February 05, 2013

Fortune, ME Newsletter, Vol. 6, Issue 6

1/28/13.
Celebrating a rarity; startling good news.
For so long, aimless; moving makes it harder to be found.
It’s odd to have arrived by ceasing the search.
As if by standing still, straight lines have a chance to converge; radiating an inward flow.
Truly, I was only hoping to not be worse off; validity was unexpected.
Suddenly roots, and running in place, for another 15 years seems the way to go.
Making a nice quiet life for myself, not much different from the one I have now, just ... different.
Justifiably believing I am a remarkable achiever; rising in phoenix fashion.
Banking bittersweet tears; the reality of good fortune morphs into a real let down.
I would have called out “celebrate with me!” to too many; gone now
Emotionally tight, barely whispering: a feather-light wish on a cold winter night.
The shimmering wind breathes it in, and slowly answers back: with
Echoes of sweet smiles and crackling sparkle-lit eyes;
therein lies true fortune.

Posted by jaselin at 08:13 PM | Comments (0)

January 29, 2013

Mugwump, ME Newsletter, Vol. 6, Issue 5

I don’t care much for the political/lifestyle posts on Facebook. I do, however, highly respect everyone’s right to self-expression. I also wonder if anyone really believes postings will cause someone somewhere to slap their own head in amazement and proclaim, “Oh, my! I just have to be a vegan.” Or a Republican. Or a Democrat. Or a Christian. Or a Jew. None of which have been listed in any particular order in case you’re fishing for hidden clues into my psyche.

Mosquito like causal-repetition is annoying. I’ll admit I often use the opportunity to investigate each most- likely skewed viewpoint, and learn a little more about people I already know. Most times I already know where I stand. I rarely mugwump! I haven’t ever shot off my perch and pedaled backwards due to a practically anonymous self-righteous declaration. It seems people are willing to say anything in writing these days. Those same people are not willing to converse in person. I find it horribly amazing that standing up for who you are is only acceptable on a computer screen. I’m not living in a different world than anyone else. Mostly I ignore the nasty opinions and the news in general. However, something happened that I haven’t been quite able to release.

I am 100% sure I received an accidental hate email. I do not know the person who sent it to me. The name is familiar but I am truly not sure which one of two people I suspect may be the culprit. Most likely there was an auto-fill error generated from a few familiar letters into the email address and that not much attention was directed to whose name actually showed up. I am bothered deeply by a few things:

1. The email was directed toward one very specific ethnic group.
2. The cause is offensive and not grounded in reality.
3. It came from a lap-over source; someone I’m not sure I would be able to identify by sight.
4. There were three additional, unknown recipients who have now seen my name, who may erroneously assume I am included in their intolerance.
5. By responding, I place myself at risk of being an unprotected whistle-blower; a convenient “enemy.”
6. By not responding or reporting, I become a willing acquaintance and a silent accomplice to the cause.

I asked for a few opinions from a very diverse group. All were equally torn about how to handle the situation. It took me almost 24 hours to eventually decide to take a direct, as non-combative as possible route. I carefully worded as innocent a reply as I could come up with. I simply wrote:

“Just wanted to let you know, I think you may have intended this email for someone else, but it came to me instead.”

As far as I know, my vague non-supportive, non-dismissive has not been read. I am wholly unsatisfied with my answer and my heart won’t let me forget. Knowing what you stand for doesn’t do you much good if you don’t actually stand up when necessary. I am loathe for strife which is what attention or report will undoubtedly bring. I have covered myself as best I can by blind cc’ing myself, saving and then printing the email. Will this insure my innocence should something more come of it? I’m not sure. At this point, I am surely ashamed of, and for, us both.

Posted by jaselin at 06:43 PM | Comments (0)

January 21, 2013

Other Voices, ME Newsletter, Vol. 6, Issue 4

My circumstantial childhood memory is often cloudy on specifics, but some lessons have stayed with me.

Like the time one of us kids was hauled into the bathroom because of saying something ridiculously not grounded in reality. Pointed toward the mirror, he was told, “If you can say that to yourself with a straight face….”

It goes something like that with prayer. For me, internal silent prayers are ridiculous sounding when uttered aloud. They mirror back to me; hollow, questionable and really rather insignificant.

I suspect it’d be even worse when praying aloud for myself. But, to be honest, except for that one recent plea, there isn’t any praying aloud for myself. There isn’t much praying for myself at all. I’ve never caught onto that. If GOD knows what I want, why do I pray? And why, do we ask GOD to intercede when our lives are already written, determined. What is the point of praying if not intercession?

Besides, I feel silly talking to air when I truly believe GOD knows my heart. Sometimes, though, saying things aloud, bringing voice, results in a clarity I hadn’t considered. 3 years ago, I bought intricately beaded black prayer shawl from a Bourbon Street Merchant in New Orleans with the intent of routinely praying. Routinely and me don’t always mix, but that’s another issue.

I’ve been told not to overanalyze it, just pray. Not entirely a realistic expectation for me, either. But having just experienced questioning aloud and not having been thrilled with the result, it occurs to me that the result was the ultimate answer. When an answer blooms it's way to the surface, it is surely because it was nurtured by a question.

One day on a friend's bedroom wall, along with a picture of a Cabbit, and other girly tackings, hung a scenic setting-sun decoupage:
"Finish each day and be done with it. You have done what you could; some blunders and absurdities no doubt crept in; forget them as soon as you can. Tomorrow is a new day; you shall begin it well and serenely and with too high a spirit to be encumbered with your old nonsense." Ralph Waldo Emerson (1803 - 1882)

Truly, each morning, a chance to start over? Self-forgiveness was an enormous unknown to me. Another startling late 1970's discovery came from a classroom bulletin board. One of my more love-and-peace hippie-esque teachers shared poems and quotes - an archaic form of posting. I copied the best ones in my best cursive penmanship into a paperback "Nothing Book." It was called Journaling; the modern day equivalent of blogging, without an audience of course. Common to many, unknown to me, it opened my eyes to possibilities, and godly assistance.

"God grant me the Serenity to accept the things I cannot change, Courage to change the things I can and the Wisdom to know the difference."

Both quotations still rank among my favorites. Until this moment, I'd seen them as wonderful prose; revered poetry, cherished words I have clung to for over three decades. More than just philosophical suggestions, I give them regard as perfect simple prayers; voices for the struggle, echoing the truth in similar but different ways; HIS will be done.

Posted by jaselin at 03:41 PM | Comments (0)

January 15, 2013

Cheesy, ME Newsletter, Vol. 6, Issue 3

The advert said I could make Mozzarella in less than an hour. For some reason, that appealed to me.
It’s a good thing I read the instructions before Christmas. Otherwise I wouldn’t have known about the thermometer requirements, or the need for a specific sort of pot.
I re-read the instructions yesterday. Re-read them this morning, too.
I set out on my homemade cheese adventure at 10:15 AM.

First thing first: Test and calibrate the thermometer.
I figured out a few things fairly quickly without any help from the well-written, friendly booklet.
1. The thermometer supplied in the kit is tiny.
2. It’s really too short if you’re using an 8 quart stainless steel (required) pot. Might be ok in a 6 quart, but I really don’t think so, because
3. Attempting to use the thermometer resulted in slightly singed fingertips when reaching in to put the tip in boiling water and then hover for a temp reading.
4. The dial is hard to read, even with bifocals
5. The provided piece also requires a gauging hex nut adjustment at water boil point: 212°. I don’t recommend trying to steady the gauge by holding the previously dunked hot tip while adjusting the nut.

Don’t let yourself be distracted by the constant beeping of your neighbor’s door alarm.

Reconfigure. Rummage around for a while and find two digital thermometers in the not-often-used items drawer. It doesn’t burn fingers as much or as quickly when sticking the longer but still-a-little-too-short-to-be-safe thermometer into the pot using a pot holder. Try the logical path of using a pot holder, only to realize you can’t see the degrees because your huge mitt is covering it. Suspect the temp fall before you can de-mitt and get an accurate read.

Continue to ignore the constant beeping of your neighbor’s door alarm.

Spy the kitchen tongs! Place the digital thermometer above the clamps, between the arms. Tilt slightly so thermometer is secure. Place tip in boiling water. Determine the digital back-up go above 208°. Test the second. Sigh loudly and stand confused because neither one registers the required boiling point of 212°, even though the water is roiling.

Calmly acknowledge the constant beeping of your neighbor’s door alarm might be responsible for the beginning of a headache. Believe you are at a good “breaking” point, and escape to the bathroom, only to discover the new bath mat purchased yesterday has given off a nose-singing skunkiferous odor.
Take an 11:00 AM tuna fish sandwich break, and throw down some soul-cleansing, calming, refocusing blog notes. Consider the Book Worm effect: playing bookworm with a friend from 6:30 PM until 3:30 AM might be slowing down your drive. (Yes, you read that right – 9 straight hours, one cup of coffee each, level 50.) Push pulsing alarm noise aside.

Reread instructions. Coffee-up. Successfully block out the neighbor’s beeping alarm, only to find it replaced by the new rhythm of drip, drip, dripping melted ice on your porch

Significantly, decide to pretend that 208° is your new boiling point, and proceed. Sterilize equipment. Start the actual cooking process, remembering your thermometer is approximately 6° of separation from the real boiling point. Think about Kevin Bacon. Think about bacon. Think about adding bacon salt to mozzarella. Think again. Maybe, next time.

Stirring: every good cheese should have a soundtrack. Songs that come to mind:
Something’s always wrong: Toad the Wet Sprocket
Things can only get better: Howard Jones, who also opened the vegetarian restaurant, Nowhere, in NYC, which burned down within 12 months. Hoping I don’t come anywhere near that sort of disaster, which of course leads me to…
Tock Tick Boom by The Hives, serving a double batch of meaning in honor boiling curds and whey and the continuous alarming alarm.
Anything You Can D - from Annie Get Your Gun: “Can you bake a pie?” “No.” “Neither can I!”
Giggling, I forge ahead with my cheesiest attempt yet. And then, it all happens so fast.

1:02 PM – done! It worked! It’s gorgeous! It’s yummy! My slightly black peppered mozzarella with a few drops of garlic oil is set into 9 neat 2 ounce pucks shaped in a cupcake pan. I may have over kneaded it a bi, intent on creating a short video to share.

While my creation cools, I clean-up. Despite delays, I do believe that you can truly make a great mozzarella in an hour with proper prep and experience. I think I’ll snag one and let it turn into an even happier hunk of Greek marinated mozzarella. Oh, boy! Oh, boy! Oh, boy!

Posted by jaselin at 05:43 PM | Comments (0)

January 07, 2013

Serge 2, ME Newsletter, Vol. 6, Issue 2

I didn’t finish all of the dammit dolls before Christmas. I didn’t finish some before New Year’s, either.

I’m pretty sure the laws of nature dictate that the more you do something, the better at it you become.

Not so, in this case. I never did find the same serge pattern as the first few I did. I over-stuffed a few. Ran out of cool buttons, but was resupplied with some donated ones. They just weren’t as good as the first few I finished after I had the operational part of the project configured. The emotional part was never really under control. What is it about over-ambition which sets us backwards? If I had stopped about doll # 6 or # 7, I would have had some examples of ok work. But I really wanted to be a successful and unique giver this year. Simple, right? Simply, wrong. It wasn’t easy to get past the surge of disappointment in appearances of a few. Yes, I know they weren’t perfect. I’d even say a few were on the more homely side, but I think that made their form more functional. Who would want to slam around an adorably cute and perfect doll?

I’ve had the same sort of irksome run-ins with card making, with quilt making, with cooking and baking, with writing.
I’ll argue that I don’t have a perfection complex. I just want everything to be right, and good, and as close to my imaginative mind’s eye as possible.

I’m sure we’re all aware of those advertised vs. actual photos usually associated with food products. I’ve been on photo shoots were I’ve learned exactly how the shiny, juicy droplets are attached to edge of a slice of gorgeous red tomato peeking out from between a bun and a burger– here’s a hint – they’re not made of water, and that’s not the tomato’s actual color.

Knowing about the trickery doesn’t stop my mouth from watering, though. It has taken me some time, but I have figured out that the item I crave will never be the item delivered. Unless, of course, I make it myself. But, even then.. you see where this is going, don’t you?

I can’t say that I hate it when lessons and answers pop into my head out of nowhere. It freaks me out a little, though.
Like when I’m sitting here trying to figure out how exactly to express what I’m feeling, and a song pops into my head.

Shout to the Lord… yep, I did that one already. He answered “Stay.”
Praise to the King… as often as possible, for bringing me through.
I sing for Joy at the work of Your hands…acknowledging miracles as they are revealed.
Nothing compares to the promise I have in You…. Hold up. No other promises can compare to the promise there is in HIM?
I might have missed that part before. No, I really missed that part before.

So that’s this about? Making promises, keeping promises, breaking promises?
All of the above? No.
It’s about realizing perfection is just a perception. An unattainable one, at that.
Except in one instance. .. except in one Divine instance.

Posted by jaselin at 10:48 AM | Comments (0)

December 27, 2012

Gauge, ME Newsletter, Vol. 6, Issue 1

I am a rational tattooer. I came to this conclusion while waiting in the customer service line at Meijer. Lost in my own thoughts, I was surprised when a voice behind me blurted out, “Was that tattoo in your ear really painful?”

I turned to face the ninja questioner, smiled wryly, and gave the youngster my pat answer. “Not any more than any of the other ones did,” I said. “But be careful,” I admonished him, “when I got that one, I didn’t know that your nose and ears never stop growing. It used to be a petite flower… now’s it’s just a blob open to anyone’s interpretation.”

He smiled back at me and proceeded to inform me about all of his, the locations and varying pain levels. The top of his foot wasn’t bad. Under his arms was so painful he did the zone-out thing where your body just wants to shut down. He said he hadn’t gotten around to doing his full sleeves, yet. I told him that each one of mine was placed very carefully, so that for the most part, they’re not visible on daily basis. Summer time reveals a few more, naturally.

He seemed confused, as if discretion in tattooing was unfathomable. But, at that moment, it was my turn to return the not well researched items I had purchased less than an hour earlier. I had thought about researching what was needed before I left the house, but decided I’d just read the packages at the store and figure out what I needed there. I spent probably 15 – 20 minutes blocking the home goods thermometer isle, reading the backs of multiple packages, gauging their usefulness. Useful information was sparse. Without much to go on, I weighed features. I liked the ones with pot-hanger-clips, so I guessed and grabbed. Just to ease my mind when I returned home, I fired up the computer and searched “cheese thermometers”. I was truly expecting confirmation. However, my guess purchases were firmly negated. I would need gauging beneath the 100F available in the candy thermometers I had purchased.

So, that’s how I got to standing in the return line the Saturday morning before Christmas. And that’s how I figured out, I am a rational tattooer. There’s another one coming up soon. I haven’t decided on the design because I haven’t decided on the placement. I want something spiritual and peaceful and affirming, and although there is a religious symbol I associate with all of those, I am reluctant to tattoo it. It’s not like I’m going to change my mind. I just worry. I grew up in a “don’t take any religious shit from anybody” environment. It was all about persecution and securing your beliefs, being careful not to flaunt them. It was strange to be expected to devote your life to religion and then to be told to keep it to yourself just to make life easier.

The ingrained watch your back fear, should have made the worshipping community a little tighter, but it never turned out that way for me. Worship brought me closer to GOD on designated days, and was left behind once I left the building. My life has changed since then. Remarkably, in previously unimagined ways. I’m not ashamed of my religion, but still remain cautious. In the current world riddled with hate events organized by supposed biblical religious observers, I accessorize with simple jewelry. I am reluctant to brand an overt symbol, which has me questioning the true strength of my faith. I do believe, and I do believe in leading by example. Is that enough? All of my tats are markers – of time, of feelings, of successes, of acclimation and renovation. They’re bold statements for my eyes only; hidden declarations. Is a silent declaration merely a nod to ashamedness? A cop-out? If only we could measure faith with rain-gauge, we could easily see our droughts and our nourishments.

Perhaps my next artistic alteration shouldn’t be as much about the what and the where of my next declaration, and should be much more about the why.
I figure I’ve got about six months to figure that out.

Posted by jaselin at 03:22 PM | Comments (0)

December 25, 2012

Serge, ME Newsletter, Vol. 5, Issue 52

12/7/12
I got into it with the serger selection on a borrowed sewing machine.
Once I retrieved the manual (thoughtfully supplied by the machine’s owner) I was able to shake off my doubts, adjust my attitude and proceed.

The first attempt to create a copy of an item I saw in a magazine took about 3 hours.
An hour of that was just spent turning the darn-it thing inside-out so it could be stuffed.
When I was finished turning, I noticed that I had stitched the hair on backwards, so all of the cute, curly, colorful locks were hanging inside, and a few crew-cut short wispies were sitting on top of its head.
Sewed the hair the wrong way so it ended up inside
Second attempt, ran out of bobbin – borrowed machine so had to figure that out.
After investing that much time, I was determined to finish my dammit-it prototype anyway.
So, on went the button eyes and cross-stich mouth. Stuffing ensued, slowly. My index finger was only a fraction of a millimeter’s width small than the leg openings that needed to be packed with fiber fill. Thank goodness for last week’s gel tip manicure; they made wonderful pushers and guiders.
I finished the obvious first-effort, almost complete fail off with a whip stitch, before deciding I didn’t like the button-eye selections, and that I could never pass this off as a gift. I unsecured the buttons and threw them back into the button pile for future use, if needed. Then, conducted an inventory of everything that went wrong.

I decided my real problem is the frequency of my simplifying, self-delusional “I can do that!”
I can clearly envision how, however my engineering skills leave a bit to be desired.
Having a creative, clear idea of how something should turn out is another. I never go into a project thinking “I’m just going to create a prototype and see how it goes.” Nope, I take confidence in my vision and enthusiastically proceed, because there really isn’t any fathomable reason why these deceptively non-simple projects won’t work.

Had a thought to make about 20 of these of gifts since I have been sitting on two well-traveled, filled-to-the-top 30 gallon totes of fabric. At least, that’s the hastily scribbled number of potential recipients I thought of at the time. I sat back and considered the mutilated, weird looking disaster, and took a few necessary moments to regroup.

Purposefully and carefully, I mentally catalogued and considered all of the wrong turns and devised unwritten self-instructions to correct them. The second one wasn’t as bad, and only took about ½ of time the first one did to complete. It still wasn’t anything like the one I saw in a magazine for $14.95.

To be honest, my first two attempts to bring my homemade dammit doll pattern to life prophetically elicited the appropriate response from my grimacing lips, many, many times. I also figured I had all the fixin's, could draw up a pattern, and, well... you know how they say the retail cost of any craft should be based on your actual hourly wage and how long it takes you? So far, discounting supplies which I already had, my two questionably gift-worthy dammit dolls were collectively worth about $72.00.

It was midnight by then and it was obvious that my operation still needed some tweaking, but I was too tweaked off to continue. With visions of cat damage, I tiredly packed up all my supplies. I threw the horrific first and interesting second attempts into my handbag, planning to get an honest opinion of whether the second bunch of scraps could pass as a present, or if the first one (if done correctly) would be better. My trusted reviewer immediately fell in love with my second attempt. She didn’t know how it was supposed to look. She didn’t know there were some big flaws. She had no pre-conceived notion, and truly no established expectation. So, I decided to run with it. I guess I will have to mail one to my hairdresser, and probably everyone else who’d like one. Maybe last year’s homemade-sharing Facebook promise can still be fulfilled with these. I think I’ll add a cute note – dammit, I’m late but I made it!

At this point I am prepared to follow-through on my intentions, even though there’s not been one lovely “la” following my many false-start “fa-“’s. I considered officially changing the name to “Fa-it Doll,” but it didn’t have the same cutesy ring to it. My new creation count is up to 28 giftees. I intend to surge ahead. Optimistically, I figure when I can fully create one without having to utter its namesake, I will have done a satisfactory job.

It all would have been easier with a pattern and instructions. Kind of like life, but then again there is a manual for that, complete with instructions and patterns and other tidbits of necessary information. Praying you find peace on earth, believe you are immeasurably blessed by GOD, keep your Bible close. Wishing you a happy, healthy, amazing New Year!

PSALM 89:9: You rule over the surging sea; when its waves mount up, you still them.

Posted by jaselin at 02:47 PM | Comments (0)

December 18, 2012

Leakage, ME Newsletter, Vol. 5, Issue 51

Not real sure what’s going on here. Lately I’m the kind of upbeat, cheerful person I’d most likely consider slapping if they gave me one of those “glass half full” speeches. I’m behind in my craft project. I don't know the when or how of holiday plans, yet. I still haven’t see a surgeon re: my hernia, etc. It’s not like I haven’t been trying there, either. Now I only give my first name when I call and ask if there have been any other cancellations. No exercise = no sleeping.

No exercise = no sleeping. I’m a perpetually tired-wired... and prone to a lot of hugging. Miss Fred’s become surprisingly tolerant for an average of 15 seconds per episode hug, so Harley Blu’s getting most of them. Sometimes even he’s a bit “enough already!” The hug addiction spills over into work, or running into someone I haven’t seen for a bit at the market. Then there’s the ever ready virtual {hug} – given and received freely in black and white.

In a world where the color spectrum colors our seasons, I’m buying into the red-green season effect. Everyone seems nicer. Even if they are only saying Happy Holidays because they have been instructed to. Before pain meds, if I was required to give a non-sincere, non- internally-generated greeting I’d have been happy to flatly comply, perhaps with a slightly implied sarcastic inflection. Oops, that’s another little problem with pain meds; they make me inordinately truthful, spurting out normally silent snarks. It’s been mentioned that I seem to be sillier. Some people just weren’t aware of my hilarity potential. Others were woefully ignorant of my ace-accurate ability to bite and bark out the absurdities of some truths.

There are just some places where self-restriction is required. Too much revealing of one’s inner inappropriate self isn’t a good thing. I babble sometimes; thought leakage. Stuff trickles out. That saying about not having an inner filter – doesn’t apply to me. GOD only knows, there’s still a lot dammed up behind those barely open release valves. So, yeah, while its well-known that erosion widens gaps, I don’t expect to a grand canyon anytime soon. HE’s got a lot of sculpting to do. And, I’ve got to learn to not resist.

Posted by jaselin at 07:06 PM | Comments (0)

December 11, 2012

Season-ing, ME Newsletter, Vol. 5, Issue 50

Reindeer cookies and dammit dolls.
Elusive Kona K-cups and unfound jacquard Santa pillows.
Wish lists and gift lists, lots of silly presents, wrapped in silly ways.
Flyers and calculating, coupons and Kohl’s cash.
Post offices, packages, travelling far.
Travelling near: who, when, where, why, what to bring.
Happy lights, crafting, no time for napping.
Decorating, collaborating, considering, coordinating,
Self-gifting, candy canes, and cuddling with kitties.
Photo cards, pictures of Santa and winter wonderlands.
Delightfully, it’s been a Camelot snow season.
Jingle bells to match the neighbors’ door décor.
Smiling, silently celebrating, enjoying the giving and given.
Knowing I should go to bed, too many ideas still in my head.
Daily Grommets and emails of sales, stuff I hadn’t thought of before.
Soothed into distraction, then kept awake by flaming bookworm letters.
Where was I? Oh, wrapping and rapping along
New and old Christmas songs, one more thing to do tonight
Off to bed with lists in my head,
more season-ing to be done tomorrow.

Posted by jaselin at 06:15 PM | Comments (0)

December 03, 2012

Preference, ME Newsletter, Vol. 5, Issue 49

11/14
Preference: I’d rather speak in front of an auditorium of unknowns than to a conference room of acquaintances. It is easier for me to walk into a room full of strangers and extend a confident introductory hand. Maybe I am just always trying to start off on the right foot, again and again. I’m a pleasant, interesting person in short intervals. I’m certainly not a conversation centerpiece, and I don’t really want to be. The place I want to project for myself is secure: a vague far-off picture of an unknown island somewhere out there on any one of the many oceans. I like being a concept. Is that unrealistic? Of course, it is.

I have to remind myself that an inquisitive nature is inherent in humans. Curious questions asked aren’t meant to cause pain. Mostly, the answers aren’t being stored for future collateral or intended to cause damage. But my reality sees that most tongues waggle and innocent information funnels into only half-informed pre- conceived notions cementing themselves into view that is hard to roll away.

I am more than ready to switch tracks and head off in another direction. I’m taking the “stay” very seriously, though. Here’s what I’ve noticed: while I am standing stagnant, movement continues all around me. Even as I’m watching others jump tracks, back-up, re-direct and scatter, I realize that stagnation supports its own type of life cycle. It makes for a not so good looking ugly pond, but is very beneficial to the fish and the frogs and the fauna. So, even though I’d rather head-full-of-steam head off to find somewhere (and a life) I can fit into, I think this staying time might be designed to help me figure out where others fit into mine.

Posted by jaselin at 05:27 PM | Comments (0)

November 26, 2012

Bridges, ME Newsletter, Vol. 5, Issue 48

11/14

“I’m gonna it give about a week before I try it out... just to see if it holds.”
I was completely serious, and my friend was completely laughing.
“I’m serious,” I said. “I know you are,” she said, “That’s just so…. You!

I was referring to the newly re-opened Stadium Bridge. I have an inherent distrust of projects that finish on time with no serious issues. Nothing can be that easy, especially not something as important as a bridge that people trust with their lives. So, I’m just the kind to wait and see.

I don’t doubt the integrity of the architects, or the experience of the builders. I don’t doubt the workers who showed up daily to do their jobs. I don’t doubt the inspectors, approvers, or the very happy it’s time-to-open the bridge announcers.

I don’t individually doubt any of them. As a collective though… so many people, so many things can go wrong. I tend to stand back on any bridges – obscurely defined as a time, place, or means of connection or transition. Despite the fact that I am a situational bull-dozer when I have the correct solution and prefer not to waste time, I do not prefer to lead.

I tend to stand back and see if whatever it is holds, regardless of the circumstances. Dinner entrees – I feel out the table and tend to order along the same vein. Movie choices – I feel out the mood, listen closely to the choices, and defer to someone else’s decision.

It’s only backfired on me once, in the spring of 1995. Back in NYC for label meeting, a Broadway show was on the docket. Three attendees wanted to see CATS – a long running musical which strangely, I had never seen while I lived there. The other two were headed for Damn Yankees. It was a tough choice; having heard for years how wonderful CATS was and weighing the chance that I would ever get to see Jerry Lewis on Broadway again. I would have preferred to see Jerry, but I was friendlier with the traveling contingent headed for the feline classic. So, when they asked me to come along, that is where I went.

I have to say I was confused. I sat through the first half, being introduced to various cats, their unique personalities, and listening to familiar songs. During intermission, I consulted my peers. I had yet to discover the plot. Was I missing something? No, I wasn’t. Nobody else had any idea what the plot was either. We laughed and joked about being over-educated, and assured ourselves that it would reveal itself in the second half. When it didn’t, I was supremely disappointed. I had never been to a theatre production with no plot. I kicked myself along the city sidewalks on the stroll back to our hotel, muttering and grumbling not so good-naturedly. I heard Damn Yankees was fabulous. To this day, I can still see us, sitting there on crushed red velvet seats, turning to each other blinking blankly, and asking, “What was that about?” I have fond memories of the laughter and the long-term same-boat camaraderie that developed from that experience.

Does this tendency to go bridge myself, to go along with the flow so as not to interrupt it, make me a wimp? No, it just makes me a person who truly likes to make other people happy. Though, I’d prefer that you don’t hold me to it, won't let you take advantage of it, and will emphatically deny it if you tell anyone.

Posted by jaselin at 04:14 PM | Comments (0)

November 19, 2012

Choosing, ME Newsletter, Vol. 5, Issue 47

11/10/12

I had half a thought to follow along the Facebook trend with my own 30 Days of Thanks, but truly couldn’t think of anything other than super simple non-exciting, rather lame things. Like being glad it’s November and not freezing because it keeps the heating bill lower. That’s good for my budget.

I suppose I am thankful I still have a roof over my head even though I am running in the red, and will be until January when the flex spending deductions cease. Glad I did the implant thing last year while I could still get tax break on the $5,000.00 max I contributed. There ya go…something else to be thankful for. Hey, I’ve got a streak of two reasons goin’ here.

Seems everything I am thankful for is colored by or drawn from a misery or miserable circumstance. Don’t think that’s what the exercise is about. Do you remember those 3-3-30 booklets I handed out when the midweek encouragement was young? It wasn’t an easy task then, either. Three things you are thankful for, three things you did well, for thirty days. I searched mine out. A lot of mundane stuff made my list. Thankful for: my alarm went off, coffee, the van pool. Did: laundry, had the gumption to go through the mail, and tread-milled. Yeah, it was equally as hard then. And I didn’t exactly make all thirty days. Now, I’m watching posts and wondering if I am the only one struggling. I want to be thankful, but apparently not enough.

I wish I had the kind of wonderment thankfulness of my 8 year old niece who when told she could wear whatever she wanted on her birthday, shrieked in delight, "I can wear anything I want - from my entire closet!” "I’m trying to imagine myself, 6:30 am on Monday, excitedly entering my walk-in closet and happily declaring, “I can wear anything I want -in this entire closet!" I normally buy into that visualization thing – the one that’s seen me through more than a few tough spots. If I can imagine it, I can do it. Unfortunately, I can’t imagine it.

So, I now know what’s missing in my world of thankfulness; everything, and every chance to be amazed by every choice in every moment. Choosing which cup to coffee, choosing which coat climb into, choosing chores of my own free will.

Yeah, that’s a good start. Choosing to be thankful I am able choose.

Posted by jaselin at 06:12 PM | Comments (0)

November 13, 2012

Clambering, ME Newsletter, Vol. 5, Issue 46

11/11/12
Now that the election is over, I’m gonna clamber up on my patiently waiting, caution sign bright-orange soapbox. With both feet firmly set, arms crossed in impatience, let me repeat the obvious again: The election is over. What are you going to do about it? Gloat? Cry? Continue to bash your “friends” and their opinions? Why continue to post propaganda?

I guess I’m just infuriated by the lack of – yes I’m gonna say it again – common sense. For example, I’m writing this on Veteran’s Day. Throughout the day, I’ve seen a good number of posts reminding veterans that they are entitled to special privileges at restaurants. And all of the sudden, there’s an uproar. Why do veterans get food? Why aren’t these restaurants feeding the homeless? My first reaction was a disbelieving “What? Are these people serious?” Are these the same idiots who believe if you can’t do something nice for everyone – don’t do anything nice for anyone? Who are you to say who should be tended to or who I can tend to within my means? And, by the way, just who the hell are you tending to?

I just kept scrolling for some more good news. Still, that ridiculousness festered in my head. I have a no antagonization policy when it comes to Facebook. I don’t encourage it and I don’t respond to it, at least not directly. I do sometimes write about it, though. I’ve got a special place for things I want to say but never will solely for the purpose of self-preservation.

But, then, there came another post that steamed me up, got my blood pressure pounding, and threw me over the edge of tolerant silence. In a blue-background logo’d post, assuredly designed to capture and give an impression of authenticity , attack and recruitment were simultaneously announced.

“These restaurants are cutting back on employees and employee hours to avoid paying for healthcare – Olive Garden, Applebee’s, Red Lobster, Domino’s, Pizza Hut, McDonald’s, Burger King and Papa John’s. Boycott them!”
Now I’m not a certified economist, but here goes my college educated micro and macro opinion.
Let’s see, our country is in the midst of a manufacturing unemployment crisis. Probably means people aren’t eating out as much. Probably means that in order to save employee’s jobs and their businesses, businesses are cutting back on hours and benefits. You certainly don’t believe that these are the only restaurants engaged in this activity? For that matter, are you unaware that your grocery store, gas station, doctor’s office, electric company, coffee shop, are playing this game, too?

The answer, isn't boycotting… unless you'd like the restaurants, electric companies, gas stations, grocery stores, etc. to go out of business. Creating even more unemployment? That just doesn't seem like a sound economic plan to me. Unless we can get the government to make our businesses offer benefits! Oh, but wait... we don't want the government to control us or our businesses or our benefits, so I guess that's out. Sigh.

There are only a few routes left as far as I can tell. The first is complete, independent, self-sufficiency. That’d be a tough road for most people. Grow your own food, create your own fuel, make your own clothes – without buying the seed, supplies, or the fabric to do so. Because, chances are, those things are coming from companies who must also cut benefits to retain jobs.

The second is to become a more biblical nation. Yep, I’m going there. Do unto others, lend hands and hearts and shelter and provisions and make donations to those in need, be responsible for our brothers and sisters, quit complaining and give thanks for what we have, pray and never cease praying. Don’t misunderstand me. I don’t believe GOD is going to turn his hand into changing our economy with a thunderclap just because enough of us pray simultaneously. I’m very much hoping though, as we pray our hearts will show us what needs to be done. Maybe our God-given minds will equip us with God-given answers, although I truly believe our God-given souls already know exactly what needs to happen.

Posted by jaselin at 03:39 PM | Comments (0)

November 05, 2012

The Voice, ME Newsletter, Vol. 5, Issue 45

10/7

Allow me to state the obvious: I’ve been at war with myself and my situations for some time now. I pray and pray and try to decide – should I move to back to TN or NY. Or maybe Boston or Atlanta. Should I ditch the career path, head back to music, be more zealous in my writing? I ended up overwhelmed this week. Between the disappointment, the loss, and the moving on, the emotional roller coaster started with a jerk and jerked to a stop. Still I hesitated: stay here and risk another ride, jump off and bolt? I’ve been silently asking for what seems like forever now, almost constantly.

Tears don’t come easy to me. They never have. They’re a waste of time that I know could be put to better use. Still, though, sometimes they just need to be freed, and not always on my time table. Blu startled me into a forward topple making it necessary to reach out for recovery. Thankfully, my hand connected with the mirror resting on the cabinet and steadied myself. When I took my hand away, it toppled into my nose, made me see stars. I slapped it back into place and then a little further. So, there I was on Friday night, trying to figure out how to retrieve the mirror from behind the cabinet attached to the wall. In order to reach it, I would have to remove the molly bolts, move it out and re-anchor it. Only I knew from experience that it is a two person job, and I was just one person.

That was my straw that toppled my week. In a highly unusual moment, I threw up my hands, stomped my feet and through garbled sniffles half-yelled to GOD, at GOD, for GOD in one short angry not-so-much prayer. “WHAT DO YOU WANT ME TO DO?”

So there it was – something I had never done before. I finally asked aloud. And something strange happened. For the first time in my life, I didn’t hear my heart cry “Go.” I heard a voice, a true voice; not in my head, not outside my head. An everywhere, encompassing, surrounding, strong and strongly modulated voice that to my amazement wrapped around me and breathed “Stay.” It was startling and absolute, not questionable. I cried harder and whimpered back, “No,” to the overlapping follow-up of “Be still.” Despite my unhappiness at not having received a real direction in which to go, and an even greater unhappiness that this is where I am supposed to be, despite that fact that I’ve always felt that staying requires more courage than I possess, I can’t say in that moment, I gave it to GOD. I can say that he took it away from, and calmed me, peacefully. Instantly.

In one long week of having to let go of a dream, realizing I had not made any memories of Ireland, and being set free from a therapy I changed. My foolishness, my stubbornness and the real reason for my most recent tears didn’t come from this anniversary week. In that light, none of those reasons matter, anyway. So little does. I am suddenly here, desiring to be no place else. I am in this moment and the last and accept them both. I have been searching for the right place to wrap up this story, or at least this part of it. This seems like a good one.

Posted by jaselin at 09:07 PM | Comments (0)

October 30, 2012

Radio Share, ME Newsletter, Vol. 5, Issue 44

More 10/4:
I don’t usually turn on the radio on my five minute or less commute to work. Sometimes I do in the hopes of trying to find a good song to change an occasional sour morning mood. I also have developed a severe dis-affection for anything Adam Levine. Giving credit where credit is due, AL is extremely talented at penning pop-hooks that remain in the mind...for days. I just like a little variety in my head. So, I ended up flipping stations three times before the first traffic signal. I landed on WDVD, and the Blaine & Allyson show. They were discussing who should sleep on the couch when one partner snores and the other works weird hours. I didn't think much of until until Allyson mentioned that sometimes her husband seems to stop breathing in his sleep.

I also don't usually throw myself out there into cyber space and accost talks how hosts. But, I just kept thinking about the reality of what she had mentioned and I knew that I couldn't let it go. So, I pulled up the radio web site, opened the listener comments box, and started in.

Oct 6th will be the 6th anniv of my husband's funeral, and what would have been our 11th wedding anniversary. It's a long story, but the bottom line is he had sleep apnea. He wore a mask in bed, but sometimes he would remove it in his sleep. I would wake up because I couldn't hear him breathing. At 2 AM one night he woke me up laughing in his sleep. I put his mask back on him and for the 1st time in our entire lives together, I went to sleep on the couch. In the morning, I woke up and started Sunday breakfast. Neither he or our dog showed up at the smell of bacon, so I went to check. Our two year Jack Russell old terrier was sitting perfectly still on our bed; her paw resting on my husband's knee. And I just knew. He was gone. It's the worst decision I ever made in my life. I regret it every day. No one should sleep on the damn couch! Get him to a doctor. Please. Jodi Korte.

Reply 1:
Jodi, I am so very sorry about your loss and I am so happy you wrote this. Thank you for sharing your story. I am really trying to get my husband to go to a sleep study. Here's a hug! Dana

Reply 2:
Jodi, I am very sorry for your loss. I can't even begin to express my feelings to you after reading your email. Please don't hold it against yourself that you slept on the couch.
Thank you for the info on sleep disorders, and again, my most sincere condolences to you and your family. Blaine

I truly didn’t anticipate a real response, thought I might get a standard email, and certainly didn’t expect very personal notes. I was touched to have received them. It made me feel a bit better that my little, somewhat angry, short paragraph impulse, was acknowledged. Then, the outcome expanded a whole lot more.

Reply 3:
OMG jodi!! my heart just broke:( i am so sorry:( i can't imagine how horrific that must have been for you and how much you must still miss him. i know we could tell you a million times over that even if you hadn't gone to the couch-the outcome might have still been the same. but i know that doesn't help. because if i was in your shoes i would feel exactly the way you do. 'what if?". warren has been on the couch for a month now-i am making an appointment for warren today. prayers, thoughts, hugs, from all of us jodi. we are having an expert on our show about snoring tomorrow. would you mind if i shared your letter with our listeners? it may impact them the way it just impacted me. Allyson

It didn’t take a second to hit “reply.” It did take a few to hash out some additional information I felt was important.

“ I hope it's not too late to respond,” I wrote since it was almost 10:30 pm on Thursday night.
“Yes, Please do share!
Jeff had some other medical issues, too. The apnea was compounded by diabetes, neuropathy and being overweight. His heart was enlarged from all that as well.
We knew that though, and in some ways we were blessed because, there's nothing worth fighting over or being angry about when you know it's just a matter of time.
Truly, everyone is in that same place, but few people recognize it. Everyone is going to pass sometime. I have many funny, sweet stories to tell about my husband. On the first anniversary of his passing, I wrote and had printed in two newspapers a memorial. It was written in response to a lunchroom conversation about how some spouses don't do this or don't do that. My sweet husband cooked gourmet meals, and cleaned the bathrooms, and did laundry (only his own, because he had some disasters with mine - but, hey, at least he tried.) So, I started thinking about the things Jeff didn't do.

Things You Never Gave Me
Half-hearted kisses; empty words or faulty promises
Less than your whole heart; tears we did not share
Love with conditions; words of discouragement
Disrespect or disregard; staunch predictability
No without a yes; you before me; your bad days
Any reason to doubt myself; any reason to doubt your love.
This is why I loved you so; for things you never gave me.

I can't tell you all how much it means to me that you are paying attention to the real dangers of apnea. It just means the world to me. Especially, this week.
Blessings, Jodi Korte

I received another reply from Dana: Jodi, I just wanted to let you know that after I forwarded your email onto my husband, he got on the phone and found a sleep study. He just has to get a referral from our doctor and he is going to do it. Thank you for your story and God Bless!!

I smiled through the tears at that one. After the show, I sent a simple note. I wasn’t capable of much more because it was disconcerting to hear my often repeated words coming back to me through the radio.

“Thank you,” I wrote. “That was an awesome interview, I especially appreciated the laughter. Jeff had a great sense of humor and he certainly would have appreciated it! Wishing you all the best.”

Amazingly, the dialog continued:

Reply 1
Thanks for inspiring it jodi!!:) we'll be thinking of you and jeff tomorrow. and thanks again for helping me and probably so many other people who thought "there is plenty of time to worry about it later". take care- Allyson

Reply 2:
Jodi, Your story really made an impact on us and our listeners. I am so sorry for your loss. I know tomorrow will be a tough day for you and your family. I’ll be thinking of you. Blaine

Reply 3: Jodi-
While I know this is a hard time for you and your family, I want you to know that you may have saved both Dan and Warren's life with your insightful email. Dan is waiting for the doctor to call him back about the study and as Allyson said before, she called for Warren. Thank you and God Bless!

I suddenly had to not be at home, or alone. I went into work and distracted myself for a little while. Had lunch with a friend, and headed on up to Hartland to pick up another friend who was returning from a bus trip. So, Friday wasn’t such a bad day after all. And although Saturday was the day, the one that coincided with the actual Saturday calendar date of our wedding, I was ok. And that’s really all I could have asked for, and all I really wanted, too.

Posted by jaselin at 07:39 PM | Comments (0)

October 24, 2012

Notifications, ME Newsletter, Vol. 5, Issue 43

10.4
Wednesday: notifications.

A FedEx notification on my door gave me a glimmer of hope for my journal’s return. I didn’t hesitate to drop my lunch bag on the counter, head back downstairs, and drive off to the office. It turned out to be a long, fruitless search. There were no packages for me or for my address, but the logs all showed the package was signed for and delivered to the office. Even a call to FedEx didn’t solve the mystery. I was told to check back in tomorrow, as if by magic the package would suddenly turn up.

The same afternoon I am also the recipient of an end of therapy notification. My therapist got married while I was away in Ireland. That was not a surprise, and I am truly happy for him. The surprise was that he also accepted a new position which will make him unavailable to me. Between paperwork and wrapping up, came the probably standard suggestion that I could either be referred within the same practice, or I could search out a new beginning on my own. I decline both options immediately, blurting out the truth that I probably won’t do either. I don’t want to start again. It’s the same problem I have when I try to get in to see my MD and the registrar asks if I would see someone else in the practice. The answer is always, “No.” I don’t pride myself on being complex, but I am not a simple person.

It’s agreed I have reached a plateau. I profess I am an intelligent, acutely aware person who at this point in my life would know when or if I needed re-grounding, and we both feel comfortable with that. It’s hard work staying out of the quagmire of everyday living. Truthfully, I had already started wondering each week what was left to talk about. I have been enduring a status quo that has become boring, even to me.

We laughed about how our relationship has morphed from my original reluctance to comfortableness, a shared strange sense of humor and how remarkably different I am now. It’s so true. I am no longer in that hole. Still, my current life is easily aligned with the old Henny Youngman joke: In the recovery room after hand surgery this guy says, 'Tell it to me straight, Doc. Will I be able to play the violin after my operation?'And the doctor says 'Sure.' And the guy says, 'That’s fantastic, I couldn't do it before.' That’s how it is with therapy and me. I’ve never been the bubbly type and no one should expect I ever will.

As I am getting ready to walk out of the therapy office and into coping on my own, I am thinking of ways to say goodbye. I don’t want to cry, and I don’t want to be cold. I’ve gotten a lot out of this purely professional relationship even though I had my doubts. Just as I am about to ask for a farewell hug, my therapist quirkishly offers, “I’ll see you on two weeks, then?” Caught off guard, I laugh and say, “Sure.” He asks if I need a card to remind me, and I say, “No, I can write it on the back of the one I already have…” and then pause for a second like there’s a punch-line. Because there is; and he’s already laughing. I don’t really have to say it, but I do anyway. “On the other hand,” I lead in with smile, “You might as well give me a new one since you won’t be needing these particular ones anymore.”

On my way home, having been so internally proud of myself for adapting quickly and ably resigning myself to the abrupt reality that therapy ends today, I war between annoyance at knowing I will have to face the goodbye situation again, and “thank goodness for the suggestion.” Sometimes, when you’re riding the rails of life, a fork appears, and you begin to think you have control over the veer. However, if the timing’s not right, track jumping, derailment, and crashes occur. I read somewhere recently GOD sometimes delays our arrival because there’s trouble ahead. Whether a storm, a crash, or a disappointment worse than the one we are going through now, we’re in GOD’s protection. I’m still a long way from perpetual roses and sunshine, but then again, ba-dump-bump...!

Posted by jaselin at 03:34 PM | Comments (0)

October 15, 2012

Underlined, ME Newsletter, Vol. 5, Issue 42

My week of separations continued. Following Monday’s situational disappointment, came Tuesday’s realization that I have lost my Ireland journal. The thing about the journal is, that’s where all my memories are. Upon reflection, that isn’t quite right. I should have real mind-set memories, no? I tried sitting down and running through the days in my mind. Although I was able to jot down basic bits and pieces, I’ve lost the emotion that went with them. I have a few fond memories of circumstantial meetings and forged bonds. But it occurs to me that I missed a lot over there. Taking down notes, drawing out scenarios, descriptions in detail, kept me from… everything. I’ve been clinging to my notebook for a few years now. Not the same one, of course. Many half empty booklets and binders reflect my unfinished business. I go back over them occasionally and read what I’ve forgotten about. I am starting to wonder if the writing has become a hindrance.

Because, truly, I think it places a barrier between me and others. Nobody interrupts a painter painting; no one approaches a writer writing. I can project a sincere not-now-I’m-writing vibe and find myself unbothered. I’ve truly never been a verbal butterfly, but it occurs to me I am no longer even a mild social being, in terms of exchange. Observation is enjoyable; participating means sharing. If I could go forward without a past, I would. But I can’t and the where, when, why, who and what timing of revelation is still an awkward mystery to me. Natural curiosity makes people want to know who they are conversationally sharing brain space with. I don’t know where to start sharing why I am who I am now. The pen serves me well for solid separation and allows me to retreat behind paper walls. I use them both as a shield and to fill awkward spaces where I am obviously alone.

So, now, without my latest journal, I find I am only recalling bits and pieces. Strangely, they are drawn from conversations and meetings, and all the rest is just background noise. Turning up the volume doesn’t make the past any clearer; not the recent past, not the not-so-long ago past, and certainly not the long-long ago past. So, what does it mean then, that I remember only interactions and fail to recall observations? I Is my lack of memories due to hard drive deletion, or do I have I simply not made any? Once committed to paper, I set them free. For lack of holding on to them, and lack of holding true conversations, I have plenty of empty mind space, and a mostly empty heart, as well.

I find myself sighing, tilting my head into another god-smack. I think it’s time to stop hiding behind props and begin engaging. I’m trying to envision another trip to Ireland (or church or the coffee shop or anywhere) without a notebook to protect me. Not easy to imagine, it draws up an uneasy fear, and sits quietly above emphatic, flowery doodles of distraction. Trying to figure a way out of this uncomfortable conclusion, I read these paragraphs again, silently in my own voice, and find myself reaching the same uncomfortable conclusion. Underlined.

Posted by jaselin at 08:30 PM | Comments (0)

October 08, 2012

That's that, ME Newsletter, Vol. 5, Issue 41

10/1/12

Just one day of slight ups and some surprisingly big downs. An attempt to turn things around in a way that would normally bring me down... hasn’t. I’m not as bothered by it as I have been in the past. In fact, my amusement is sickly amusing. Does that mean I am becoming heart-stronger or strongly heading back down the WTH aisle at the IDGAF store?

In spite of all that, I was ok today. Until I found out something that set me back a bit, or a whole lot, to be honest. I convinced myself that I would be ok coming home from Ireland. I didn’t realize how much stock I had put into one, single, solitary, all-focused, not entirely rational, and now non-existent path. Feeling quite foolish, disappointed, and totally without a direction to cast my hopes.

Sometimes GOD quietly closes a door for you. Sometimes HE slams it shut on the foot you’ve stubbornly been using to keep it propped open. I got slammed; a little harder and a little harder to take than my usual god-smack. Of course, I’d been pushing to keep it open. I can only shake my head and glance back over my shoulder. I should have realized it was too difficult an undertaking to be worthwhile.

I’d like to be able to blame the pain on someone else, but no one let me down. I let myself down in a zig-zag, running-after pattern I’ve followed before. You know when you know better and you just can’t stop yourself from bee-lining, full-stinger ready, just can’t avoid buzzing and trying and buzzing and trying and buzzing and trying, only to fail and fail and fail?

It seems now, that the truth blares out. I never had a chance, but still I believed. Stubbornness moves against us more than for us.
Trying to divest myself of the very emotional investment I have made, chasing rainbows toward an always fictitious pot of gold. I would have done better counting shiny penny moments and tracking mini-triumphs.

It's a painful blessing to bear: the resounding slam indicates without doubt - my plans were not GOD’s plan. When that happens, there's nothing left to do, but thank GOD that your toes won’t be jammed up against that door anymore, pick up your heart, and limp off in a new direction. That’s that.

Posted by jaselin at 09:04 PM | Comments (0)

October 01, 2012

Someday Faith, ME Newsletter, Vol. 5, Issue 40

Maybe it’s because I learned faith later in life. I haven’t had as much time to fall away. I was never introduced to it growing up. I was, however, introduced to wrathful GOD, a GOD who uses suffering as retribution, a GOD so unhappy with his creation of man that HE began again. I knew only religious fear, that rules were rules, and no matter how hard we tried there was no guarantee that we would please HIM; no guarantee to be inscribed onto the tree of life.

I never had faith growing up, so it’s pretty much my balloon-like life preserver now. It's wavered through my life storms more than a lot, but so far I’ve never let go. I have, at times, slacked the tethering to let it soar. I’ve watched it go higher, and ironically grow smaller.

It’s best to keep faith close to you, revel in the buoyancy. Keeping it too close though, runs the risk of alternate-view obliteration. We don’t need to be absorbed by our faith to the point of blindness. It certainly shouldn’t shut us off from others, keep them out of view. I don’t profess to have all or even any of the moral answers to so many of our current religious and political issues. I’m not about to say what’s right and wrong. I am not a biblical scholar; I am not an authority. I am a constant learner with more questions for each highly interpretive answer I am given.

Through the Bible, GOD has told us his view and shown us his plans. It’s a simple message, really: Love. Love everyone as much as you can, but do not allow that love to sway your beliefs. It isn’t for us to change anyone’s mind or being or to judge. It’s up to us to open our hearts and arms and share and lead and teach. I don’t have much of a problem loving, until betrayal. That’s where my trouble begins. I’ve found that the wrong kind of forgiveness just leads to more hurt. It’s like continually sticking a whetted finger into a live socket and expecting not to be shocked. I’m tired of being shocked, so I eliminate the potential for it. The problem is that no one can be open and closed at the same time. Staying closed definitely leads to less conflict, but it’s kind of lonely that way, too.

I question my faith; how I keep it, how I show it, how I share it… or don’t share it. I figure I am the way I am because that is how I am supposed to be. Years of trying to overcome shyness, speech and physical impediments, stuttering and weight issues have been stressful. I can’t change any of that. I do struggle to keep faith, and sometimes it shrinks small as a mustard seed. But I suppose there’s a “hurrah” in heaven for my stubbornness and an impending “amen” on earth because something good will happen.. someday.

Posted by jaselin at 09:55 PM | Comments (0)

September 26, 2012

Mid-Still, ME Newsletter, Vol. 5, Issue 39

Did you ever get the feeling you were missing something major?
I made a pretty perfect plan for myself on the way home from Dublin.
It went something a little specifically like this:
Upon arriving at my apartment I would snack, shower, and sleep until I awoke.
Then, on Wednesday, I would get groceries and maybe do laundry.

I slept from 7:00 PM Tuesday evening until 4:30 AM on Wednesday morning. Stumbled around a bit, took some motrin, ate an apple and went back to bed. Please note, I specifically and proudly use the word bed because that is where I lay. Bed sleeping became a renewed habit in Ireland, because there really wasn’t any other choice. There weren’t any recliners available in my friends’ homes or in the hotels I stayed at.

Around 11:45 AM, I awoke again. I started laundry due to the future necessity of undergarments. I checked my phone, responded to a text with a bit of alarming news, and showered. Not because I need one, but because I could. Showers are a little more complicated in Ireland. On my way to Costco, I had a momentary panic that there was something I was supposed to be doing today. I checked my phone calendar to be sure I wasn’t missing any appointments. I wasn’t.

So,I kept to my plan. Groceries put away, turkey loin in the oven, I decided a nap was in order. I have just achieved some warm kitty snuggling when it hit me.

“Oh,” I thought, “it’s Tuesday, I have to get a newsletter done!”
Lucky for me I have a few week’s worth of ideas and topics I’d already been working on. Unlucky for me, when I turned on the computer, I realized it wasn’t Tuesday. It was Wednesday... afternoon.

I used to email the newsletter on Wednesdays. I don’t remember when I switched sending them on Tuesday nights, but I’m sure it was a resolution to a scheduling issue so I wouldn’t miss one. Seeing as I haven’t missed a Midweek Encouragement Newsletter in the five years since it began, I am incredibly pleased that I can say, technically, it is still Wednesday and therefore this newsletter still falls within the range of midweek.

This particular newsletter is certain to fall a bit short by being neither fascinating or encouraging, but I am thinking of you and of me and of my one-year commitment that never ended. Having come across time-zones, and still a bit fuzzy, I thank you for your patience today. I also want thank you for your responses over the years. What started as a way to encourage others to see the more positive side of life has turned itself around. Your kind words, argumentative thoughts, and the fact that you haven’t unsubscribed during my most difficult times, have become the midweek encouragement I have needed to keep going.

Oh, and by the way, Ireland was, as my Irish friends would say, “Gooorrgee-ous."

Posted by jaselin at 05:09 PM | Comments (0)

September 16, 2012

Holes, ME Newsletter, Vol. 5, Issue 38

I’ve conquered a lot lately, in private, which may have been the hardest part.

I’m sure it seems you know pretty much everything that comes across my mind or into my life. But these carefully crafted once weekly outpourings are only the best of things, even when writing about the worst of things. They barely touch the surface of the holes I am trying to fill.

I’m not sure when I started thinking of holes as the problem, but I no longer feel that way. The problem isn’t the holes. It’s finding their purpose, and figuring out how to use them. Holes in our lives are there to give us the opportunity to fill them.

Time won’t fill holes – time flies and experience tells me I’ll never catch it. Actively searching for new self-definitions - trying to fill the vacancies - has been exhausting. I thought all I had to do was climb out. The view from the top has been enlightening, but still frustrating. There’s a temptation to throw myself back in just to take a break from the continuous who, what, where, when, why, how searching.

There are things I haven’t shared with my grief therapist because they’re not related to the past or grief. They’re related to recent and now and I haven’t quite sorted all that out, yet. I continue, however, to be well stocked with notebooks, and fast writing pens.

So, yeah, I’ve got issues. I’ve also got a plane ticket to Dublin and another festival to work and enjoy.

Posted by jaselin at 11:35 PM | Comments (0)

September 11, 2012

Short, ME Newsletter, Vol. 5, Issue 37

For the first time since I've been seeing her, going on five years, my hair stylist and I had a miscommunication. It was a rather large one, too.

My hair grows slowly; very slowly. So slowly that a haircut usually makes it for at least six weeks, sometimes even eight weeks. For some reason, my hair took to growing at a faster rate this summer, and at only week four, I realized it was getting shaggy and top heavy. I made an emergency trim appointment. So, on a Monday night at 6:30 PM, after a fabulous sushi dinner with my brother, I headed to the salon.

“Wow,” my stylist commented, “your hair grew fast! What are we doing with it tonight?”

“The same,” I said, “only shorter.” A shampoo and deep condition later, the snipping started.

Having just taken a cutting class with Nick Arojo, who was shorter than she thought he would be, she told me about the techniques he had taught. She has used every one since she returned from Chicago just a week ago. A short time later, I viewed the style head-on and thought it looked great, a little short than usual, but great.

It wasn’t until I was sitting at a stop light in Jackson that I got a good glimpse at the other parts of my head. I checked out one side and then because I was sure that the reflection of the setting sun behind me was skewing my vision, I checked out the other side. Running my fingers over my head, I realized there was no atmospheric distortion, and my hair was very, very short. I ran my palm down the backside and re-realized, my hair was very, very short. Sheared, might describe it best. Like a sheep, I guess.

I had to make it home before dark. It was too late to go back, and I convinced myself that it just felt shorter than it was. As soon as I walked in the door, I hit the glaring bulb starkly honest bathroom mirror and inspected the suspected damage.

The color, or lack thereof, was a little bit of a shock. I have thin hair anyway, so the close crop meant my scalp was visible and that there wasn’t any artificial color left on the sides or back. That left them a light caramel shade of pale brown with sparklies. By now you should all know how I feel about sparklies, but just in case there is any doubt: I don’t like them. Miss Clairol and I are tight and will probably always be. I never had any intention of rediscovering my true roots, natural hair color. And although, grey is my favorite color, I'd rather not see it in my hair. The top is still rich chocolate with crowning vanilla slices. Sadly, the sides are rain watered mud puddle with silver tone leopard patches that appear translucent in the wrong light. Suddenly, there’s plenty of wrong light.

Truly, she did what I asked her to. She cut my hair the same way she always has, and then… she cut it shorter. I had a flashback to the last truly awful hair cut I had back in the 80's. My brother asked, “You didn’t pay for that did you?” My mother said, “It will grow out.” My father offered, “There’s always scarves...” Today’s mixed reaction were almost fun. I got a few surprised, “Oh! You've had a haircut!”s and a few “you look very nice.” I’m guessing the latter were distracted by the emergency make-up purchases I made last night and the bright puce and pink paisley shirt I chose to camouflage myself in this morning.

I still feel my chubby cheeks are too round, my ears are too awkward, and my scalp is too glaringly shiny for this cut. Other than that, it’s really fine. I still love my stylist. I'll just make sure we communicate a little better next time.

On the brighter side, it won’t blow around or droop much in the lovely, misty, Irish September winds.

Posted by jaselin at 06:19 PM | Comments (0)

September 03, 2012

Odds Life, ME Newsletter, Vol. 5, Issue 36

So, if you want to see a movie that will make you cry within the first five minutes, try The Odd Life of Timothy Green.

I socialized this weekend. If you count non-talking time in a theatre and non-talking time while dining on Chinese lemon chicken with one friend and one stranger as socializing, that is. LOL. The point is, I received an invitation and I accepted it.

Sadly, I see people - all the time, everywhere. I see people that I am not. People I don’t want to be. Shopping alone or dining alone or taking in an inexpensive afternoon matinee. I look at them and think - I can’t let that happen. That can never be me. But an hour of restrained snuffling and flat out crying makes a bathroom visit necessary before I can show my eyes in the real light of the day. I wash my hands, and avoid looking up. I don’t want to see the damage. Curiosity overrules. I stare at my solid shirt now covered in tear-dot pattern, and sigh. If I hadn’t been embarrassed to keep swiping at my eyes, I wouldn’t have let the tears run down my cheeks and spot me up. I glance up in purposeful and cursory way. It really shouldn’t matter how I look anyway, but I'm sure I'll see that some matte finish, shine eliminating powder is in order.

There in the mirror, I see: someone I don’t want to be. Well past the age where some of my longest held dreams will come true, I no longer even imagine compromises I was willing to make, because it’s too late for them now, as well. So, what does that leave? A bit of embarrassing desperation that even I am uncomfortable with. “It’s not meant to be” is almost as bad as “It is what it is”. The fear of being alone is not greater than or less than, but solidly equal to the fear of inevitable heartache. Why is our fondest desire to love and be loved when we know we will be hurt and that we will eventually hurt others. Someone has to be left behind.

There is no connection without separation. It’s hard to not consider that; it is so much easier to live in the moment. But living in the moment shows disregard, doesn’t it? The Bible’s message is love: love each other, love GOD, love the gift of life. Two out of three ain’t bad doesn’t apply here. It isn’t exactly all or nothing in the trinity trifecta, but if you miss one part, you miss completion. My shirt is stained in mostly rows, a bit random but flowing from the same source and following the same route. It’s still green, but for the time being, the well absorbed drips murmur different hues. Their variance draws a question, assuming I am not monotone, and the odds are very good in this:

If I threw my life up against the wall, would it be a rainbow splash or a muted wash: an explosion and drip, or precisely individual splatters? And which would I prefer?

Posted by jaselin at 06:18 PM | Comments (0)

August 26, 2012

Caught Up, ME Newsletter, Vol. 5, Issue 35

8/12.
The solar porch light flares on with a definitive soft click, startling me from my book pages. 8:30 pm and… sigh... the sun is setting. Pool days are fading, too. It’s inevitable, I know. Soon, I’ll be back to running music and myself on the elliptical every day instead of just on those days weather prohibits even an early evening swim. I suppose, given that fall is looming and winter is coming, it seems like I may have wasted some precious sun-time this weekend moving haphazard boxes filled with undecided fate, miscellaneous ownerships and unfinished projects out of sight. I do plan on plowing through those piles of lost-time reminders this winter; same as I did last winter with mild half-success. With winter not that far off, why did I choose this weekend? Without warning, a surprisingly significant and stunning easy answer arrives.

Two years is an awfully long time to dally over organization. My newly acquired extra drawers and storage space aren’t meant to accommodate some of my long-time failures. Crafts I’ve meant to create, writing I’ve meant to transcribe, collections I’ve meant to log. I’m searching for a sense of order. I want to fill the empty spaces with intelligent plotting, assignment, not with irrational random. So, instead, it all gets dragged away. And although hiding my chaos in closets merely projects an image of order, it helps relieve the stress and avoid being further weighed down by piles of visual self-let-downs. That is mighty medicinal.

I know, of course, I’m only hiding my imperfections from others; not myself. Temporarily out of sight, but not so much out of mind. I am holding to the new subscription of this belief: project the image you want to become, and you will. I want to become caught up with and caught up in my own life again.

Posted by jaselin at 07:25 PM | Comments (0)

August 21, 2012

Leap Step, ME Newsletter, Vol. 5, Issue 34

I recently took a step in the right direction, reworking my resume in response to a potential career change. Or, what could be more accurately described as a career revival. Initially daunting, the end reward was empowering. It’s difficult to blow your own horn with just the right amount confidence and humility. Like playing the sax, breathing cyclically, giving and taking for balance and sound, the abbreviated outline of where I’ve been, what I’ve accomplished, what I’ve learned swelled into achievement. It forced me into a more positive self-light, and temporarily back in power. Temporary because I quickly developed very mixed feelings about whether or not I was ready to leap from my semi-secure situation to a familiar but still foreign one.

I’ve mulled it over and come to an uneasy realization; a step in the right direction is not a leap of faith.
There is a difference between two, and the results will not be the same.
A step of faith moves you closer.
A leap requires jumping off.

Steps are good. Short stepping walks us to a better vantage point; one with a better view. We can more easily see where it is GOD wants us to go. If we’re moving toward it, we have to be feeling it requires our presence. And if we’re moving toward it, it must mean that we want to go there as well. There is a limit, though. Too many timid shuffles will only lead us to a precarious edge. Jumping from there without real momentum, means we’re relying on GOD to carry us lazily to the goal.

No, that won’t work. To get where HE wants us to go, we need to commit, take a running start, and then keep running as we hit the air. HE wants us to get there. HE wants us to reach our goals, because they are OUR combined goals. We can’t expect, and should not demand, continual push, pull, or carry. It takes recognition of our soul’s longing, a firm desire in our heart, and oomph to lift us off the ground. It also takes courage. We have to believe GOD’s encouraging wind-breath will be behind us, and then we have to have faith it’s strong enough to land us gently near the mark.

Anyway, all that resume work and rework and project detail lead me nowhere... except to another disappointment. So maybe that is what obstacles in our paths are designed to do: draw us back from the edge and set us up for a running start. Even so, it is extremely rare to land on that perfect line. We might fall short. We might surpass it. How do we figure out if we made it or not? We don’t. All that is required in life is this: one forward, two back, step, step, leap, retreat, and fly again.

Posted by jaselin at 02:28 PM | Comments (0)

August 13, 2012

Spence, ME Newsletter, Vol. 5, Issue 33

I should have rolled myself back out of bed at 3AM when all those brilliant thoughts were running through my just-spent-six-hours-at-a-biker-bar, very late but night-clear head. My thoughts were exactly as I would have liked to written them. I repeatedly re-recited excited paragraphs as I drifted off, so certain in my brilliance that I wouldn’t forget. Yeah, I should know better. It happens every time, but I’ll give it my re-creative best shot now.

I think what impressed me most about Spence is that they are an abnormally normal bunch of good guys, with a great deal of talent. Polite, friendly, interested in their fans, perpetually circulating, unfailingly accessible, and willing to give their all to a less than all-there crowd after giving their attention to the two opening and opening bands before them. While Coldville and Redstone Riot are still cutting teeth, Spence are using theirs to smile widely at the people in front of them, and the people behind them.

Used to be, door sales were the only reimbursement process for self-funded bands. Even with the adoption of t-shirt sales, it used to be hard to break even, but with individual personal backing by very real individuals, monetarily and through social media marketing, Spence is holding it together. They’re also putting it out there with fan-funded recording. And while each individual fan is not carrying the bulk of artistic costs alone, they are all heavily emotionally invested. They show up, willingly pay door fees, purchase merchandise and revel in a real bit of ownership. The “I helped make this happen” mentality is a major ROI for all parties.

Used to be, the music industry considered themselves the ultimate coaches to the single-minded players – musicians with the muscle but not the marketing. Talent is everywhere. Real all-around, every facet of a band’s life creative talent is an elusive creature. Tweaking talent like this would be a pleasure, but I’m pretty sure these guys are gonna make it without all us jaded eyes poking holes in the good-guys good-show bubble they float from town to town in. Throwing pitch sticks in smoothly self-operating drive chains serves no purpose. Much like the trailer they pull behind them, Spence’ve got this thing in tow. All we have to do is follow.

Posted by jaselin at 09:31 PM | Comments (0)

August 07, 2012

Bedtime Story, ME Newsletter, Vol. 5, Issue 32

Getting back into the full swing of therapy is like riding one of those old-fashioned rope-hung tires. I just keep coming back to where I am. Not always from the same direction, but always with a different spin.

“It Is What It Is” – I hate that defeatist saying. Just because I cannot do something myself does not mean I have to settle for the mediocre performance of others’. Especially, if I am paying for it. Having just been through yet another birthday, I have to face. I’m old and don’t have enough helpful hands in my life to live the IKEA way anymore. My last IKEA assembly went mostly fine, until I had to track down a neighbor to help secure it to the wall. So that’s how I ended up at a real furniture store.

Before I go further pay close attention as I state clearly: there will be no more harassment regarding the no-bed situation. Cease and desist because: yes, I have one. Yes, I’m trying to sleep on it, but have so far have had to limit myself to experimenting on evenings when a good night’s sleep isn’t required. Miss Fred loves it and Harley Blu finds it an excellent spring-board, especially at 3:00 AM. I find it cute and aggravating.

I purchased a cute, playfully oriented white children’s suite on clearance and a full size mattress. I also took the rational adult route, and paid $92.00 for delivery and assembly. A polite delivery man calls to let me know they are running ahead of schedule and would be to me before my appointment time. Ahead of schedule is practically unheard of, right? So, I do a little mental jig and decide this endeavor could go smoothly and be well worth the relatively minimal fee.

Soon enough, they arrive and the furniture flurry begins. I have time to inspect each piece as it is placed in planned spots in the bedroom. When the assembly begins, I retreat the kitchen to make some iced tea. It’s a hot day, and it’s the polite thing to do. The sounds of soft grunts and electric screw drivers go on for a while. At one point, I hear one of the two-man crew, exclaim, “Ow!” There’s a moment of silence and then the work continues. Suddenly, they’re done. One of the men gathers up a huge arm of garbage and disappears. I never see him again. The other accepts an iced tea and asks me to sign the delivery papers. Before, I do any signing, I check the finished work. Like most rainbow-hued bubbles my happiness one are my fragile, and unfortunately short lived.

I notice a few joints that are not flush: 1/4 inch gaps are not acceptable. Because of the gaps, the platform boards are not flush, and therefore not butted-up to or supporting each other. And because of the gaps, the frame is 1.5” larger than the mattress. When I explain all that, I am told, with a shrug, “It is what it is – quick assembly furniture and pieces are not always cut perfect, but you can call the service center and they’ll send a tech out to see what can be done. Oh, and by the way you are missing a few end-screw caps.” He says they’ll mail them to me. I write down all my complaints about the bed assembly on the paperwork. The deliveryman doesn’t seem too happy about that, but I point out that it is exactly what the furniture sales person told me to do if there were any issues. I suppose I should have suspected problems were probable when she also told me about her mom’s experience with damaged furniture and how she was able to have things fixed pretty quickly. Guess I missed that warning sign.

I continue my inspection of the other three coordinating pieces. I don’t believe I am an unreasonable person. I don’t expect special treatment, but I do expect intelligent treatment. Yes, I know its white furniture, but I also know that there shouldn’t be glops of glue seeping out or greasy finger prints or oily smudges left behind. I expected at least a service-oriented wipe down.

What I didn’t expect is that both idiots felt it wasn’t necessary to wipe the blood off the furniture. Yes, that’s right – there is blood which is really wrong - on the dresser, on one of the side tables and under the mattress. I know I sound incredulous when I bite out, “Really? Is that blood?” I don’t so much drop the papers as let them drift after a brisk release and then stiffly stalk off in search of cleaning supplies and some deep cleansing breaths.

When I return, I very directly offer my solutions to the antsy gentleman, and say, “Try this. If that blood doesn’t come out you’re taking all this furniture back with you.” He looks surprised and I think he might protest, but for some reason changes his mind. Maybe it’s because one minute I was a nice iced-tea offering customer and the next minute I swung straight into an infuriated one. Maybe it's because he just saw “The Avengers,”” and was afraid I’d go full-swing into Hulk mode. Maybe it was because I was staring him down and pushing the rag and sponge into his hands and was afraid I'd take a swing at him the moment they left mine. While he is working on all of the places I've pointed out, I look for more blood. Luckily, for both of us, I don’t find any. I also don’t find myself inclined to tip as much as I was previously considering.

If my life was a sitcom, I’d find it funny. But it isn’t. I manage to laugh, but it’s not because I’m amused. My therapist spends a good deal of time laughing at the way I present my problems to him. He says it’s great that I can keep my sense of humor. I explain, that it only seems that way because the irony of retrospect rears up and with little or no reverence finds its way transformed through my finger-tips into the comedy of errors that are my storied world. Trust me, while this outrageousness is occurring I am not laughing. I’m usually not even smiling. But if I can find a way to share the stupidity, convey a lesson and make it stick with a smile, I think I’m doing ok.

Posted by jaselin at 05:55 PM | Comments (0)

July 31, 2012

Plateau, ME Newsletter, Vol. 5, Issue 31

God uses difficult people, like sandpaper, to rub off the rough edges. Learning to be good to people who are not being good to you develops character in you. Joel Osteen

I’d been away from therapy for a few weeks due to an over-stress, mini-meltdown, expense-increase, prospects-slim, uncooperative-medical-professionals, avalanche-eruption. I was going low again, but most of the immediate issues resolved in one way or another, positively, or not. Some I fought through and some I let ride.

Through the upheaval and erosion, I have now achieved a nice plateau – staying where I am, made it through another yearly review, swimming and elliptical with regularity, cooking, porching. There’s even some socializing in limited amounts. Ok, very limited amounts. There’s still more turtling than socializing but less turtling than just a short while ago. I’m even starting to consider long overdue phone call conversations - shocking, no?

Of course, on the heels of my up-timistic self-report comes strategically placed, designed to be therapeutic question:
How did you cope as a child? How did I cope? I don’t know. I don’t think I did. I just kept to myself and…oh. I see.

For me –it was radio and books, then records and books, then cassettes and books, then cd’s and books, then a music career and a writing obsession, and suddenly I’m an adult with the exact same coping skills I honed and used and honed and used as a child, adolescent, young adult, married adult, widowed adult, and alas... a little past middle-aged on the road-to-nowhere-yet, adult. Nowhere seems like a good enough direction when you can’t decide which one to go in anymore.

In the meantime, though, there is the reality of my history of disappearance. I could go places in books and music; places I could disappear into. Places that wouldn’t get me in trouble – unless I had to share the stereo. I got around that by recording to cassette and retreating to my room, where I dreamed of things I would do, and ended up doing some.

I also ended up disappearing a lot - especially from uncomfortable situations, ones where things weren’t working out the best for me. I’ve dropped out of a lot of places, and lives. And while coping mechanisms are good for regrouping and rethinking, they aren’t meant for complete avoidance. Eventually you have to get back to where you were and deal with life, life changes, and how your life has affected others.

Once again facebook is a strange blessing. I’m surprised by the number of people who have let me back in, even if I am only in the floating fringe. They’re in mine, I’m in theirs. What we get, or will get, out of that sort of relationship is unclear. I wish sometimes my fringe area would dial in for better closeness. But that would require un-retreating and un-coping, which is unsettling. Neither one can be accomplished from a plateau.

Still, for the moment, my plateau is a very nice place to be; far from the depths I didn’t like, level with sunrises and sunsets, and considering looking up, if only to gauge the climb.

Posted by jaselin at 08:23 PM | Comments (0)

July 24, 2012

Sugar Snap, ME Newsletter, Vol. 5, Issue 30

Day 6 of Sparkspeople Sugar Challenge was a major turning point.

Suddenly, I really needed, craved, desired and obsessed about something sweet to the point of being overwhelmed, but still rational. Reluctant to buy a box of cookies (too easy to over-indulge), a tray of brownies (also, too easy to over-indulge), a cake (let’s not be ridiculous) or anything that would send my budget into orbit, I settled on an alternative I was sure I could handle.

Cupcakes – made from cake mi xwith 12 ounces of diet soda instead of oil and eggs. Only 99 cents a box, and easily created into individual servings I could include in my daily log, within my limits. I have always been one of those people who have no problem eating one of anything. Usually, it’s just a taste I’m after, anyway. When the Saturday night batch was finished, I ate one warm, fresh, spongy cake. They were so moist and tasty - no icing was needed, at all. I hadn’t bought any icing, either, so that was a bit of semi-reasonable pre-planned avoidance.

After an appropriate cooling time, I easily placed the other eleven in the Tupperware cake tray with lid, designed just for the purpose of keeping baked goods fresh in between servings. Just like that, the sugar monster was satisfied, and the budget was no worse for wear-and-tear. I prided myself on having achieved acute awareness of my limits, and from experience, knew in all likelihood, the remaining cupcakes would be a week old before I even came close to finishing them. I’d probably have to throw some away, but sometimes moderation makes the most sense in the long-run.

Sunday morning something snapped: I woke up a little later than I would have liked due to super snooze button slapping. Pre-shower, I grabbed some Motrin for my headache and went into the kitchen to find something to wash it down with. Out of milk and juice and without a fresh pitcher of tea, I decided a cupcake would do the trick. Of course, it would be silly to just have one bite and leave the rest, so I finished it. Showered and dressed, I realized I’d be gone until well after Noon, so I fortified quickly with another cupcake. After sitting down to tie my shoes and gathering up my purse, it occurred to me that the last cupcake tasted so good, I simply had to have another. To my credit, it’s not like I grabbed and de-robed three cupcakes, plated them and couched it. I only ate one at a time and went back each time for another, so that sort of counts as exercise, right?

Make no mistake, I totally realized how ridiculous what I had just done was. So, upon returning from church and the grocery store where I purchased only fresh fruits and vegetables, I made a very lovely salad and added a Boca Chik’n patty for protein. I also decided to kick it up another notch and went above and beyond my most recent usual 25 minutes of programmed elliptical time by firmly typing in a new goal: 26. Please, take a deep breath and stop laughing. This is a very legitimate way of slightly increasing your exercise limits without letting your brain or body know. Because I’ve done this before and know it works. You will eventually find yourself easily treading somewhere between 45 -50 minutes each session, eventually.

Somewhere between tired and buzzy, I decided to wait out the high headache and lay low. After my nap, I was, well… hungry. Apparently, my Zombie Apocalypse weakness is cake, and yes, I had three more cupcakes. Again, to my credit, I only ate one at a time and went back each time for another so that sort of counts as exercise, right? About an hour later, I started getting hungry for dinner. When faced with the choice of baking chicken breasts for 45 minutes or, you guessed it…. By this time I was sort of giddy-stupid and self-belligerent. I figured WTFN and completed my ridiculous ricochet sugar-snap by having two more cupcakes in a bowl with the last of the leftover mint brownie and golden oreo ice creams. And, then, because I was on an obvious sugar overload, I balanced it out nicely with an unmeasured amount of salty, hull-less popcorn. The only good news in this monumental monstrosity of a diet ditching day, was that I did manage to insert eight (or more) full glasses of unsweetened iced tea. Which also means, that for the first time in a very, very, very long time - I actually reached my minimum recommend liquid intake goals.

I’m determined to get back on track. Having learned a tremendous deal about sugar highs and sugar lows and sugar snaps, I considered shocking myself back into reasonableness by taking my blood sugar… just to see how bad it was. I decided to give myself at least two days of re-good riddance-ing again to sugar before I did that, though. I can surely be good for two days now that I’m all caked-out.

Except someone just announced a Wendy’s run. To my credit, I immediately said no.
But am considering running down the hall with my order….

Posted by jaselin at 10:08 PM | Comments (0)

July 16, 2012

First 5, ME Newsletter, Vol. 5, Issue 29

My bathing suit is fitting better, or slightly worse, depending on the point of view. It was a tad snug at the end of May, or maybe I just wasn’t used to the confining feel, and it really fit fine. Neither really matters, because now, it’s a little loose. I’ve tied the shoulder straps in top knots, to raise up neckline, hoping to keep my diminishing cleavage where it should be, especially while I’m swimming.

Whatever I’m doing is working, sort of. As referenced above, my shirts are now loose, and my seasonal pants fit, as opposed to not fitting well, which was where my summer wardrobe started. The scale argues, though. It should be amusing, but it’s not, that six weeks’ worth of daily exercise and strict adherence to consuming all the calories, carbs, fat and protein it has been dictated that I need, has debited me only 2.7 pounds.

So, unnaturally, I jumped at the chance to ramp up my efforts with the Sparkspeople Sugar Challenge. The intention is to observe, then modify sugar intake. The first five days went well. I excluded sugar from my coffee and tea. Read all the labels of everything in my minimal pantry, fridge, and freezer. With the exception of canned tuna and frozen veggies, nearly everything had some sort of sugar, in some sort of form. I really had no idea there were so many forms. Some of these forms excel in masquerading as seemingly innocuous ingredients. Some of which, are worse for you than the real, straight, white-stuff.

Some labeling code words for “sugar” designed to distract: Agave nectar, Agave syrup, Barley malt, Beet sugar, Brown rice syrup, Brown sugar, Buttered syrup, Cane sugar, Cane juice, Cane juice crystals, Carob syrup, Confectioner’s sugar, Corn syrup, High fructose corn syrup, Corn sugar, Corn sweetener, Corn syrup solids, Crystalized fructose, Date sugar, Dextran, Dextrose, Diatase, Diastatic malt, Evaporated cane juice, Fructose, Fruit juice, Fruit juice concentrate, Glucose, Glucose solids, Golden sugar, Golden syrup, Grape sugar, Honey, Invert sugar, Lactose, Malt, Maltodextrin, Maltose, Maple syrup, Molasses, Raw sugar, Refiner's syrup, Sorghum syrup, Sucanat, Sucrose, Sugar, Turbinado sugar, Yellow sugar.

The first five days were a complete immersion in observation and modification as I tried to decide on a course of action. It was a little stupefying trying to delete sugar in it’s entirely, in one fell swoop. I ended up not giving up salad dressing, salsa or the packaged yogurts and fruit cups I had already invested in. The thrift gene apparently runs strong in me. I could not (would not) throw away perfectly good food which I had purchased within my new budget. But, I have since decided the plan is to further eliminate those items, as well, eventually. When my sugar enhanced stock is depleted, it will not be re-upped.

Posted by jaselin at 03:40 PM | Comments (0)

July 09, 2012

Common Senseless, ME Newsletter, Vol. 5, Issue 28

6/25/12
I'm thinking of starting a Common Sense Bank: Folks can call me anytime, and I absolutely do mean anytime, especially between 10 PM and 5 AM when most un-common-sense incidents occur. Yeah, I’ll almost always answer the phone, because I’m awake anyway, and will accordingly advise how to approach any problem with common sense - for a fee of course. Case in point:

I arrived at the pool ready for my nightly oasis to wash away the ridiculousness of the day. As I’m staking out my chair, I notice something in the water, and that nobody else is in the water. There are three guys and a girl in the hot tub, and there are two guys throwing a football over the pool, but no one is in it. I don’t wear my glasses to swim so in my limited squinty eye-sight, the floating thing seems to be a chipmunk. I scoot around to the other side of the deck where I can get a closer look and discover it is not a rodent, but rather a deceased baby duck. It looks as if his neck is broken, and he is definitely dead and bloated.

First common sense thought I have is to grab the strainer and skim him out. However, the strainer isn’t anywhere obvious, and I realize I and another swimmer-with-intent are curiously alone with the situation now. I decide to call maintenance to alert them of the problem.

Me: Hello, Maintenance Answering Service? I'm calling to report there's a dead duck in the pool.

Answering Svc: A dead duck? Well, I suppose I can take that message or you can call back tomorrow.

Me: (I pause because I’m momentarily stumped by the suggestion I call back tomorrow.) Um, please take the message, it’s important. Thanks.

So, the two of us are now debating the dead duck. If we can find a way to scoop it out, without getting into the water ourselves, and then we both leave the pool area, no one will be aware that it was ever there, which will lead to others possibly swimming in dead duck water. If we leave the little guy in there, contamination multiplies, and I’m thinking that would become a health department issue. Mama duck has flown in by now. Swooping low a few times and then braving the water. She keeps putting her billed snout in the water and scooping up and blowing water out of her nose rather violently.

Out of nowhere, a youngster cannonballs into the shallow end of the pool. I didn’t hear him coming and there is no one else with him. I jump up and explain to the little thrasher that he should probably get out of the pool right now, due to the dead duck. That elicits a blood-curdling scream, more thrashing about to get out of the pool, and when he finally achieves that, he heads out, presumably home. I no longer see the duckling and surmise that waves have moved him into one of the intake ports. To confirm, I remove the cover and peer in, and there he is. In the process of putting the cover back in place an adult apparently in charge of the thrasher stomps in with two other kids. “I don’t see any duck,” he says to me. I explain about the thrashing and the waves and the port. So, the brilliant I’m-hoping-he’s-not-the-father tells the three children to go play in too-nuclear-for-even-me hot tub. The hot tub. Again, I am stumped by the stupidity, but he already seems belligerent and me suggesting his children might have their skin burned or boiled off seems like a bad idea. Instead, I try the answering service, again.

Me: I called earlier about the dead duck in the pool. I really think you should call someone tonight.

Answering Svc: A dead duck? That's not on the list of approved emergencies I'm authorized to call about.

Me: I imagine it's not, however...

I proceed to outline why it's not a good idea to let dead duck muck in a community pool overnight, and explain the unaccompanied child factor and mention the health department might be interested in this.
The answering services agrees to make the call.

I then spend the next 20 minutes encouraging more unaccompanied minors not to use the pool. Pool rules state children must be accompanied by parent. Oh, and there's no diving or jumping into the pool, either. I can only attribute this lack-of-common-sense to a faulty gene pool.

What sort of parent sends their child to a known un-life-guarded pool without supervision? So, maybe, their apt overlooks the pool so they think they can keep an eye on them. However, if something goes wrong, they won’t be poolside to drag their unresponsive child out of the water. I, or some other sucker with common sense, would be left do it for them. Because most likely, even though these are not our kids, we’re paying attention because feel a little responsible for their welfare, which would probably end up getting sued for something.

Two young ladies who reminded me of my village days in NYC shuffle in, so I intercept them with my now standard warning about not getting into the water with a dead duck. “Yuck!" one of them exclaims, as they proceed to wander to the far side of the pool, plop down on the edge and dangle their legs in the water while playing with the circulation jets. Ok, so they don’t remind me of me as a teenager, especially after one of them squeals, “Oh, look! I can see the dead duck from here!” Amid all this, there were in fact two very respectful children who appreciated my advice – strangely they were the same ones who couldn’t figure out how to get out of the way of swimmers in the swim lane on a previous night. I will admit they had a rather apprehensive look when I approached them as they were de-shorting and de-shoeing. However, they thanked me very much, put their shoes and shorts back on and left.

I follow their suit and leave this group of people with unfounded high hopes that they can competently pass the information on to others. Two more teenage girls giggled in as I was headed out, and I believe they were appropriately horrified by my news. But then, again, I thought the other two girls were horrified, too, and look what happened there.

On the way back to my expensive apartment (nope, not over that, yet) maintenance returns my call, and informs me that there should be enough chemicals in the pool to make it still ok for swimming. I don’t go there but I’m thinking, sure, but if a part floats around and some kid plays with it or eats it or its bloated body bursts in the circulation bay and it now spewing dead duck pieces all over, when the circulation jets are turned off overnight and the brew steeps and breeds bacteria… maybe I worry too much. Or maybe nobody else worries enough.

Posted by jaselin at 04:53 PM | Comments (0)

July 02, 2012

Porch Resignation, ME Newsletter, Vol, 5, Issue 27

I spent evenings after every disappointing rental property tour with an alcoholic beverage in hand, slouched in a lawn chair on semi-secluded my porch, with blurred vision and warring with myself over containment or non-containment of tears. The wine tact was part pondering self-pity, part, “I don’t really want to move all these bottles… again.”

I even was sadly happy to discover I qualified for low income housing. In a well-kept subdivision, at the end of an industrial park, the units were actually among the nicest I’d seen, but they would require either driving in the dark (because it’s Michigan and that’s how it is here 75% of the year) or taking a community provided shuttle to a bus which would take me to the Ann Arbor Transit Authority bus hub where I could catch another bus that would drop me two blocks from my office in the snow, rain, wind, heat, whatever.

I am apparently quite spoiled, fatalistic, and know myself well enough to know that the prospect of waiting in the snow, three times every morning, and the combined estimated hour and ten minutes most people who use the combined shuttle/bus service report it takes to get into campus, seemed like an unlikely scenario for me to engage in. Never mind, the return trip. So, I enlisted the help of a friend, drove out there just before dusk and waited for night to come. It’s been over two years since I attempted night driving, and I was nervous. I did drive us all the back to my current apartment. Only one verbal criticism occurred. I was stopping too far in advance of stop signs and traffic signals. I considered that to be much better than going past them, no doubt. Still, when I took my hands off the steering wheel; they were shaking. When I unbuckled my seatbelt, first looking down and then looking up, I was lightheaded. When I stepped out of the car, I knew I was going to throw-up. I made it upstairs without my friend’s offered help, and headed straight for the bathroom. It occurred to me later that I may have just forgotten to breathe deeply enough. Still, I thought I didn’t do that badly. I was thinking that if I drove the route enough times in the daylight, I could probably swing the nighttime by familiarity. I mentioned that to my test drive co-pilot. The fact that it took her longer than five seconds to form a response clued me in. I really hadn’t done that well, and, no, my night vision hasn’t gotten any better.

So, one more trying-to-stay-dry-eyed, porch evening later, I realized I truly was out of options. I’d been everywhere. It was time to give up, give in to the inevitable penny pinching, and stop worrying about moving.

So, on a Friday, after work, when I am notoriously in a bad mood anyway, I take my cranky self into the office of my newest enemy and sign a damn lease, one whole week before my extra week grace period is up. The very nice front desker who kindly completed my references for the few apartments I considered, tells me that they are sorry to see me go. When I grumpily announce that I am staying, I get a cheerful response, “I’m very glad!” Without hesitation I snark back, “At least that makes one of us.” In an effort to save the conversation from sliding downhill, the again cheerful response is “You always have a smile when you come in.” And, again, I snark back, “Yeah, for YOU.” They know it’s not their fault and they know what I am not so silently inferring, and I know I have put them in the unfair position of having to ignore my vent.

Two days later, an almost perfect opportunity presents itself. I call the office, immediately apologizing for being snarky and the gracious person at the other ends says, “Oh, I knew you weren’t annoyed at me.” Then I ask the thousands of dollars question, “So, is there a back-out grace period on the lease?” After a few seconds of expected silence, the answer, as expected is, “No, there isn’t, sorry.” Another night on the porch follows, and I decide I like my porch. A lot.

The next day, it occurs to me to ask if there is a waiting list. Because I am only responsible for rent until someone else rents it, and if someone else wants to live in my current community badly enough to pay the fee to be added to a waiting list… then, maybe…. But, in the end, I decided, no. I had already painfully resigned myself to another huge disappointment. So, now it’s official. I’m not looking. For anything, anymore, ever, or at least not until next spring when I imagine this whole scenario will repeat itself again. Or not.

Posted by jaselin at 04:48 PM | Comments (0)

June 26, 2012

Not Looking, ME Newsletter Vol. 5, Issue 26

6/4

I’ve been everywhere, man. Places I thought I shouldn’t have been; places I thought I could stay in. but the truth is somehow nothing feels right.

After an exhaustive search, and many nighttime test drives, I have not found a place that meets my minimal expectations. I’m not looking for the Ritz Carlton, but there are some things I am truly not looking for. Anything that smells like smoke after it has been deemed “move-in ready” is not what I am looking for. First come, first serve non-covered parking is not what I am looking for. Communal laundry is very much not what I am looking for. I am not looking for “first floor” apartments which are in the basement, or “second floor” apartments which are up three flights up.

I am not looking for ways to blow $50.00 aka as “Give us $50.00 to be put on our waitlist and if anything comes open we will call you and you get the benefit of coming to our community events.” Huh? I am also not looking for, “No, we don’t have a wait list.” When I ask, “Really? You won’t mind if I call once a week?” The young agents gasps, “Oh, no! I’d call more than that. If I was you I’d call every day!” I am not looking for “We even have a free year-round gift wrapping service.” Or “We’ll take your suits to the dry cleaner and feed your pets while you are away (for a small charge of course).” I am not looking for liars, but I’ve found plenty of them. I did come across one agent who subtly discouraged me from plunking down $50.00 to be on a waiting list, by encouraging me to drive around and look at the locations of the available apartments. Once I did, I understood. Judging by the gaggles of outdoor stoopers, beater cars and overflowing trash bins, I did not return to that office. He didn’t hound me, either, for which I was grateful.

I’m not looking to pay an extra $70.00 a month for the eternity of my occupation for “upgraded” appliances aka known as anything newer than the standard ones in apartments that appear not to have been renovated since 1976, at least. I am not looking for an $850.00 apartment with $8 for trash, $30 for water, $40 for pets, $35 for a covered parking space, $50 a month more for second floor, another $20 or so for third floor, and +$70.00 a month for upgraded appliances and closet bi-folds that work smoothly. Actually, I was looking at that apartment closely because the normal rent was $975.00. An email from the leasing agent announced a super deal new price of $875.00 a month, so I went on over that day, on my lunch ½ hour, and was told, “Oh, yeah. We don’t have any more at that price. Filled ‘em all.” So the final price of this smaller, older, non-upgraded appliance apartment would be either $1138.00 or $1208.00. The first being a non-significant savings of $62.00 a month (turning off the spare phone would cover that) or a whopping $8.00 over my proposed current lease.

Add on moving costs, even with help from friends with trucks, there’s always gas and lunch to buy, boxes, tape, newspapers, time, the hassle and stress of packing, starting and stopping utilities, changing addresses, and the price of general annoyance, and I cave. I just can’t take the pressure or uncertainty anymore. I’ve spent hours figuring out where I can trim my budget and my already sparse life. I have some viable alternatives: $50.00 to turn off second phone – the one I use to find my primary phone when I misplace it. That also incurs a $140.00 fee, but that’s about 3 months and then I’ll have 9 months of saving $50.00 = $450.00. That’s almost 4 months of the extra $120.00 increase. I could cut Netflix loose. I haven’t watched any movies since December, anyway. At $8.00 a month, that’s $96.00. Not quite up to covering the increase but helpful. There is the $15 a month accident insurance I’ve been carrying for years and have never had to use. Savings = $180.00. So, there I’ve covered 6 months so far.

What else? Less frequent haircuts also includes less gas use for the drive to Lansing. Buy fewer kitty treats. Less use of appliances – wash by hand instead of using the dishwasher and laundry only once a week. Water is included in this lease, electric and gas are not. Oven use only once a week – cook for the whole week at one time. That’s a fun challenge. Heat as required by lease, at least 65 degrees. Cooling, only as needed. I like being warm, that’s not going to be a problem.

I could even eliminate what little use of fun money I allow. And I’m ok with that because I’ve already had a quite a bit of fun this year.

Posted by jaselin at 09:51 PM | Comments (0)

June 19, 2012

Re-, ME Newsletter, Vol. 5, Issue 25

5/20/12
I made a commitment when I moved to Ann Arbor in August of 2010, that I would live as I would like to, within reason, with a reserve bit of caution. Pickings were slim; student schedule timing dictates availability, even for the working class. With the house already sold, and decreased night-time vision, I needed to move quickly. So, with limited choices, I chose to settle somewhere I would feel pampered. Amenities made the compromise between price and living in a budget conscious, semi-permanent state doable. My 900 square foot apartment has always been big enough for me, but this year the price tag outgrew the space. Hit with a 24% rent increase over two years, I’m saying that says a quite a bit about greed and new management. So, the hunt begins.

I am not intimidated by the prospect of re-grouping, re-gathering, re-settling. I’ve done it before; way more than once. Based on previous frequencies, my magic number seems to have been a seven tolerance. Michigan is closing in on fourteen, with five moves squeezed in. Even though now would be a good time to consider elsewhere, nowhere else is even tempting. I’m not happy about this turn of events. Given my nomadic ways, you’d think I’d have this routine down to a science, but I’m only as good as my current outline.

I’m not thrilled with the timing. I had more immediate plans on my agenda: replacing the dinosaur computer, re-losing 20 re-gained pounds, and then another 50 plus a few, transcribing 40 years of writing – some in scribbled hand, some typed, some meticulously copied into blank books, some in clean computer format. Already at war with myself over simultaneous tasks, I am given another assignment. “The How of Happiness; A New Approach to Getting the Life You Want” book is strangely subtitled, captioning a meringue-topped pie missing a significant cut: “This much happiness – up to 40% - is within your power to change.” I chuckle when I am handed this gem, because in a very short time, my therapist had honed in on my need for substantiation. “Facts, please,” is my most frequent request. Give me figures, proven scenarios, documentation, and I will consider another point of view. I haven’t cracked the cover yet but I‘m already knee deep in theoreticals. If you can be 40% happier once, why can’t you be 40% happier twice – or 3x – even better - 120% happiness. Intrigued, I’ve been alternating the search for a new abode with cognitive based, self-examination exercises for determining the happiness path that best suits me.

It’s Sunday evening, again, and everything I’ve aimed for today is either only half finished or wasted effort. The random ipod shuffle sound track for the day throws out the temporarily re-energizing “Tick Tick Boom” by The Hives, summing the whole thing up quite nicely. “You know I’ve done it before, and I can do it some more. I got my eye on the score, gonna cut to the core. It's too late, it's too soon, or is it? Tick, tick, tick, tick, tick, tick, tick, boom.” I’m running out of time: to plan this move, to garbage out and re-pack. I’m running out of time in my weekend, in my one month lease renewal deadline mandated search. It’s 6:15 pm and all I want to do is nap. And eat pizza. Realistically, the latter isn’t possible without proper chewing surfaces, so, once again, my alternatives are limited. Standing in the middle of my it’s-going-to-get-worse-before-it-gets-better chaotic mess, I see no immediate resolution and therefore no point in going on today. So, I guess, nap it is. A short refraining reprise… at least until the dryer buzzer goes off.

Posted by jaselin at 06:52 PM | Comments (0)

June 13, 2012

Long Jump, ME Newsletter, Vol. 5, Issue 24

4/2
Lucky enough to find myself caught up in a beautiful life’s-to-short-to-not-enjoy affirming day and evening. Lots of laughter and sharing memories, lots of wine and a Sopranos cookbook Italian dinner, lots of discovering and rediscovering, similar pets and familial quirks. How come we need to travel so far away to get a better perspective on our life? Tomorrow is loosely planned, and tonight I’m willing to go with the flow and see what happens. When the evening is through, the normal people adhere to their regulated schedules and retire. It’s late but I’m not tired. Well, maybe I am but my mind is juggling immediate memories and continued worries. I know I should try to sleep, but instead I drag out my laptop, settle into the loft, finding floor space between the sofa and table. I recheck this week’s pending newsletter for typos and continuity. I check my email and end up in a surprising, well-removed, long distance conversation. Limited communication and space are good for editing and re-editing and making sure what you say is exactly what you mean to say.

The problem with being on a happy high is that reality always manages to slap it out of you. The problem with the ups is the downs. That other shoe dropped hard onto my head, sent shiver shock down my spine, and once again shattered my heart. Opening up just doesn’t make for safety. I jumped off the diet/exercise wagon. So maybe I just don’t have what it takes now that I know I can’t get what I want. And, if I can’t have it all, why bother? Me doing better doesn’t make me anything but still myself, forcing through the fog, keeping forward because it’s what I am supposed to do. Legal bills, disappointments, catching my own reflection and still seeing me; could be I’m tired now that the hyper has worn off. But it’s still a down and I think oh, well, I might as well accept it, embrace it and let it out. It’s what both of us want anyway – me and the grief would like to be rid of each other, and ourselves.

4/25 Here’s a politically correct term designed not to offend my sensitive senses, and yet describes what I’ve been saying all along: I own a social reluctance. I’m told it’s ok to plateau, and I think, well, that’s good because I like it here. I don’t even bother letting on that I plateaued years ago with the realization that I am truly not and never have been a social butterfly. And while I am certainly not the life of anyone’s party, I am certainly not isolated. I mean, I am certainly not as isolated as I could be. I show up for work every day; exchange pleasantries, as long as they are offered first. I include myself in large group social settings because I’m safe in duplicity. I like the feel of commonness and anonymity in crowds. I attend concerts and church, both occasionally, and engage in walking and talking with a friend a few times a week. I do not seek opportunities, but rarely decline if one is offered.

In the non-social hours, I am still working on the rest of the miscellaneous stuff that I have to either find somewhere to put, or off load, or buy something to help intelligently store it. Although, I’ve decided not to purchase cabinets or dressers until I achieve a bed. I want suite; something that matches for the first time in my life. I recently saw a bedspread I really liked, and will probably buy it now to avoid regrets later. I still feel like furniture denotes permanence, or at least an expectation of staying put. Someday, I will find a way and a reason to put down roots, but now isn’t the time.

Maybe that’s why I’m reluctant: to find myself in new company, to explain myself; easily avoiding both will make leaving easier. I know I’m not really leaving, either, at least not this year. I’ve got my heart set on 2013 being an action year. Right now I’m prepping: running down the long-jump speed corridor. Knowing I intend to re- launch myself at the end is exciting and terrifying. Yet, I’m picturing it: both feet off the ground, arms extended , instantaneous trajectory realization. And, it seems possible, which is significantly better than not being able to imagine getting up off the floor.

Posted by jaselin at 07:39 PM | Comments (0)

June 04, 2012

Rollins, ME Newsletter, Vol. 5, Issue 23

3/23: Rollins.

On the most surprising March 23rd ever, the estimated 2.5/3 full Michigan Theatre (capable of holding a smart 1,710 people)housed no audience and entertained no performance. For three continual, no breaks, no big breaths, no sips or swigs of water, no regrouping, no wandering more than two foot from center stage, no looking away from the audience, no time allowed for applause, no brow mopping, effortless one man, white-hot spotlight, spoken-reveal hours, this is one centered dude. Rollins communicated with a freshly formed cohesive community. Leveled out from second one, syllable one, word one, he made no attempt to capture our attention, but rather carefully collected it, cradled, coddled and cherished our presence welcoming us into his heart and hearty move-it-forward world in a refreshing, respect inspired rant.

Mind blowing lightening speed, hilarity, severity, clarity, mind marauding, simpatico symphonic parallel divergence, massive overload, motivational power-infusing, books are great but your life is your adventure, exhausted, breath holding, laughing, no time for clapping, rant and recall, crazy incredible, cross generational, I’ve been there laughter and I’ve never been there laughter, veterans / suicide rate - you may not ever be able to walk this off, but you will be able to walk with it – I believe in you, all you need to do is respect yourself so other can respect you, too. As long as you’ve got Tom Waites records and omelettes, you can always keep going. Put on the records, eat the food and keep going. If you’ve got an opinion, don’t hide behind the first amendment – defend it. Come through the front door and state your case, sign your name in big ass John Hancock – king don’t need his spectacles – letters. Racist? I’ve got a record collection that will turn you around. I wish I liked myself a tenth as much as Newt likes himself. 50 is the decade of hilarity. I don’t want no satisfaction. Turning 50- a complete finally: it is here, moment – that passes. Oh, well, on the eve of that great event in NYC celebration around mouthfuls of tuna fish sandwich – reality descends: as far as maturity goes – this is it!. Lincoln and Rollins 2/12 & 2/13. Three year national geographic project. I am not workaholic, I am a work slut (How to steer an alligator – jodi’s idea for blog title)(or how to steer anyone with honesty and stories.) I hate inactivity; books are cool but your own adventure is where it’s at. Uma (Humour), the nation and the generation that gave America The Ramones on ipod and pizza delivery. I don’t get scared. I believe my intent is good I can negotiate myself out of anything. (at the corner of Lincoln and Rollins (jodi idea)).

No wavers, no wavering, we are his muse, his inspiration, his fix, his fix-it’s. Launched into it full force, from the crest of the roller coaster, no climbing preamble. Words/scenes ran together, turned back upon themselves and intertwined, like watching Jack's bean stalk grow at an alarming speed, too fast for our puny processors, but not for our hearts to follow along. Radiating intent and purpose, sending forth intertwining mind vines ‘til we believed we were one sharing the stream of consciousness, a collective of empowered previous observers and admirers, family in an intimate way. He readily admits to reading email and letters, saves many, mostly those from veterans and families writing of suicide notes and military shame. He answers - not because he’s that important - but because we are. If we’re reaching out there must be a reason.

Different parts made different people squeamish. One extremely loud (at what I deemed inappropriately timed) laugh at a phrase we’ve heard repeated, repeatedly been horrified by , and which is unacceptable. The one where the Obama family’s portrait is compared to something out of the planet of the apes. The laugh was followed by a split second judgment rendering , a collective audience intake, without a moment’s pause by Rollins, as if he didn’t hear it, and he had to have heard it. We heard it in the balcony. Old punk, new punk, severely under tattooed for the evening. Under the influence of one long intellectual orgasm, my noddle-limp limp back to the parking garage attests to that. As does the craving for stoner food sparked by the dozen or so close-mic audio-toke punctuation marks. Pointing out the brilliant and ridiculous not in the world around us, but in our world. Fix things, here now, sharing departure guilt and self-flagellation for our benefit, there’s always more good to be done, and if you have to be angry to do it, be angry.

Scrambled brains: super processor, the man is a machine. Said his piece, waved and was gone. But he switched me on; I can’t switch off. Hyped up on Rollins, I want to catch that virus, contagion, electric socket energization. Three hours. Three hours!

… in the morning I am a wreck. A happy wreck. In appropriate Rollins speak: a fucking happy wreck. Like we’re the Rollins/Korte/My Generation wonder twins or wonder triplets or wonder mega-thousands. Activated, united, power. We can. We can.

Posted by jaselin at 08:36 PM | Comments (0)

May 28, 2012

Potato Bars & Coffee, ME Newsletter, Vol. 5, Issue 22

2/13/12
Grief therapy introduced me to a new concept today – one step at a time. The secret of getting ahead is getting started. The secret of getting started is breaking complex overwhelming tasks into small manageable tasks, and then starting on the first one. Akin to baby steps, the suggested course of action regarding reintegrating work-outs into my daily routine begins as such: Day 1 – gather gym clothes. Day 2 – find a gym back and place clothes in it. Day 3 – place the gym bag by the door. Later, when the mood strikes, move the bag into the car. Eventually take it from the car into the office. Consider dressing for the gym – maybe put just one sneaker on and then call it good. I laugh at that. “Now you’re being ridiculous,” I say. But, yeah, I can do that. I can see myself surmounting small plans, so I believe I can. I’m already way ahead of schedule. It’s just day three and the clothes are under my work desk. I’ve been considering putting them on some day and then actually making it to the gym another. But I can’t do that. That’s a silly separation, so I finally just decide.

It still wasn’t easy. I had to battle myself to make it. When I pulled into clubhouse there was a huge sign announcing Valentine's Baked Potato Buffet Party 5 PM - 7 PM. It was 4:40. I sat for a moment, considered the effort it took to get his far, considered backing out of my parking space and the self- commitment. Despite that, I put it into park, and forced myself off of the relative warmth into the cold winded-snow-mist. At first it appeared that each piece of equipment was in use, but then I spotted the one open treadmill. I stepped back from looking in only long enough to grab the door handle, forge on.

Clumsy, because I am shedding my coat and keys and sweater quickly, I’m hoping no one with less outer clothing than I arrives before I ‘m done, usurping my machine. I made it to the treadmill, upped the incline at 10 min, boxed at 15 min, began cool down at 20 min. Day one done, I re-coated , and made a beeline for the door, avoiding people and potatoes and was pretty proud of myself.

At home, on the couch, another Facebook sidebar advert catches my attention. I wander into it wondering what it’s all about, and suddenly I understand. It’s a really simple troop support program, allowing for anonymity, or not. My heart wants to go there, so I consider the options, planning to say nothing much but thank you for being where you are. Before I know it though, I’ve revealed the crux of the matter, where my heart is tonight, where it’s been. I sit for a few moments more, wondering if it’s ridiculously inappropriate to share. I know where it’s going is worse than where I am. I’m sure it’s even worse than where I was. And since I can’t wrap my head around either of our situations, I just let it go, and hit send.

"Dear Cup of Joe recipient:
This is my 5th Valentine's Day without my husband. Everything this year has been the "5th" so I've been searching for the perfect something significant to mark the time. When I came across the Cup of Joe for a Joe project, I realized significant isn't a size: it's time. It's about doing something now for someone in need of a little extra care. So, along with your cup, that's what I'm sending: a little extra care, a whole lot of respect, patriotic gratitude and the sincere hope that next year, you will be home for Valentine's Day."

I figure, that’s that, and hope at best it makes a little difference to someone, and at worst it’s just a free cup of coffee. Two days later, two emails show up in my inbox. The subject line of each reads: Our Troops Say Thanks for the COJ. Expecting a simple system burp, I open the first, and realize it’s not at all what I thought. Near as I can tell, the COJ gifts have an immediately destination life, and over the next week, replies come in. Five replies for five cups of coffee given.

Cup of Joe #1
Thank you so much, Jodi. And, hang in there. Javier serving at CFC Eggers in Afghanistan.

Cup of Joe #2
Absolutely wonderful, Jodi! Thank you so much. I love the extra thought you put into it. It's great that you can share something with us and still feel something for your husband as well. We all appreciate it...thanks. A Service Member serving at Arcent USO (406) - Camp As Sayliah in Qatar.

Cup of Joe #3
Thank you for the cup of coffee, and more importantly thank you for your love and support for me and my joes over here. I'm sorry to hear this is your 5th Valentine's day without your husband. I really hope things get better for you and that you have a Blessed year this year. Thanks again and may God bless you and keep you. Adam, a Service Member serving at Sharana in Afghanistan.

Cup of Joe #4
Thank you Ms. Korte for the kind words and the Cup of Joe! I sincerely appreciate this. v/r SMSgt Fragoza, Andrea 455 EAPS/PAX Superintendent BAGRAM AF, Afghanistan. * There is a special notation at the bottom of this message that says: (Andrea has asked to be a COJ PEN PAL with you.) Through email, I discover Andrea is from California, originating at Travis AFB. With a total of 24 years’ service 24 April 12, deployed since late August 2011, Andrea is scheduled to return back home sometime in March. In my ridiculous medication fog, I missed a lot of February, all of March and most of April. I wrote her again in May, hoping that she is home, and my email reaches her there, but so far have had no reply. *

The last arrival is the one I’d been unwittingly waiting for: the one worth way more than $2.00 a cup; the one worth way more than 10 minutes time; the one worth exposing my heart for:

Cup of Joe #5
Jodi Ann, Thanks for the coffee and the incredibly thoughtful note. I'm humbled by your kind message. Sorry to hear of your loss. You've reminded me to send a message to a widowed wife of one of my former peers who was killed 04 Jul 2007. This will be her 5th Valentine's Day without him, too. Take care, James Thamer, serving at CFC Eggers in Afghanistan.

Posted by jaselin at 08:35 PM | Comments (0)

May 21, 2012

When Barney Sang, ME Newsletter, Vol. 5, Issue 21

Sometimes frailty sneaks up on you. Professional photography and old album covers can do that to you. Take for instance, Barney McKenna. I was already sure his performance would become a highlight looked fondly upon in after-hours conversations and years from now. But, the presence was not the well imagined persona unfailingly snap-shot-ed into my personal picture-perfect, replayed and replayed rendition of how it would be. Shocked, shocking white hair wasn’t what I expected; neither was the snow white beard - ancient, and mariner worthy.

Emerging from side-shadows, walking stick in hand, yet still unsteady; paused stage edge. Sweeping eyes; swirling contemplation clearly required answering. In almost instant registration, assisting arms appeared. Jacketed by bodies respectfully reluctant to show doubt or engage in push and pull, climbing was slow. Careful navigation arrested an entire ballroom’s breath.

Only once positioned, determinedly settled, still seemingly precarious, one hand to the mic, with the other executed a treasure; a signature welcoming wave. A few more moments of readying hesitation, and violins took their cue. The obvious unspoken question hung achingly over hearts, so terribly afraid they were about to break.

Then, like fallen angels flittering forth, gently released from the soul, familiar notes pitched themselves perfectly. Concerned down-turned corners lifted into wide-eyed hesitant grins. That voice! With a slight warble of age, weakened but not forced, recognized yet richer, clear and clearly wiser from life’s experiences - the remarkable transformation from feeble to forceful was enthralling.

Innate hoarding rises, temporary protectors of time well spent, we knew we should catch these moments and hold onto them, so capture we did; with intense concentration using our minds as recorders and cameras. Not a muscle moved. We were holding our breath again - too amazed to even consider the consequences of impeding natural function.

In accorded silence, and so very certain - we agreed without doubt offering our non-used air to use as he would. For the simple truth of the moment was - the only one worthy of using it was Barney McKenna.

Posted by jaselin at 09:50 PM | Comments (0)

May 14, 2012

Glimmer, ME Newsletter Vol. 5, Issue 20

There are many types of suicide: obvious violent, subtle self-poisoning, emotional acidity. End results, the same. For the life of me, literally, even in my darkest, blackest, could not get up off the floor moments, I didn’t go there. How I arrived at the depths of hell was unintentional, not consciously chosen, but still of my own doing. Not drugs, not food, not abuse, not anything typical.

Someone asked me what happened to cause that? I considered the move, mom, job change, surgery, Ireland, coming home tired travel weary and obsessed with that date; the one where the tide turned and I was suddenly widowed for longer than I was married. But none of those things were strong enough to break me. They were just things to get through.

What actually happened to cause it? Nothing. And that was the problem. Nothing gained, nothing more lost, nothing in the future, can’t hold onto the past and can’t move forward. Wish I could have blamed it on the after effects of anesthesia, hot flashes, nutritional deficiency, but those were just the dust clouds surrounding the pit. And it was a pit. And I am more scared now that I have ever been because I was in that place - the one closest to hell on this earth, the floor of a black hole, shimmering blacker breath around me. I never would have taken the step into hell, but I wasn’t averse to sliding out of this life into GOD’s arms either. If HE’d said, “Now.” I’d have gone. There still a part of me that feels that way. I’m scared it will always be there., as if I let down my guard, it has the power to pull me back in.

Faced with that, I checked out. I guess I truly did not want help. I truly secluded myself, deluded myself it would be better. Some aren’t letting me back in. I understand. A part-time friend isn’t worth having, and that’s all I can manage for now. Maybe someday it won’t be that way. But I won’t promise that. I might not ever change back into who I was. Because now I’ve known terror, and it was realizing I wasn’t… anyone, anymore.

2/1 Today marked a milestone: the first session I did not cry. My therapist said I looked different. I said it was probably being blitzed out on codeine for a few days after tooth extraction and implant surgery just reset my mind. Maybe it was losing that last bad tooth, or knowing I will have teeth enough to smile in a while. Or just the act of doing something that will solidly lead somewhere.

2/8 I can’t tell you specifics, or exactly how, but something has changed. It’s the meds, and that’s ok. – least that’s my theory. It’s not that I don’t remember. It’s just incomprehensible that I was there. I’m outside that picture now, and now I’m even more scared. It was a very bad place, way worse than any other, hopeless worse, deep-down no-way-out hopeless.

So, here’s the hope adjective that best describes the change; glimmer. Not grandiose, not specific, not quite well-being, just general better-being. I’m horrified by my hindsight view of the last three months. It’s like I’m looking down into a black hole knowing there’s stuff in there, but unable see it. I’ve always said there is no magic switch. There is no easy way. But to have resisted meds so long and find so much relief in just a week, just makes me an idiot.

The meds don’t fix anything. In fact, nothing has changed except for the meds. But they are giving me room to think and concentrate and accomplish small tasks. Very small tasks, that if repeated to the point of rote will someday lead to a better place. The biggest difference is that I can imagine it, and I know it will happen one day. Nothing was going to happen any day, ever, without the meds. I can see that now. I’d kick myself in the butt for waiting so long, getting so desperate, but I’m so out of shape, I’d probably hurt myself.

Posted by jaselin at 08:22 PM | Comments (0)

May 08, 2012

The Same Thing, ME Newsletter, Vol. 5, Issue 19

1/24
Hiding under a tarp
When I should have
Taken up on a boat
Water rising, I’m still
On this rock, now
An island of my
Own creation.

1/25
Q: If depression is a disease, how do you see it?
A: Like a virus I want to get rid of, flush out

Q: What does your grief look like?
A: It doesn’t look like anything.

My answer is met with expectant silence, an unspoken, "Go on...", so I begin to describe how it feels, in images.

A: I suppose it would look as if I am in a smoky, egg-shaped but constantly warping viscous bubble - with a 360 degree view: semi-transparent from the inside out, but nearly opaque looking in, like glassy volcanic ash sliced thin enough to create glass panes.

Q: What’s outside?
A: Wide open spaces, green grass, fresh air, trees, a warm breeze. My imagination vividly colors that should be there. What I am seeing through the bubble… I know is not right.

Q: What would it feel like to be outside the bubble?
A: Like being in a picture and not belonging there.

Q: Like “What Dreams May Come?” (ref. 1998 movie, severely panned by critics. I don’t so movies much, and ironically, I am quite fond of this one).
A: No, more like a photograph.

Q: Are you on the ground or floating.
A: Neither, I just… am. Like a cut-out picture of me from another time, glued photo shop style onto a sunny afternoon in central park.

Q: Two dimensional?
A: Very much so.

Q: What does your grief feel like?
A: Electric, bright, yellow and white and every shade in between, strong flame, but no heat. Swells up inside me like an energy trying to escape, demanding release. It overwhelms me because it wants out.

Q: And what do you want?
A: I want it to go away. I want it gone, out.

Q: So, you and your grief energy want the same thing?
A: Wow. Yeah.

Q: Maybe you could work with it instead of against it.
A: Yeah, maybe I can negotiate instead of cramming its head down using my hand as a plunger.

I giggle a while at that. Negotiate with my grief. Go figure. I have the power.

Q: You haven’t talked about friends much. Things are better?
A: No, I’ve just dropped out. It was the only thing left I had to care about, and now I don’t.

Q: Disengaged?
A: Yes, exactly! That’s the word I use. They always talk about “engaging” at work, so I have been joking that I am disengaging. Only I’m not joking. I have, which means I’m going in the opposite desired direction, more alone, cutting myself off more.

Q: Why?
A: Because the only thing that makes me happy is making other people happy. But damn, it seems the harder I try, the more resentment I get. It’s unappreciated and makes people uncomfortable. If you don’t give enough you’re selfish and self-centered. If you give too much, you’re grandstanding and making other people look bad – in their own eyes, anyway.

I almost let the therapist in on my biggest secret, but didn’t. I redirected by mentioning one of the most ridiculous requests I ever received at work this week and how unbelievable it was.
He said one word: Stupid. I agreed, and time was up.

Later that night, I took a call from a fired up friend in response to a previous Midweek Encouragement post. “I told you years ago,” she said, “You can’t skip stages of grief. You’re doing yourself, Jeff’s memory and the world a disservice. And you are too creative to stay where you are. You need to move, or change jobs. Find your way back.”

I can’t even consider that right now. I just want to make it through the winter.

Posted by jaselin at 01:29 PM | Comments (0)

May 01, 2012

Art Non-Existent, ME Newsletter, Vol. 5, Issue 18

January 16, 2012

I understand Facebook is a social network, and during these months of un-sureness and grief, it has become in it's own way a lifeline to distant support and a great distraction at times. To me, Facebook is a wonderful place to learn. I read the sidebar adverts; I explore the gourmet sites, the entrepreneurials, artist offerings. Sometimes I like what I see; sometimes not so much. It’s a little like local shop shopping; a little like scouring the off-path corners of museums. I like the discovering process; I like sharing those discoveries, too.

Facebook is how I found StageIt. That rocked me enough to compose notes to two only very distant acquaintances sharing the spark. So far, I haven’t seen either take the torch and fire it up, but that’s ok. Not everyone can see things the way I do.

I recently finger stumbled across another something that shook up my world. Well, another someone really. Nick Harsell is to quote: “… 20 years old and currently attending the University of Oregon where I am pursuing my art career. This will be my third year living in Eugene, Oregon, and I absolutely love it here. I am inspired by fellow artists and the beautiful outdoors. Until recently, I had never worked with paint pens and now I can't stop working with them. My new focus is working with paint pens on canvas to create unique abstract designs that are full of color.”

And it certainly was the colors that grabbed me, right away. I had to see more. I spent about a half hour rotating through the 93 photos on Nick’s page. His spacing is magnificent, giving each embodiment its own life but never denying the intricate inter-relation to its neighbors, in fact, it thrives on it.

I giggled at the art-ified garbage can, thinking how much fun it would be to have the talent to change the ordinary and wishing I could have one just like it. I even thought the three dimensional doodles on the porch pumpkin were super cool –especially because of the temporary nature of the medium. But after pouring over each colorful, perfectly haphazardly balanced piece, there were two that touched me even deeper.

The first was titled “Day 1”. The second had an ironic moniker, “Color Isn’t Everything.”At first glance, I thought the second was a black and white presentation. Upon closer inspection, it offered shades of grey in a few strategic spots, giving depth and of course, irony. Still, I was magnetically drawn to “Day 1.” It spoke volumes to me and volumes about me. Unlike the other offerings, this one was only a partially filled canvas. In some ways the mountainous conglomerate of silhouettes resembled an intriguing garbage pile. My eye instantly caught shapes: a fish, an elephant, a figure climbing and reaching. And I knew, I wanted this one to be mine because it did indeed represent beautiful, convoluted, intertwined, gorgeously spaced, abstract refuse.

I love making garbage, and as many of you know 2011 will pretty much be remembered as my garbage year. Actually beginning in late 2010 with the move from the Adrian house to my current apartment, downsizing started off as a necessity and has become a long term challenge. How much less can a person have? I have yet to find out, but so far I’ve resisted a few things most people don’t live without. Most obviously, to the consternation of many, a bed and a television. But it’s been an emotional garbage year as well. Giving up the home my husband loved so much, leaving with less than we moved in with, taking mostly memories, changing my position and my work location, losing my mother and my gallbladder, trying to rearrange my grief by placing myself in new places and old places, my 30th high school reunion, an anniversary trip to Ireland, coming home even less myself than when I left, and running straight into the wall of pain I should have hit a while ago had I not been running in circles for the past five years.

For me there was action to be had in this painting. It spoke “Conquering is eminent” and “One piece at a time.” I was in this drawing, standing sideways on the canvas, plucking each semi formed, black-lined instance, and reaching above and around and beyond myself to place each where it belonged. Recycling every bit, every treasure of a stroke, recreating usefulness and purpose, I envisioned the cluttered corner balanced out and over the remaining blank field. I didn’t worry about the mountains reaching the sky. I just moved into the task, scattered the pieces, and imagined where I wanted to go.

I followed the link to the Etsy shop, where it was promised art could be bought. When I arrived, I was crushed and over-joyed. “Day 1” was nowhere to be found. But “Color isn’t…” was available, reasonably priced, tempting to the point where I added it to my virtual cart, then abandoned it, and returned to the Facebook page. I have regretted the last time I did not buy a piece of art I fell in love with for 15 years, and the one before that I have regretted for 25 years. I did once buy a piece of art because I could not afford the one I really wanted. Instead, I purchased the mounted palette used to create a series of cowboy scenes by Malinda Trick-Chandler. The 15 year regret was a Beverly Doolittle I found in a Fort Worth gallery. The 25 year regret was by an artist whose name I do not know, but the silk screened Koi were showcased in a Greenwich Village shop window and I loved them instantly. I visited twice; decided on the third trip to buy. But it was already gone. Like the paisley roll Coach purse at Macy’s, I hesitated, debated, justified and unjustified, finally gave in, and was ultimately forced to face disappointment. Yeah, regrets, I have a few.

So, I decided that 2012 was going to be the year of no regrets, theoretically creating no emotional residue. In that vein, I composed an email to artist Nick Harsell inquiring about the status of Day 1, hesitated and then remembered hesitation’s loss.

Jodi Korte: January 16, 2012 7:39 PM: Subject: Day 1 piece?
Hi - didn't see it for sale, but Day 1 stole my heart. Color Isn't Everything is running a close second, if Day 1 isn't available. Let me know, please. Thanks!

Within in an hour I had a startling reply.
Nick Harsell: Monday, January 16, 2012 8:38 PM: Subject: Re: Day 1 piece ?
Jodi, The piece titled Day 1, was a picture of a work in progress. The completed piece was completely covered in detailed lines and dots. Soon I will be adding many art pieces to Etsy.com, where people will be able to purchase them. I was wondering how you found out about my artwork? Regards, Nick

Trying to wrap my head around the fact that” Day 1” no longer existed was painful. It occurred to me that maybe what I had really been seeing, what touched me the most about it, was “potential.” I did my best to explain without explaining in a return email to Nick.

Jodi Korte: Monday, January 16, 2012 9:04 PM
Oh, for goodness sake! Now my heart's broken, but truly that's probably what called me about it. I showed it to a few friends and they all said they could see what I was thinkin'. There's a huge long life-story that your "work in progress" captured. Which, given that it was a work in progress will in itself make an interesting story. I write a weekly encouragement newsletter and blog for a small but steady audience. Most of them have been with me for over 4 years now. If you don't mind, I'd like to include you, your work, and contact/facebook info. I think a lot of them would enjoy your art.

As to how I found you, your page link came up as an interest sidebar/advert on Facebook. I do subscribe to other artists, so perhaps I got hit on as a target audience? What attracted me right off were the lines, colors, and details, and the fact that pretty much the viewer's imagination makes each piece what it is to them.
Thanks for the reply! Looking forward to seeing more of your work on Esty.

Nick Harsell: Monday, January 16, 2012 10:08 PM
Jodi, That's great to hear. I would love to have you share my artwork with others. When you said, "the viewer's imagination makes each piece what it is to them," I was very pleased. I enjoy creating abstract artwork so much because it allows each viewer to create their own view or interpretation of it. Enjoy, Nick

So there you have it. Another piece of art I will never own. I pull up the photo again and follow my imagination into the v-shaped canyon, finding the path to abstract solace that no one else ever will ever own it, either. Of course, physically someone will own the final canvas… someday, and will surely be as enamored with that version of it as I was with the unfinished. But they’ll never own the emotional, and emotionally fulfilling, piece I fell in love with; the one that no longer exists, but is still mine; solely mine, an essence, in essence, paralleling a truth I have been headed for all along:

Life, as art, isn’t stagnant; the way you see it, when you see it, how you see it makes all the difference. In my mind, I had completed the picture, considered it finalized, only to discover that was just my “Day 1.” What I had is still mine, and yet, there’s room on the canvas for more.

(And yes, I am now the owner of "Color Isn't Everything." It fits right into my retro black, white and grey bathroom, and I smile at it every morning.)

Posted by jaselin at 07:42 PM | Comments (0)

April 24, 2012

Grief Therapy 8, ME Newsletter, Vol. 5, Issue 17

January 11, 2012: Shock and Trees

I’ve always loved trees. Their comfort knows no season: breezy whispering green spring leaves, cool lazy summer shade, gently rustling fall leaves, even artful winter branches reaching to embrace the sun. Thematic, you’ll find them all over my house and me. I tend to stick to earth tones. Love big open fields dotted with solitary trees. Even though solitary implies alone and trees references plurality, I’m most interested in the ones that are significantly far away from each other; way far enough away to never run the risk of casting or standing in each other’s shadows.

Q: How much time do you spend thinking about Jeff?
A: Blink, blink. (Silence.) Blink! None. I spend time thinking about me; me without Jeff, me lonely, me unsatisfied with my life, me depleted.
Q: When was the last time you just sat and thought about him?
A: I can’t remember. Oh, my GOD. I can’t remember the last time I just sat down and thought about Jeff.
Q: If Jeff could speak to you right now about your life what would he say?
A: He’d say, “We talked about this. You’re better off without me. This isn’t what I wanted for you. I want you to be happy. Get going.”
Q: You just need to find your happy place…
A: My happy place is buried under a ton of shit. That poses a problem. I think this is “it”: I’ve lost my sense of self, I guess.

And through the awful quiet of expectations, cerebral contemplations and held breaths, keeping pace with the ticking of time, a shocking calm mists in. In the diminishing wake of lost momentum, the surface smoothes, mirroring up a stunning unspoken conclusion, reflecting a shocking truth I never considered:

The problem isn’t that I no longer have Jeff.
The problem is that I no longer have me.

A little more about oak trees… the wind may have the strength to take their leaves, but most often it does not. Contrary to appearance, they push their leaves off, purposely deciding when to let go. In a conscious release, when the timing is right, when the possibilities are most fertile, the oak lets go; casting off what is no longer useful, and with a last rush of soon to be dormant energy whispers to them “Go.”

The suggestion I walk in the woods to observe and reconsider makes therapeutic sense, and sounds strangely appealing even though it’s cold and winter. I head home knowing I won’t do it, but hopeful that imagery might work. The barely there wind rustles late summer leaves and I am in a peaceful place. Every direction from this spot is wide open; a huge bright green canvas of unexplored territory and arrhythmic, celebratory confetti-bursts of wildflowers. Above, wheel-spoke clouds provide shadow-line paths; possibilities radiating away from this place, encouraging exploration.

It comes to me then. What I need to work on is forgetting who I once wanted to be.
Just do what I have to do. Take what I can get. Get by. Have no expectations. Stay out of trouble.
Oh, yeah… and probably not read quite so many romance novels.

Posted by jaselin at 08:52 AM | Comments (0)

April 17, 2012

Grief Therapy 7, ME Newsletter, Vol. 5, Issue 16

December 2011

It went on this way for a while. Me, struggling through each day. You, with only minimal information. For the second time, I accidentally left my phone off for a few days. I was hurt by the reaction. In my mind there never was a choice. So, I guess in a way that was my choice – to keep going. I was angry that anyone could even consider I would harm myself. I felt let down by the lack of confidence. I worked so hard to keep going, to keep up the facade. I pushed my way through Christmas decorating, at the office, at home. I made an effort even though I suspected doing so might make me unhappier. I figured that would be better than ending up mad at myself for not being strong enough to handle seasonal normalcy. I started with a gift from last year’s Secret Santa: a ceramic cookie jar in the shape of a stack of presents. I changed out the placemats from chickens to red and green plaid, plopped the jar in the center of the kitchen table and called it good. A little later, I glanced over and realized I liked what I saw, so I did some more. I brought out the snowman card basket and placed a jingle-bell wreath on the balcony railing. Even later, I went back and pulled out some garland to add to each side of the wreath. That was my best decision. Brightly reflected by the solar lamp glow, the view from my couch is festive, and not as painful as I imagined, but I am also very aware it shouldn’t have been so difficult, so consuming, so abnormally laborious.

Over the course of those few hours on December 5th, I argued with myself a lot. I berated and cajoled and forced myself through the steps required to do those few things. Open the pantry, find the box, open the box, take the item out, close the box, close the pantry, find the tie-wraps, go outside, hang the wreath, secure the wreath, etc. I rested in between monumental tasks. When I had done enough to satisfy myself and portray the image of actively living, I considered my self-driven mission a significant success. But then things changed; they always change at night. I hate drifting off to sleep because that’s when the hallucinations are the strongest. The same one has haunted and taunted me; over and over. I physically feel my mother’s face hovering over mine, facing outward - like a mask two inches from mine, sliding closer. It’s the same feeling you have when your eyes are closed and someone passes a hand in front of you. Even my teeth felt superimposed. Awake, I catch myself unintentionally mimicking her mannerisms, inflections. I’m afraid of the way my smile feels tight like hers. It didn’t always reach her eyes. I know mine doesn’t go there. I’m afraid the magnetic draw of the mask will stick. I’ve never felt like this before. I’m sure it isn’t right, but that would mean having to admit to the severe abnormality of hallucinations. That would mean I couldn’t get past it myself. That would mean a failure of self control. I refused to fail at self control. But, as the weeks continued, I continued slipping. In the end, it was only my failure to beat these feelings and side-effect research that saved me.

I stopped taking the Celexa on December 23rd. I drew my own conclusions. I didn’t ask, consult or tell anyone. It had to be done; I had to be done. Because I have a history of drug sensitivity, I keep a list of medications tried that I will never take ever again. Among the ones that made me feel not right: Lipitor, Neurontin, Demerol, then Prozac, then Cymbalta, and Ambien. The last three were prescribed after Jeff died to take the edge off and help me sleep. The Prozac made me jumpy, the Cymbalta gave me muscle cramps, and the Ambien kept me awake. I added Celexa to the list. At my already scheduled MD appointment January 7th, I explained. My medical chart now contains the notation that I am allergic to the class of medications known as selective serotonin reuptake inhibitors (SSRI) which also includes Prozac and Cymbalta. I was reluctant, very reluctant, to try anything else, but allowed myself to be talked into a trial of fast acting, lowest dose possible, made even lower by splitting the pill into two tiny crumbly pieces,non-SSRI. Within three days, I noticed a difference. I was insanely happy to be normally unhappy instead of destitute, discouraged, disheartened, deadly depressed. At the same time, the better I felt, the more scared I became; of where I had been.

Posted by jaselin at 09:39 PM | Comments (0)

April 09, 2012

Grief Therapy 6, ME Newsletter, Vol. 5, Issue 15

11/25 – What not to wear. Nine hours, two very helpful hands, eight large black plastic bags, a milkshake and a glass of wine later… it’s a little bit embarrassing, but… I gave up the size 28, 26, 24, 20 clothes. 142 pieces in all. The closet is under control. I can appreciate that less is more, especially when it comes to not having to make decisions. It’s a beautiful thing. Hanging on to the 18’s just in case I have one of those days were the 16’s don’t feel comfortable. With some insistence to my resistence, we hung pictures, rearranged the dining room to make it a bistro area. It’s cute and airy. Hanging pictures was nice. That didn’t upset me as much as I thought it would. Maybe sometimes, just little changes are all that I need, but in my case, big ones are in order.

11/30 Yes, I’m in limbo, but it’s a nice view from here. Everywhere I look are options that I don’t intend on pursuing. Buying a bed would be setting down symbolic roots, I’m not interested in that. Having to make goals… that was tough. Accountability is something I have been missing. Being accountable to myself doesn’t always work. We toss around some light weight goals; exercise, cook, work on my book. Work on crying less. “What about socializing?” the therapist asks. Not interested in working on my people skills, and I say it – lol. Ten minutes a day of garbaging the box pile in the “bedroom”.

I continue to get raised eyebrows about not wanting to buy a bed. I don’t need one. I land where I land. Some days I walk in and make it to the couch. More than once, I have not. I don’t suppose you know what it feels like until it happens to you. You just don't care to go any further, so you drop everything – coat, lunch bag, purse – and fall to your knees. It occurs to you that the coat would make a good bed so you roll up a sleeve and tuck it under your head. You curl up in a tight shivering ball and pull the rest of the grey wool in around you.

A curious cat licks at my tears. I don’t know which one because I don’t open my eyes. I don’t really care either. A few hours later, I slowly come to the waking realization that I have to pee. Still, unmotivated, I lie there until it becomes an absolute necessity. Then rolling into rising stages, straining muscles, I barely make it to the bathroom. I wash my hands and check my reflection. I consider washing my face and brushing my teeth but I don’t. Instead I stumble stiff-legged into the kitchen and glazedly gaze into the refrigerator.

After an eternity or a few seconds, I realize I’m not hungry. So, I decide I must be thirsty. I actually make the effort required to address that problem. I pull out the milk and place it on the counter, retrieve a glass, and a spoon and chocolate syrup, pour, stir, drink, return the milk to the fridge, but leave the syrup where it is. I’m exhausted and it’s pill time again. I wander back to the bathroom to find the little wonders. Again, heading back to the kitchen, I’m disjointed and disoriented, and I discover another dilemma. Struggling through short moments, I didn’t anticipate my needs. I now wish I had some chocolate milk left to wash it down, but I don’t, so I swallow it without liquid, and shuffle to the couch. I feel pretty good about getting to my “real bed.” Fully clothed, I crawl up against the back pillows and sink into twilight, not really sleeping, but definitely not awake. Hours creep by, and at some point I know I must have slept because the alarm is going off and it’s time to drag myself up. Although morning is easier because I have a routine and expected behavior, I am beginning to see that something is clearly wrong. I’m supposed to be getting better, feeling better, not worse, not so much worse.

Posted by jaselin at 08:07 PM | Comments (0)

April 04, 2012

Grief Therapy 5, ME Newsletter, Vol. 5, Issue 14

11/2
Following directives, suddenly I’m a zero-to-sixty, nothing-to-all, ninnyhammer. All in one week: a concert and reconnection, an early morning coffee date, an early-to-late evening shopping trip, church again – on time this time. Dentist, doctor and therapist appointments. Weekends filled with traveling, hair revision, lunching, shopping, dinner and a movie, church, hair re-revision, heart-to-heart talks, Sunday supper – ethnic foods with a side dish of laughter, lunch with friends, dinner with friends, catching up with myself, leaning back to admire my efforts, and nodding off to sleep, semi-contented which is more than I have been for a while.

I credit what I assume is the effects of the medication. I’m full of sage advice, and I freely pass it on. Just ask me how and I’ll tell you. It’s a lot easier to fix other people’s lives, I laugh, poking fun at myself and everyone else who has tried to fix me. My therapist says “I enjoy laughing with you.” And it occurs to me, I can only laugh at the past. I wonder how long it will be before I am capable of present tense laughter, again.

11/10/11
I forgot to turn the sound on the phone back on yesterday, all day. It rarely rings, anyway. Didn’t think anything of it. Luckily, for some reason though I thought to check it. Almost missed an appointment reminder call. It bothers me that my memory is non-existent. It's like my brain is full. If I don't add whatever it is to a list, it ceases to exist.

Had an interesting conversation with the therapist yesterday regarding apathy and lack of any type of motivation and extreme tiredness. For example, Harley Blu knocked all the magazines off the coffee table three days ago. I spend most of my time on the couch and I can easily see them there. I don’t care. The therapist says I’m not tired. I’m sad and I can’t tell the difference between the two.

The repeated suggestion/solution is to try once more to: “embrace the darkness, observe it, learn from it.” He suggests I should write about it. I said I have been, for four years straight. Perhaps not entirely honestly, though. In any case, I decided instead of running errands yesterday I would go home and lie on the couch. From 2:30 – 8:00 I sleep, completely passed out. The medication makes me groggy. I rouse myself enough to eat a Lean Cuisine, take my pill and go back to sleep… until 4:00 am in the morning. I don’t feel any more rested, so maybe it’s true: I am sad. Supposedly it’s a phase of grieving.

The phases are well defined but the steps are not. I’m trying to live the cliff notes version of grief. Just want to get it over with.

Posted by jaselin at 10:27 PM | Comments (0)

March 26, 2012

Grief Therapy 4, ME Newsletter, Vol. 5, Issue 13

10/27: When strength becomes a character flaw.

Enough already. I’m strong. I’m independent. I hear it over and over, from friends and now from my therapist. Those characteristics have become a flaw. I guess if you project an image of solid rock, people can’t fathom you crumbling. Take right now for example. Proactive me is writing this to share at a later date. Because if I don’t write it now I might forget later exactly what I meant to say, exactly what it’s been like. I’m driven to record, share. Which is in direct conflict with the latest epiphany I am supposed to subscribe to: “You don’t have to give your emotional self to everyone.” Trust me, I don’t want to, but right now I can’t control it. The lack of control frustrates me. Frustration makes me angry; angry makes me cry. It’s only become recently debunked - my self-scribed myth; I only ever cry when I’m angry. Not so suddenly, I cry when I’m sad, too. Or tired, or hungry and exhausted. Or breathing. I don’t know how long the tears have been creeping up on me. They’ve been threatening for so long. I kept adding sand bags to the levee. Still, after all this time, isn’t high enough to keep them from crashing over, sweeping through. And I’ve been diving under those waves instead of riding them. Another monumental advisory this week: new and foreign. Accommodate this phase. Embrace the darkness; cry. Stop fighting it. Accept it. Allow it. Observe it. It is what it is, explained in great detail by Joseph Campbell.

I want to be on the couch cuddled up with the currently spastic kitten. He’s leaping and running and basically expending tons of energy I don’t have. Eventually he’ll tire though. So maybe I’ll set myself up on the couch and wait for that. He’ll crawl up in my arms with stinky breath that the vet says isn’t a problem. And I’ll breathe through my mouth so I can feel his nose muzzle my neck, and fall asleep to his purr. But it’s early evening and that would be wasted time. There are things on my list. I have four days to get them done. Even that isn’t long enough. I’m tired of trying to make progress but failing; root bound. Every task blooms into a garden of weeds. What’s the point of breaking up the root ball if I’ve got no place to put the splits? I’m daunted. And tired. For today, for tomorrow, for who knows how long - I don’t want to be strong, or independent, or responsible. So maybe the answer is just that simple: simply to not be.

Posted by jaselin at 08:08 PM | Comments (0)

March 19, 2012

Grief Therapy 3, ME Newsletter, Vol. 5, Issue 12

10/26/11. The week between my first and second appointment was spent trying to stay alive. Not in a suicidal way, but having to admit my IADLs had gone to hell. Realizing what I wasn’t doing was traumatic. I cried so much that when the next session came, I could for, a while, hold back the tears. That was a coup. When asked about Jeff, well, I’ve told his story so many times out loud, in my head, on paper. I shared my memorial poem, and origins. We talked some more about his big heart and how kids loved him. And coming home to find Jeff and his young neighborhood friend playing Star Wars in the den. Darth Vader mask, light saber, and all. It always comes back to the laughter. I guess it’s my coping mechanism, but I’m glad it makes other people laugh. So many funny stories.

But there was also fear. So much fear. And some anger - over chewing tobacco. I didn’t have to make us so miserable about that. But I needed something to be angry about. It really wouldn’t have mattered all that much. His health was spiraling downward fast. It may have been his coping mechanism. And only one of two things I believe he ever lied to me about.

I only ever tell the funny stories. Or the sweet ones. It makes it seem as though our ife was idyllic. It wasn’t, but we had an unusual advantage. We knew what was coming. More accurately, I knew what was coming and while Jeff chose to favor denial. It was a strange moment when the therapist made reference to his own personal relationship and commented that he very much admired me; for my strength and commitment to myself. My marriage, he said, was a good example. “Sticky notes,” I advised him. That’s the key. “I’ll stop at Staples on the way home,” he smiled. I really think he will.

We talked about how I hate staying home with nothing to do, but hate doing anything. I told him about the condolence cards, and writing notes to friends and family about the notes they wrote to me. I told about the list of things that were said at the family and friends gathering, some funny, some sweet. Some I had forgotten, that made me laugh aloud, again.

We talked about how I am embarrassed and humiliated, worried about being treated differently. I didn’t mention an errant comment wound sustained from an unintentionally cruel blurt, “You really are just the same as everybody else!” I don’t think it was meant in an offensive way, but it registered that I had been knocked down a peg in their eyes. I’m not perfect; never claimed to be. But I have been a pretty good actress. 5 years of keeping in character. Better than a soap opera star – because I worked on weekends, too.

Talking about the fun and the laughter makes me smile, for a while. But around the moment, reality stands, a solid block in my path, a stark white placard faced with big, black, bold stroke letters impossible to miss stating stoically -“That’s all gone.” And it’s true. I can’t argue that part.

It’s a bit of a hilly hike – ups and downs, rain and sunshine. There aren’t always bridges to carry me where I want to go. So I either have to do without or build my own. Doing without means sitting still on the shore or wading through the clawing river intent on shredding my heart and soul.

Building my own means baby steps; doing it on my own in tiny, well planned chunks, so the deep rooted timbers I’m chopping down won’t topple onto me. Or asking for help which means I probably won’t get to do it exactly my way. Do I want to spend another five years in this spot? Damn, I don’t even want to spend today here. But I can’t go back. Can’t change what I’ve done, can’t repair an image that was at best smoke and mirrors. Not all that interested in doing so, anyway.

Posted by jaselin at 07:51 PM | Comments (0)

March 13, 2012

Grief Therapy 2, ME Newsletter, Vol 5, Issue 11

So, no, I did not share this with everyone. I did cry easily and constantly in the evenings. Eventually, I cried during the day, too. It was suggested I should take some time off work in order to let the medication take effect. I balked at that. The downtime was the hard part. Sit still with nothing to do? Where was the sense in that? Showing up and being busy at work was all that was keeping me going.

We sort of reached a compromise. I wanted three days. I figured that was all I’d need. Since it was Wednesday – I counted off 5 days - Thursday, Friday, Saturday, Sunday, and included Monday – since I had a return appointment on Monday, anyway. That logic was answered with “We’ll see.” Monday found me compromising again. I was tired, exhausted, lethargic, still weepy. I agreed to down-timing the rest of the week. On Monday, with seven days ahead of me, I was scared. What would I do, what could I do, what should I do, if I wasn’t sleeping or crying?

The thing is I don’t do “nothing” well. Having my movement halted, in any direction good or bad, terrified me. I can’t stay in one place, figuratively and literally. I need distraction; reading, on-line games, crafts. Though, the sad truth was, I had no concentration, no staying power. If I started something, I wouldn’t finish, besides, I truly had no desire to do the things I like to do anyway. An inner pep-talk, some self-convincing, some self-cajoling, and quite a bit of sighing, settled me into a long-time list item. Going through the filing cabinet was a short spurt project I could put aside at any moment - no urgency involved, naps posed no dilemma to continuity.

I opened the second drawer, the one with the older files, and grabbed a random hanging file from the middle. Great, I thought. How freakin’ perfect. I’d pulled out a file housing an envelope of condolence cards. I stared at them for a few frozen moments. I contemplated putting them back, and ignoring them. But, knew I wouldn’t be able to get them out of my head. It’s not like I forgot I had them. I truly thought they were somewhere else, so pulling them out of the file cabinet was a surprise. I considered just throwing them away, but I couldn't. Not without making sure there wasn’t something I might need tucked away in between.

Retreating to the comfortable, lamp-lit corner of my couch, cross-legged, pulled-in, pillow-buffeted, wrap-blanketed; I took a deep breath and plunged in. The first card was from a good friend saying she and her family were laughing over funny Jeff stories. The second was from a Michigan Hot Sauce Club store regular – inside was a goofy picture of him and another regular dressed up for a wedding sporting fake buck teeth. The caption said "I hope this makes you smile." I remembered it did then, and marveled that it did again. The third card carried a two page (four sided) letter. As I reread those wise, wonderful, loving words written 5 years ago, I cried some more, and blessed them for what was written. I did everything those words said I would. Even living up to the prediction that, "It will take a little while, but everything will be ok." Of course, I've managed to completely redefine the meaning of the term "a little while."

I am struck by the number of stretch acquaintances who sent notes, and by the depth of all of them. Committed to finishing up sorting thru keepers and shredders after hours of reading and napping and sometimes needing to reread blurred words, I have two piles. Just then the phone rings. After three listings and some price adjusting, there is finally a potential purchaser for the NASCAR collection. The buyer is from Georgia and missed the last bid time out because he was at Talledega.

Yeah, that seems about right, as does the flat price and his willingness to drive to Michigan to pick it all up in person. All fifteen totes, eight pieces of framed artwork, a used race tire and a few cardboard boxes, will go to an enthusiastic small-time collector and good home. I’m just glad it’s going. I don’t want it back. Maybe this week will be about closure after all.

Posted by jaselin at 07:42 PM | Comments (0)

March 05, 2012

Grief Therapy I, ME Newsletter, Vol 5, Issue 10

Here is where a new story starts. If it’s frightening to you imagine how frightening it was for me. Even more so now that things are a bit more under control. Bottom line is I am past the worst. I’m not about to belittle the strength it is taking me to share. It’s strength I didn’t have, and only have now in short bursts, easily depleted. I’m not saying I don’t want help, I just don’t need badgering. I’m pretty sure my current guardian angel was a badger in a previous life. At least now I want to talk. I want to, but still can’t. So, I’ll continue writing.

Grief Therapy: Round one:
First assignment: tell people….
So, I comply, in a safe, removed way. I tell people I’m not likely to see anytime soon, or if I will, it will be in a short, controlled setting with no time or privacy for intimate conversation. In a spurt of long dormant strength, I boldly confess to people I haven’t seen for a long time, some I haven’t seen for years, and probably won’t see for at least a few more.

Stated shortly, addressed simply:
“Well, five years and 20 days late... I began grief counseling today. I don't think this is going to be fun, at all. But, if I want happy meds my MD requires the talking stuff, too. My assignment is to tell people, so I’m telling you. Not sure if you should be honored or burdened, but thanks for letting me share.”
A few rapid responses fly in. I keep the notes and passages knowing I will re-read them later.

Responses:
“No way. I thought all this time it was something else. Congrats on a good move in a very positive direction! What you went thru sucked! You go girl!”

“No, not fun, but probably necessary and, in the end, will be extremely important for recovery. Best wishes and hugs. The crying will suck but acceptance is on the other side of it.”

“That feels like an honor to me. I'm glad that you are finally going. 5 years might seem a little off, but it has to be in your own time. We love you.”

“I am very proud of you that you started grief therapy today. Congratulations. It will really help you. I don't know if you remember, I started practicing Buddhism after my Dad’s car accident. I chant Nam Myoho Renge Kyo. It helps me though life’s roller coasters.”

“Stay strong. Good move on starting therapy and taking charge of your life again. Love and miss you! Very proud of you.”

“How was your first session?
- At the end of my long list of ridiculous events this past year and recent years past, the therapist looked at me and said, "You legitimately have a lot to be upset about. And you're clearly showing signs of depression." I cried pretty hard throughout the hour and left there with my usual tell-tale lovely tear-burnt cheeks, tomato afterglow nose and red rimmed eyes worthy of Scrooge. -
… and your sense of humor I see! I hope you are going to give yourself a gift and keep going.”

Despite the positive outreach support of my underminingly chosen out-of-reach-ers, it was the unspoken words that bothered me, caused me pain; the absence of acknowledgments, nothing returned. After years of pushing away and burrowing in, I have successfully established a secure hermitage. My behavior semi-predictable and tiresome: I didn’t show when I was needed. I didn’t answer the phone or email, didn’t respond to letters or cards. I couldn’t care more than a few moments. I was too busy trying to stay my ground in the game of life.

Posted by jaselin at 07:09 PM | Comments (0)

February 27, 2012

Whitney, ME Newsletter, Vol. 5, Issue 9

Whitney could have been saved! Whitney’s lonely last few days! Whitney’s final binge!

A plethora of stupid headlines assault me. As I stand in the market line, contemplating with narrowed eyes, zoned in on the blame game, I begin to see something more than lead-lines. I see insulting insinuations, posed by strangers further away from the center of Whitney’s reality than the sun is from us – feeling absolutely no need to pay it any daily attention, and only willing to jump into the fray once brightest sun burned out.

Where were Whitney Houston’s family and friends? I’ll answer that searing question from a personal perspective – certainly of my own conjecture, but real to me nonetheless.

Where were Whitney Houston’s family and friends while she was struggling?
Same place mine: at arms' length, believing my bold message flash rotation:
“I’ll be fine, I always am.”
“I’ve got this covered.”
“I’ve got nothing to complain about, to talk about.”
After 5 years of carrying on about achieved normalcy, 5 years of simply carrying on, who wouldn’t have believed it?
I did.

I believed if I said it all often enough and loud enough, over and over, it would have to be true.
Only one true part ever snuck through: “nothing”: with qualifiers attached, easily glossed over.
Repeated, repeated when I had nothing else to say that would change the situation or help me handle the upcoming. The more I believed, the more I struggled. The more embarrassed and desperate I became.
I stopped talking: to everyone. Except myself in the sternest of voices, “Now is not the time.” “Hold on until this storm clears.” “Just one more day, it will be better.”

How do you slink away and still show up every day?
Very carefully: cultivating space, disengaging, purposefully moving an arm’s length distance from anyone who might glimpse the pitted façade and suspect it in danger of crumbling.
If it were a recording, I’d have a Grammy. If it were a movie, I’d have an Oscar.
Instead, it’s real life, no more remarkable than any other, with only words to explain myself similarly.

It’s safe to say the worst is over now.
This is where the hardest chapter begins.

Posted by jaselin at 07:55 PM | Comments (0)

February 21, 2012

Avoiding, ME Newsletter, Vol. 5, Issue 8

My Ireland trip continued with more amazing, interesting, joyful (and some sadder) moments. I could string you along for another two months with tales of places and people, but that would be avoiding. And, as it turns out, I’ve been avoiding for a very long time. It’s time to deal with undercurrents and slip-stream tows.

We are approaching the final chapter of four years of sorting through what, where, when, why and how. It’s assembling nicely into a book of unusual form: a nice, neat, complete, completely wrapped up package of journeyed thoughts. Like the brown string on bakery packages pulling in from all sides, they must be wrapped, and twisted a very certain way to create a secure enclosure. Much like a bakery box, over-securing makes it harder to get to what’s inside. Sometimes the only way to get in is to destroy the security. Sometimes, you can take the scraps and rearrange them into another, not as strong, multi-knotted make-shift hold. Sometimes, you can’t, and have to go in search of a new type of stronghold.

Even when this chapter is told, the newsletters won’t end as long as you want them to continue. Occasionally, I jump on a current message, but mostly what you are reading is a four month lag. I’m still searching but have no idea what I’m aiming for, if I have an aim, or if I even need one anymore. No matter what, it’s still a ride, and I’m still driven to share it with you.

Posted by jaselin at 05:00 PM | Comments (0)

February 14, 2012

Music Eve 1, Short, ME Newsletter, Vol. 5, Issue 7

Outside, beneath an umbrella in a light Irish drizzle, a wide variety of women trade versions of “no regrets,” holding these truisms in high regard:
Life’s too short for bad wine.
Life is too short for stale bread.
I quote my mother’s favorite: Life is short –eat dessert first!
And a final offering before we venture back inside trailing scents of smoke and fresh rain:
“When you’re dying,” she says, “You will never ever say, ‘I regret not spending more time at work’.”

On the now familiar wander back to the green room, a merchandise volunteer approaches me with a young man on her arm. He desperately wants access, and she asks if he can be my “boyfriend” for a few moments. I look him over and he seems harmless enough. His friend vouches for him, and I remember times long ago when all I needed was a quick in and drop - to make my presence known. Therefore, he is now my boyfriend, extending his arm in the gallant escort worthy manner. Walking arm in arm, we exchange names. In an extension of courtesy, he reaches for the door, opens it and steps back for me to pass through for me, and I begin to feel very… old. It’s a little disconcerting to be a safe, old American broad with a staff badge. As soon as we’re in, I pat his arm and release him. “Have fun,” I say. He thanks me with a wide grin and makes a beeline towards a small group of fashionably dressed young women.

We ladies continue to talk and observe and suddenly the young man is back, red-faced and agitated. Since we’d just decided to move on to the hotel pub, he leaves with us, and we soon learn that the woman he wished to impress looked down her nose at him. Like a gaggle of hens we tell him it’s better to find out early, and she’s not worth it. He doesn’t follow us into the now limited attendance bar. It’s closed to the public by now, only hotel guests and those remaining inside are allowed. No newcomers. A long time standing at the counter, leaves us time to talk. The bartender ignores us. I wonder if it’s because I’m only looking for a cola, again. “Is it that?” I ask, “Or is it because we’re unescorted women?” It seems the men are being attended to first, and the same thing happened earlier. My companion tells me it’s not and that they just take their time as they please.

Somehow, fueled by our lack of fuel-ish energy and a glass of wine or two, we wind down a little and end up in a place of joint confession. She has lost four people in five years; I have lost five in eight. We leak tears of compassion, understanding, and shared sorrow. Finally we are served, and even though I am put out at by the long wait, I leave a tip. It’s grabbed back quickly for me, and I am told there is no bartender tipping in Ireland. And that explains that – no need to hustle if it’s not worth more than your wage, right?

Somewhere around 2:00 AM, I become aware that I am only vaguely aware; I have closed my eyes to listen to as instruments are passed around, songs and partial riffs erupt, impromptu duets are formed, jokes and strains of laughter float by, and I must acknowledge that I am straining to stay upright, scared of sitting down, and thinking more and more about the merits of sleep. Radio press assembly begins at 6:00 AM tomorrow morning. As an event realist, I am counting on set-up, technical, and artist delays, and accordingly set my alarm for 6:15 and planning to make an appearance by 6:40 at the latest.

It’s been a long day one, and a longer first evening, all of which bring me around to coming a long way to come a long way; facing everything with some measure of aloneness, and coming away with reinforcement of what I’ve already figured out. This was a necessary excursion, everyone has a story to tell, music makes me happy, sleep is over-rated, and I will never, ever regret having not spent more time at work, especially not the relatively short time I have spent here.

Posted by jaselin at 03:51 PM | Comments (0)

February 05, 2012

Music Eve 1, Between, ME Newsletter, Vol. 5, Issue 6

In the brief space between the evening’s performers, two of us – alone – felt the need to share. Starting with a smile and a common love of music makes mingling easier, especially in between rows. No matter how brief the space between, it becomes an awkward stretch of recognition as others realize you are obviously one. One row ahead, two chairs left, a solo, tweedy gentleman makes a slight right turn in his seat. His smile earns a smile in return, and a filler conversation begins. “Lovely night, isn’t it?” he asks. “Absolutely,” I reply, “Couldn’t ask for a better one so far.” My accent immediately gives me away, and we chat about America and Michigan and an oversimplified version of how I came to be here… a friend and an invitation. And I leave it at that.

The second set begins, and I can’t help but observe his observation; a fan enjoying a fan enjoying the show. The next interlude turns him around in his seat. There is more milling about, and conversation going on around us this time as folks head for the restroom and the merchandise tables. It’s a loud and a little difficult to hear his soft-spoken lilt of a voice, so I tuck my leg up under my opposite knee to get comfortable leaning forward. My new friend introduces himself as “Oilwyn” pronounced “Owen”. He tells me he drove an hour and a bit from outside Dublin for the evening He’s alone tonight because tomorrow is a work day, but he’ll be back along tomorrow evening with a special friend. I gather he means a lady friend as he goes on to explain about wanting to make sure he knew the way and had a plan.

The third set begins and I’m lost in my own thoughts, a bit outside the ballroom. I think about how sweetly nervous he seems about his upcoming role of escort. A little throwback to traditionalism, although for him, I’m sure it’s not a throwback, at all. He’s looking for a second chance, a second time around, and I reiterate to myself a thought I’ve shared before. Maybe in another twenty years, when I am Oilwnyn’s age, and my generation begins to lose spouses, maybe then, I’ll have a chance.

The house lights come up, and Oilwyn tells me it’s a long drive back, late at night to Dublin. He fancies a cup of coffee at the Arms lounge and would I care to join him? I do, it’ll be a while before the ballroom clears and the famous festival after-sessions begin. I learn he’s worked in concrete his whole life, plans to retire soon and has two sons abroad. He raises sheepdogs in his spare time and has a small flock for hobby and local wool sales. We finish our coffee and head out toward the lobby planning to say good night there I’m sure. George Harper however, is headed in. We greet each other as familiar-face acquaintances and I see Oilwyn’s eyes light up in recognition. I introduce the pair and ask George if he wouldn’t mind a picture. He obliges without hesitation and the two place their balded heads together as George quips about the possible glare of the photo flash. Oilwyn doesn’t have an email for me to send the picture to, but his “friend” does and we plan to meet up again tomorrow night so I can get the address.

I leave him at the door with a wave and wander back through the crowding lobby as musicians and fans grab couches and chairs and the tuning of various instruments begin. I head toward the green room and meet up with the office ladies, and a few others from the previous evening. We take a peek in, decide it’s too crowded at the moment and find our way to the outside “café” smoking area. Under umbrellas and a light misty rain, we begin to talk…

Posted by jaselin at 11:33 AM | Comments (0)

January 31, 2012

Music Eve 1, Courses, ME Newsletter, Vol. 5, Issue 5

A half-filled, chilly ballroom might scare some people. I find it makes the night more intimate; makes it easier to meet the audience from their seat, and provides a darn good view.

All the way from near-Nashville, USA, George Harper’s happy train pulled out of the station right on time, picked up pace appropriately and kept the pickin’ speed steady. Lyrical stories - snapshots of life - rolled like wafting steam through the air, through shoes and boots and sneakers, right down to toes happy to be tapping along. The last Harper stop came along a little earlier than I’d have liked. The good news was the short set was a perfect little tease with the promise more would be coming over the course of the next few evenings. Of course, amid songs of humor and snap-shot stanzas of life, there was a message in there; sort of special one, especially for me, especially for now. “When you try to make sense of it all, it will bring you to your knees. Just thank GOD at the end of the day, of the day.”

Sweet George was followed by what couldn’t be a more polar-ly opposite, exactly-the-same-roots band. Introduced as “The most tattooed bluegrass band in the world,” G-Runs and Roses arrived on stage baring colorful sleeves and an upbeat, slightly nervous and high energy attitude. For a bit it seemed like they were playing to and feeding off each other before they tentatively noticed the audience. Not surprising when the members hail collectively from far away Slovakia and the Czech Republic. Very surprising when they launched special effects vocals without the use of special effect equipment - taking the heavy metal wall of sound to a vocal bluegrass level. G-Runs heated up a near frozen, over-air conditioned ballroom with more classics than you’re likely to find on country radio. From their righteous rendition of Keith Whitley’s “Don’t Close Your Eyes” to the inspiringly transformed Simon and Garfunkle classic “Leaves that are Green” G-Runs honed their sound playing country songs on their travelling bus. Their five-dimensional rendition of Clint Black’s “Better Man” couldn’t have been played by better men.

By the time Tupelo took the stage, I’d already been sated, fed three courses: teaser Tupelo appetizer, traditional Harper fare, progressive G-Runs dessert. Tupelo again, twice in one evening, in venues as close as one Longford block, and as far apart house-wise as could be, made for a fabulous nightcap. Again, surpassing expectancy by giving their all to a not sold-out crowd, the new bluegrass/saxophone sounds blew off the stage. Like saxy-bluegrass sarcasm, James Cramer’s musical soul frazzled out through his hair, zapping the audience into participation. They turned the ballroom into an intimate pub and then the pub into a reception lounge, where suddenly you’re sitting on your home couch having a chat about the unimportance of politics and allegiances, and the truthfulness of proud love and collective voices. Tupelo completely won over a mainly older crowd of traditionalists with amazing ease, all the while encouraging a bluegrass-jitterbug mosh pit. At the end of this first evening’s entertainment, there was no one unsure of the wide range potential or the future of bluegrass left in the room.

Soup to nuts, from George Harper to G-Runs and Tupelo (twice), soaking in and soaking up a much needed medicinal music infusion, all have now been permanently added the soundtrack of my life. If I had to go home right now, I’d be satisfied with the journey, just to have been here for this one day and one night.

Yet, the night was still young….

Posted by jaselin at 06:57 PM | Comments (0)

January 22, 2012

Music Eve 1, ME Newsletter, Vol. 5, Issue 4

Ach, well, it seems my timing was off a bit, although, I ran into some other lately-type festival folks outside the pub door. It’s been so long, I had to laugh at my own entrance. I’d forgotten bar set-up usually required the band to be up front, door-side. So, along with my acquaintances, we stepped into the set, bringing a cool breeze, a bit of rain, and a distracting commotion. To the side we scuttled, to the back as far from the action as space would allow. Along the way, I surprisingly encountered several slightly familiar faces. Although, by their reactions when I said hello; some of them were indeed merely familiar looking strangers.

A short step here or there to at least get a line of sight on the band, slowly landed me a straight shot less than five feet away. At a tall table strewn with table tents, single CD’s, and someone willing to by me a Guinness, I found myself the subject of some inquisitive looks. It dawned on me eventually that I’d placed myself in a much more prominent position than warranted. I realized I was smiling and something was expected of me. So, I nodded, accepted and gave way more greets than I’d imagined I would. Especially since I expected to be a casual, hang back observer. But I suppose that’s the price for having been given good reason to wide smile.

After two riling, completely and competently energetic offerings, Tupelo took a break along with all in attendance, most of Ireland and many world-wide, to raise a darkened pint to Mr. Guinness. I took a good long gulp of my draught, and a good long look around at about 80 celebratory pubbers. Gotta give great big props to a band who gives huge performances in small places to small crowds.

One brilliant final song, the new single, and it was time to move on. I snagged a World Guinness Celebration coaster for my memorabilia, although what I really wanted was a snippet of the swag streamer, and wandered back to the Arms, rolling along with the crowd, the music and performance adrenaline pulsing through me, smiling.

And the first evening was only getting started…

Posted by jaselin at 10:20 AM | Comments (0)

January 17, 2012

-Up, Me Newsletter, Vol. 5, Issue 3

Within 24 hours, I am simply at ease on the streets of Longford. I am the third body in the staffing office today, keeping busy sorting and folding festival t-shirts, creating merchandise displays, continuing to update artist packages, selling tickets and programs, providing breaks for the other gals. I happily wander to the convenience store in search of a short solo lunch. Much like a 7-11 but with a soup and sandwich station, too. The offerings are the same, but still nothing is at all familiar. Could be I’m just lagging again but – the brands are all different, and I’m simply stumped.

I’m too boggled to decide, so I settle on the pre-made case, surprised to find something just up my alley. A chicken breast covered in coleslaw, nested on a thin bed of stuffing, all stuffed into white bread. Makes me laugh because I’ve apparently found myself in a country that eats as I do – creatively! I grab a single serving size of cheese and onion chips, and something familiar, at last - a bottled Coke! I add a single serve package of chocolate drops – they look like M&M’s, so I figure they’ll be fine, and they are. The chips however, are icky: chalky and onion-y like raw onions on a salad bar. Not at all like Ruffles!

I enjoy my pick-up fare on the town square, benching it in the intermittent sunshine, before heading back to my post inside. Word has gotten out that the silent auction banjo by Clareen Banjo created for the 10th anniversary of the festival is on display. Not at the office though, it’s down at The Arms, so we direct folks that way. Weekend-pass wrist bands are selling sporadically, as are tickets for this evening’s show.

So far, sales are down from the previous year, but there are always door sales, and the hope is they will be high. It is only Thursday night, after all. There are three more days and nights of events and shows. Even in a down-turn economy, the shows are worth way more than the price. As the afternoon winds down, I head back towards the hotel.

I pop into the meat market to get a tide-me-over. I’m counting on a 20 minute nap before the evening’s first double event of a record release party for the band Tupelo combined with the third yearly celebration of Arthur’s Day. I’ll freshen up, coffee up, eat up my roasted veggie wrap, look up the way to Fox’s pub, and jump back into the fray – on the uptake, all within 60 minutes.

Posted by jaselin at 06:14 PM | Comments (0)

January 10, 2012

Snooze, ME Newsletter, Vol. 5, Issue 2

OK, there’s a reason GOD lead someone to invent the snooze button. I hit mine until 8:30 am, only finally motivated by the chance of missing complimentary breakfast. It’s truly only 3:30 am which explains my slight unwillingness, but instant room-packet Irish breakfast coffee is marvelous, and marvelously inspiring. I stumble reluctantly toward the shower arguing with myself that clean is necessary and cold will help stimulate my synapses. Even better stimulation is hot water – and I’ve got some this morning!

Breakfast is a pleasant surprise of served buffet. I stock up and settle down, not sure what the day will bring. One fried egg, one triangular hash brown, brown bread and butter, broiled tomatoes, beans, orange juice, and an apple for later land and on my tray. I passed on the sausages and porridge – I’ll get to them tomorrow. The cozy nooks and café tables are nearly full, but I wander in deep and around a tight corner, up a stair or two, I find a sweet little corner with a lounger and side table to enjoy the fare. Though sweetly atmospheric, the old hotel filled with old upholstery and old book makes Benadryl a necessity, so another cup of coffee is in order.

Filled and caffeine-full of steam, I head off down Main Street. My plan is to stop into the pharmacy to find a smaller notebook – one that will handily fit in my child-size backpack. Didn’t find one, though. So, a block down I cross over and through light morning traffic, headed to a stationery store. No luck there, either. No panic, though. I still have a few pages left in the mini booklet gifted to me for last fall’s writing class, and I should be sufficiently busy not to have much not writing time, anyway. Next stop; JKB Festival office.

Posted by jaselin at 06:21 PM | Comments (0)

January 03, 2012

Right, ME Newsletter, Vol. 5, Issue 1

Every moment makes us a little bit wiser.

Like the one where you find yourself exactly where you think you’re supposed to be for a change. This is why I made this trip: to find myself at an intimate dinner where once again it’s proven – people who love music love each other. Sitting down to a simple and simply amazing dinner with unspoken credentials, macaroni and gravy, garlic bread, salad and plenty of red and white wine. An atmosphere of comfort among strangers, served up in a home of new tradition: remodeled stone, modernized with ¾ windows overlooking Kilglass Lake and a music room with sweeping views of rolling hills and peace. I could write here forever, which inspires a forward dream – there must be a B&B or cottage for rent for me next go ‘round.

In the meantime though, blue grass artists, music professionals, spouses and children, a friendly dog named Maxine, festival volunteers, the two owners/crafters and two representatives from Deering, the leading American banjo company are all perfect convivial companions.

There’s a great deal of laughter, new-found fondness, and a detailed discussion regarding the virtues and rarity of original Hidden Valley Ranch dressing, and the need to smuggle some away in suitcases when visitors to America return to Ireland. There’s also the happy discovery that I’m not the only newcomer to Ireland, and not the only one who a few glasses in realizes that jet lag is really real.

I make the decision to leave this perfect night beaming, and with a touch of regret that a jam session has just begun. But, again, I find I am still in that perfect place bubble. Sharing a back seat ride with a young college graduate from Worcester, MA, I get to enjoy her contagious spark. She hates her phone carrier, too – and they’re different from mine! She helps me figure out the way to old fashioned text from the borrowed throw-away, and we discuss a surprising number of common in-common things in a very short while.

I bounce my way back to my room without any trouble. I’m exhausted, giddy, and have acclimated nicely into a new favorite saying: feckin’ right! Time for a face wash, Motrin, alarm set for 8 am breakfast, so pleased to know I’ll soon drift off smiling – can’t help it.

Posted by jaselin at 06:03 PM | Comments (0)

December 26, 2011

Light 11, ME Newsletter, Vol. 4, Issue 52

This year will be ending with a few less old and a few more new doubts. Those who thought as I did, that 2006 would be my hardest year ever, now know as I do, that was just the beginning. 2011 found me repeatedly running to and fro, away from and back to my reality, which may have been a harder route to take than staying comfortably put.

“You can’t go home” wasn’t enough of a detailed warning for me. So I came home, time after time, but it wasn’t the same, and it wasn’t how I wanted it to be and it hurt worse every time. But some of the results were so worth it: reconnecting with bright-sunshine supportive friends all over this country and abroad, acquiring new light-drivers through a silly facebook game, accepting a new position, developing a new set of skills, finding the more I re-positioned myself, ever-widening illuminations reveled more choices, more multi-lighted paths.

Bright lights are rarely kind, though. They draw attention to our flaws, slips into even our finest cracks; easily burning away the instable, highly flammable film we wrap ourselves too tightly in – nothing gets out, but nothing gets in, either. There can be no change if there is no flow.

Living in a vacuum falsely implies stability and control: eventually air runs out and then there is but one small decision left to make. Stop breathing where we are or release the void. Escape into oblivion or take a deep breath. Like a limb shifted after hours of inertia, there is pain in regaining function. There is pain in the commitment required. Every moment demands some sort of forward movement. Most days, I shuffle in baby steps. Some days I can do nothing more than think about putting one foot in front of the other, and some days even that becomes an effort. It’s those days that are the hardest.

I mostly forget to take pride in my accomplishments; sometimes, I list them on scrap paper, just to show myself I am still going. Take today for example; I barely moved but I also: went grocery shopping at 9:00 am, was home by 9:40, had chicken in the oven by 10:00. Took Tylenol for a headache and sore throat, played an online game until the chicken was done; forced down two cups of cranberry juice and took a nap. Washed the cooking pan, ate lunch, played with Miss Fred and Harley Blu. Personalized Christmas ornaments, read for a while, took more Tylenol and another nap. Ordered a pizza, took a bath, talked on the phone for a bit, hard boiled eggs, picked out an outfit for the office. Rested for a while, ate dinner, sat down to work on this week’s newsletter and decided that a decisive step away from my Ireland interlude was in order...

... to thank you for continuing on this journey with me. Just by being out there on the receiving end of a weekly email you’ve given me incentive and another year-long gift of responsibility. Reporting in, reflecting on, remembering, reigning in fears, shedding tears, I’m a long way from where I want to be. Going back isn’t an option, but with so many others lighting my way, moving forward is getting easier.

Blessings for a happy, healthy, safe, serene and stimulating new year.

Posted by jaselin at 03:22 PM | Comments (0)

December 19, 2011

Lost @ Longford, ME Newsletter, Vol. 4, Issue 50.5

(not published in weekly newsletter. running short on time to get this story line done, and created issue 51 by skipping over this. Choice was to create another newsletter or go forward with the one I created. It's the week of Christmas, I was sick all day yesterday, have more cards to make, presents to wrap, checkbook to balance. I chose to go went forward.)

Every moment, every turn, every obstacle makes us a little bit wiser.

The hotel and main centre for festival activities and shows, was easily close, just a few (and very walk-able) blocks down. Finding my room, however, was not an easy flight. I’d never considered an elevator to be a hotel perk until now. No elevator. Up the stairs, then up the stairs again, faced with a number of oddly angled hallways, I thought I walked them all.
Tired and perhaps beginning to feel the effects of time travel, I warily rewound my way back down to the front desk, and very humbly asked for better directions.

I made it the second time and inserted my huge key into an old fashioned door. The etched acrylic key fob with key and ring was the size of a coffee cup. It made me laugh as I realized I would not be able to stash that in my travel pouch purse and I also would not likely lose it in my large bag. The old-fashioned key and lock opened a kitty-corner door into a tiny angled single accommodation room. It reminds me of a Microtel I once stayed at in Novi for a PBR tour. It was clean and efficient, old but updated and still quaint. I was pleased to see a shower, no bath. The plan was to catch a ½ hour lie-down, shower, re-dress and head out for the evening’s itinerary. The light from the small levered bath window wasn’t enough. After flipping almost every switch I could find, I eventually deduced the loan bedside lamp was unplugged behind the stand. My expensive phone alarm (not over that yet) went off shortly, so I set out to shower. After a while it became evident that the shower water had no intention of heating, so I stepped briskly in and out of the briskly cold sprinkling. Perked me up a bit for sure, and prompted me to make myself a nice cup of bold, instant Irish coffee, which further perked me up quite nicely!

Posted by jaselin at 07:41 PM | Comments (0)

December 13, 2011

Catch-as, ME Newsletter, Vol. 4, Issue 50

My friend, also my ride and festival coordinator, was there to greet me at the bus station. Grinning, we threw our arms around each other in a joyful hug, then threw my minimal well-drug, well-travelled rolling luggage into the trunk of a little car already stuffed with posters, blue grass magazines and supplies. After my attempt to get in on the wrong side of the car, we headed off on errands. Stopped at a supply shop for ledgers, then straight to the festival office were I met the two ladies in charge of tickets and information. They have a viable and nearly perfected routine down. I only say “nearly perfected” because everyone ever involved in production knows festival or show, convention or celebration, the unexpected can be expected. They’ve been doing this for ten years, though, and know well enough changes will occur. Over time, they’ve learned to anticipate changes, and are now seasoned enough to roll with them, rather than be run over by them.

Longford town is a charming square of businesses, common area, restaurants and pubs, all very conveniently surrounded by one way streets and walkways. As a new member of the all volunteer staff, I stepped comfortably into task: guillotine cut flyers, trouble shot the computer printer, assembled artist itinerary packets, and even walked down the road a bit to pay the printer for previously ordered printed programs. Another list of errands I hand, and were off again. All in all, I arrived at the Longford Arms Hotel about two hours after I getting off the bus. I could have walked towing my luggage behind me but the sheer fun of hitting the ground running and catching up catch-as-catch-can with my dear friend were perfect.

Posted by jaselin at 09:07 PM | Comments (0)

December 05, 2011

Fun, ME Newsletter, Vol. 4, Issue 49

The truth of the matter is I’m tired of the struggling, and have been for quite some time now. The challenges are getting old. Yet, here I am in Dublin, moving right along with them. I fool around with my phone trying to figure out what will work. I set a test for the alarm while I wait for my trip to continue. I’m pleased to find the alarm function is operating. I can now add that to the list of small tasks my super-smart, internationally-dumb phone if good for.

The bus trip to Longford runs about 1.5 hours, which will be good for a well needed nap the result of speedwalking my luggage to and fro through Terminals 1 and 2. It’s a very good thing the currency agent talked me into taking 300 Euros. I’ve already spent $50.00 on calling cards and phone cards. So far Dublin looks like New York. I guess I expected more of a old-time Boston feel. I am still at the airport, though. Construction is taking place and new facades are being created.

The sun is shining. It’s still a bit surreal that I am here. I’m just trying to keep busy now. People watching and random note writing – too much thinking time turns to tears. TMTTTTT … TMT5… is this how those texting abbreviations are born? Out of boredom?

I’m still thinking so my avoidance tactics aren’t working. I’ve many times over been given the assignment of “Have fun!” by friends, family and light acquaintances. I will enjoy this diversion, soaking in the experiences and probably soaking a few tissues, too. But first I’ll finish my ½ American ½ Irish breakfast, find a restroom, freshen up a bit, and continue on.

I’ll be fine. I always am.

Posted by jaselin at 08:09 PM | Comments (0)

November 28, 2011

Cell DUB, ME Newsletter, Vol. 4, Issue 48

It’s 3:00 AM my time; 8:00 AM Dublin time. A cappuccino is cooling for me as I write these notes, munching a naturally Irish “Flapjack” bar comprised of oats and milk chocolate.

My luggage and I found our way to Terminal 2, where I ran into a CIE Tour group gathering. The greeters/tour guides spotted my CIE luggage strap and tried to coral me toward the waiting area, but I explained it wasn’t my week. It would be nice if I had the same guides for my tour. They were very helpful, directing me to Terminal One and the phone kiosk.

Of course, the phone spot was closed despite the sign that declared they opened at 8:00 AM. To be sure they were still in business I asked at the information desk and was told they were just running late. So I waited about twenty minutes, sipped my coffee, and people watched until the shutter rolled up… only to discover that my phone was useless. It’s official. I hate my phone carrier. Well, maybe not. Hate is such a weak word for the wide berth of emotional scarring I can now attribute to this shipwreck of a company. Loath, despise, even fervent dislike are more appropriately descriptive than hate. Whether they flat out lied to me or were just horribly unknowledgeable does not matter at this point. My high tech, document friendly, internet savvy phone is now nothing more than an expensive camera and timepiece.

Although it has since been pointed out to me that car salesmen don’t necessarily know how to fix cars, at the time, finding myself cellularly stranded in Ireland wasn’t making me happy. For lack of some other ideal solution popping into my pooped out brain, I trekked back to Terminal Two and purchased a $5.00 calling card. It hadn’t yet been decided how I would get from Dublin to Longford. It pretty much depended on the readiness of the festival t-shirts. If they were finished and packed for pick-up, someone would drive into the city to retrieve them and me. If not, I would need to take a bus. I called and felt quite badly that I woke my friend up. I know how rare pre-festival sleep is, so I felt badly about that as well. I explained my phone fiasco and learned that she had a spare phone I could use. Termed a “throw-away” phone supplied by a company named Voda, its capabilities are limited to call and text, but, of course, way better than nothing. It would merely require the purchase of a sim card. I trudged back to Terminal One, all these trips with luggage in tow, wishing I’d thought to bring along my pedometer for curiosity’s sake. I paid for the necessary sim card, and at the same time, purchased another $5.00 phone card.

After a few more calls, and an unsuccessful search for a fellow named George and his wife who are also headed to Longford, it is determined I will take the 11:20 bus. In another hour I will head out again to catch the route # 22 bus by crossing the street, going under a building, crossing another street, and waiting at the Aerobus # 7 vestibule on Atrium Road. I have no idea how much that will cost, but at least I have Euros. And, yes, all of these problems have momentarily taken my mind off of the ones I’ve unintentionally brought with me on my so-called escape.

Posted by jaselin at 07:39 PM | Comments (0)

November 21, 2011

Back at Fall, ME Newsletter, Vol. 4, Issue 47

I wouldn’t dare put a voice to it, but I do think that during moments when I am forced to step out and away from my own constant self-examinatory introspection, I am more open to GOD’s…? Presence? Direction? Channeling? Maybe GODLY thoughts is a better way to describe it.

There are times, many lately, as I am reviewing the past four years of writing – that I come across something and have to wonder. Did I really write that? Lately, my words are wallowing, colored in self-pity, and very much about me, me, me.

No doubt, I’ve been suffering more lately – with time idiosyncrasies. Do I really need to mark time? I guess perhaps I do since I’ve mastered ignoring it. Seasons change and register; they’re gone just as quickly.

I’m back at fall again; beautiful and painful. Trees of brilliance; brilliant memories. Crisp, clear colors; empty branches. Winds kick up, whistle through them; and me. Capturing fluttering fire; my heart in the camera’s eye. It’s simply not enough to satisfy aching unfilled space. Must every beauty bring a corresponding pain?

Tired of carrying counter weights; never nearing equal balance. Even the best is off; lacking for anything perfect, except for Heaven, for which I am neither prepared, nor immediately longing.

Posted by jaselin at 07:47 PM | Comments (0)

November 14, 2011

Anonymity, ME Newsletter, Vol. 4, Issue 46

Across the aisle, I notice two ladies with CIE Tour bags. Turns out they are sort of on the same path as I am. They are flying in to attend the 2011 Solheim Cup LPGA at Killeen Castle Golf Club, Dunsany, County Meath, Ireland. Then they will return to Dublin to meet the same tour I have signed on to. We head towards international check-in together and it’s nice to know I’ll see at least some sort of familiar faces when I get back there.

Customs on the Ireland side is equally non-threatening. Fast moving line, three agent booths, smart travelers with required documents in hand. Where are you going? Business or pleasure? Stamp, stamp. Enjoy your stay!

Luggage arrives promptly and the golf ladies are off on their adventure. Mine hasn’t come through yet, but in those few short moments of standing still, I find myself consoling another traveler. She’s come in from Canada, called home by her mother to see her father. He’s fading from cancer and his end is near. I flash back to Father’s Day 2002. Standing in Hallmark, crying over cards, trying to pick out the best one possible and knowing it may be the last one I buy for him. I remember my own father’s slow failing over 15 years, and how it sped up his last three days. I remember calling to tell him that Jeff and I were headed to Frankenmuth. “I guess I’ll never get to go there,” he said, “or to the Grand Canyon.” I remember calling the next day and telling him about our trip and the ridiculously marvelous Dale Earnhardt Christmas water globe Jeff had found at Bronner’s and had to have. My father was too weak to respond, but my mother assured me he was listening and smiling. I remember being just about to turn into our friends’ driveway the next day, early evening, when I got the call he had passed. Three quick days.

I tell the weary traveler beside me to share her happiest memories with him, even if he seems unaware. My case rounds the corner first, so I grab it and then turn back. I can’t walk away without offering an impulsive hug. I surprise myself by saying, “I hope your father finds peace. Peace be with you, too.”

I want to share my name and phone number so she can call me. It takes an effort to do so, but I walk away and don’t turn back. Sometimes anonymity is best. I walk away self-acknowledging why I am here. Knowing now, I’ll never have to look back and say, “I guess I’ll never see Ireland.”

Posted by jaselin at 07:07 PM | Comments (0)

November 08, 2011

IFE, ME Newsletter, Vol. 4, Issue 45

Music & Lyrics: A cute, harmless movie that leads me to these not entirely un-relevant thoughts:
Song writers get to see their audience. Book writers have an anonymous audience; failure is indirect. That’s appealing. I kind of like the aspect of perhaps not knowing who reads me, as opposed to knowing exactly who doesn’t.

Movie’s over: happy ending.
Here come the credits
And the tears.
Unless… I choose to sleep instead.
I think I’m up to the effort, but no.
Five damn years
Of dammed up tears,
Nothing to show for it.
Except four years of non-stop writing,
Some people I wouldn’t have met
And some long thought out
Well planned impulsive stupidity.
And a bit of over eating, unusual but
The airline food tasted good.
So I plug into music
Listening to The Script, Science and Faith
For the First Time, Nothing, This Equals Love.
Then sleeping.
Then breakfast.
Reorienting to croissants and coffee and fruit.
Resituating, a bathroom break
Reorganization, and really
Beginning touchdown
Wheels and heart.

Posted by jaselin at 06:12 PM | Comments (0)

October 31, 2011

Long Stall, ME Newsletter, Vol. 4, Issue 44

Long hours of movement and stalls, movement and stalls, lends itself to deep thinking and stalls.

I’m working on that time line things again. I figure I’ve known my friend in Ireland for at least 25 years. The last time we met up was in Massachusetts, four years ago. We strolled among the Dr. Seuss sculptures compared widowhood, stories of our losses, enjoyed a good meal and shared dreams of a future lives in Tennessee. In the present, her life remains enmeshed in music and her husband’s legacy. Mine has long since left that path, and left me at my husband’s legacy at University of Michigan Home Care Services in Finance. I have been meaning to start volunteering at The Ark. I should have acted on that usher’s suggestion two years ago. Now, I’m no longer comfortable driving at night. I tried it a few weeks ago coming home from writing class. Not comfortable.

My own thoughts corral and stall as Itune-in enough to overhear a young woman, a recent college graduate. She is headed to Edinburgh, Scotland for an internship at the American Consulate. “It’s been my life’s desire and a long time coming,” she says seriously. So, yes, time is relative, which brings me back to my time line issues. I’ve never grasped or remembered dates. I don't compartmentalize. From birthdays to World History classes, I only remember seasons, vague months, or thereabouts. I’ve tried on-time reminders, I’ve tried advance reminders. I forget to check the reminders, which makes the whole time effort required to input all that data well wasted, as well. Nowadays, time is going faster which makes it harder to act or react within appropriate time lines.

Since my world has slowed to a traveler’s pace, I try to forget about all that. Browsing available entertainment selections: magazines, movies, music, electronic games, I decide on a distraction, and prepare to stall myself in flight. Long time.

Posted by jaselin at 06:58 PM | Comments (0)

October 23, 2011

Wired, ME Newsletter, Vol. 4, Issue 43

After a while, I look up from my favorite airport magazine indulgence. This time the Scientific American cover story strikes me as appropriate, “The Two Faces of Stress.”

The waiting area has filled with passengers, many wearing “Ireland 2011” fleece jackets. Hoping to find some short-term traveling companions, I smile at the two retiree age couples across from me. “Are you with a tour?” I ask, even though the answer is obvious. We chat about our tour plans and ask and answers questions of each other.

They have neck support pillows and back support pillows and ear plugs for the longer flight, connecting in Newark to Aer Lingus. Disappointed I’ll be braving Newark alone, I look over the shoulder of the woman sitting next to me. Sporting the same jacket she shows me a booklet with each traveler’s name, picture and home town, as well as a detailed itinerary. What a nice idea, I think. I hope my tour group has something like that. Boarding begins on time, and soon enough I am as settled as I can be into my window seat.

The first leg of my journey finds me in the company of a surprisingly jumpy fellow. For someone who says he travels a lot, he seems a little wired to me. He orders an alcoholic beverage as soon as possible and then tells me he is a wire salesman headed for Germany. I ask “automotive or infrastructure?” and we proceed to trade knowledge of engineering firms and advancements.

When talk tapers off, I close my eyes for a bit. As the pilot announces our decent into Newark, my seat mate begins to fiddle with his napkin. He twists and rolls his cocktail napkin in what I suspect is nervousness. Surprising me again, he displays a talent for making paper roses out of napkins, and hands it to me with a flourish. He tells me if he could use his lighter he would burn the petals for color. I start to wonder if this is his way of flirting, but as soon as the plan lands, he sprints from his seat without any parting words. Ah, I sigh inwardly. It’s for sure, now. I’ll be facing Newark alone.

Posted by jaselin at 09:06 PM | Comments (0)

October 17, 2011

Secured, ME Newsletter Vol. 4, Issue 42

Going through security at DTW was not as stressful as it was going to Florida in March. The entrance attendant scanned my passport. My luggage rode uneventfully through the scanner and I passed through the body scan just as easily. I gathered myself and my belongings up and stopped to put on my shoes thinking, “That’s it?” Then I noticed the Homeland Security desk sitting quietly between two more sort-of gates.

There was someone else at the desk, so I waited my turn for a few minutes, stepping up when I could. The two guards looked at me strangely when I approach. ‘I am taking an international flight,” I announce. “Do I need to stop here?” I felt a little foolish, when they shook their heads and told me to move on. Headed for D2 and very early, I came across a TV at D9. President Obama was speaking about the assassination of the former President of Afghanistan and the head peace negotiator being killed in his own home by a suicide bomber. I have a hard time grasping the hate and the level of it required to perform such an act. No – I have an impossible time -can’t fathom.

Bewildered, and logically a little more insecure, I turn away. Surprisingly, I find myself squarely facing a supposedly non-existent currency exchange booth. Of course, the window notice reads, “Back in 15 minutes”. In light of my early arrival, I take a seat at the wrong gate, and wait. I munch on cheese brought from home and sip on airport bought Mountain Dew, contemplating short setbacks I have already endured and the long journey ahead of me.

The kiosk reopens and it turns out that I misunderstood the currency conversion chart I read on-line. $200.00 Euros will cost $314.00 – I got it backwards. So, part cash, part debit card later, I have my Euros. I head for the right departure gate feeling accomplished and somewhat immediately secured, but not at all completely right about anything.

Posted by jaselin at 09:11 PM | Comments (0)

October 10, 2011

Ephesians, ME Newsletter, Vol. 4, Issue 41

So, have you done it, recently? Have you asked yourself, “How did I get here?”

October 6, 2007, I was on my very first GITC roll, far from home, in the company of 48 strangers, asking myself over and over, “How did I get here?”

Every year for the past five years, on October 6th, I ask myself this question again. And every year, the answer seems more and more obvious. If you would have told me 10 years ago today, October 6, 2001, on my wedding day, that I would be a Christian, I would have doubted it. If you had told me 5 years ago today, October 6, 2006, at my husband’s funeral, that I would survive, and my Christian faith would be stronger than ever, I would have doubted it. There is no doubt in my mind these days, yet every year on this particular day, I take stock. I do so in amazement, and marvel at how GOD has brought me to and brought me through. Joyfully, this year, HE has brought me to you. Whether after a long while we’ve crossed paths again or we’ve intersected for the very first time, we’re solidly on the same journey, and have been for quite a while.

Please know that today, I am praying for the safety of your heart and body. I am praying for your guidance to be strong and bright. I am praying that the life you are living, will be sustaining memories that hold you close, reminding you of hard times and sacrifice, of love and hope, and those you share each experience with. May the LORD bless and keep you always.

Ephesians 3:17-19
Then He will make his home in your hearts as you trust in him. Your roots will grow down into God’s love and keep you strong. And may you have the power to understand, as all God’s people should, how wide, how long, how high, and how deep his love is. May you experience the love of God, though it is too great to fully understand, then you will be made complete with all the fullness of life and power that comes from God.

Posted by jaselin at 10:04 PM | Comments (0)

October 04, 2011

Errors/Euros, ME Newsletter, Vol. 4, Issue 40

The beginning started a long time ago. At the end of one life there was another waiting. Not precluding the previous, just building from one step to another: rising and following to an escalator’s rhythm. Unaware, there comes a moment when you’ve risen to the top – unsure and glancing backwards to see where you’ve come up from, while still forced to keep moving.

Despite my list and preparations, I didn’t put myself to bed until 1:00 am. Up at 7:30 am to finish a short list of items: preparations for Miss Fred and Harley Blu, take out the garbage, retrieve the car charger for the phone because I heard I might be able to use it on the plane and as long as I’m in the car I go for a drive-thru breakfast. I munch through preparing the newsletter for launch, pack away my last minute toiletries, and get down to the one remaining task. Send out the Midweek Encouragement Newsletter, Volume 4, Issue 38… or not.

On departure day, about an hour before I leave home, Yahoo experiences a rare slow down/processing stall. Having left the easiest task for last, I start to panic just a little. Then the taxi driver is calling to say he is downstairs waiting to whisk me away. Thank goodness my sister-in-law and I hatched a back-up plan last night, just in case I couldn’t send Vol. 4, Issue 39 next week from Ireland. I call from the cab and enlist her gracious aid. In between the net stall and the confirmation of the send for Vol. 4, Issue 38, I arrived at DTW.

Self check-in is fine, if you’ve done it before. If not, it’s hard to get assistance from the blank looking counter clerks. With persistence and enough yahoo questions to alert them that I was clueless, I did get some attention, seat assignments, boarding passes and was informed that my luggage weight was surprisingly well below the limit.

Accomplished, I set out for currency exchange. Easy enough to locate, a sign announces the kiosk is only open during peak hours: 7:30 am – 10:30 am and then again from 3:30 pm – 7:30 pm. I ask at Information and am told there is no other kiosk, unless I want to “drive over to McNamara.” I decide against that and then decide that there will be a small upside to being routed through Newark. I’ll be able to secure Euros there, for sure.

Posted by jaselin at 07:18 PM | Comments (0)

September 28, 2011

Catmover, ME Newsletter, Vol. 4, Issue 39

Dog whisperers, horse whisperers, I’ve never heard of such thing as a cat whisperer.

However, I discovered a way to at least somewhat get a cat to do what I want it to do. I am now a Cat Traffic Controller, and you can be one, too.

Suppose you’ve got a big cat (9 years old) blocking the way to the pantry where there’s food and water and a litter box.

Now, suppose you’ve got a little cat (aka a kitten) who is pitifully trying and retrying to get past the one moaning like a near-dead zombie.

Now, suppose also you’re smart enough not to want to get between them – their cat-stack relationship is their business, right?

Simply take your handy dandy laser mouse and proceed as follows:
Point the laser to attract the little guy’s attention. Use the laser to sweep him into the living room and kill the light. As soon as he’s immobile and confused…

Aim the laser to attract the old lady’s attention. Use the laser to move her to the dining room area and kill the light. As soon as she’s immobile and confused…

Turn your attention back to the kitten: use the laser to move him from the living room into the kitchen, and viola!

You are now an official cat mover, and you never even left the comfort of your favorite comforter or the favorite chair where you’ve cat-napping in between chapters of a good book.

Good luck, and you're very welcome for the sound advice.

Posted by jaselin at 10:00 PM | Comments (0)

September 19, 2011

Pre-flight, ME Newsletter, Vol. 4, Issue 38

Two pre-thoughts. When you read my intros, they are usually a week or two behind my reality. I will be in the air on my way to Ireland as you read this, and I'm very very happy to be going! I am going to attempt to send next week's newsletter to you from Ireland - I'm hoping to be able to. In four years, I've never missed sending a newsletter yet...

Post 9/11, pre-flight: as I mentioned last week, I’ve got a few things to be really happy about right now.

At least I’m trying to be happy; I should be happy. But when you’re doing monumental things alone, it’s sort of sad. I cry a lot. I cry easily. I have a toothache that I know will take the last chewing surface I have left. I can’t stand to lose that right now. I can’t to lose my composure either. I’ve pretty much aced the act. I exercise that sort of methodical skill a lot, to quell others’ fears. I can see who they want me to be. I can see who I want to be, and I read it to myself, silently, over and over. Like the best part of a book, it’s the one line that stands out and makes you understand, finally, what it’s really about.

“But Lou Anne, she understood the point of the book before she even read it. The one who was missing the point this time was me.” Kathryn Stockett, The Help.

I must still be missing the point. If anybody could tell me what it is, I’d really like to know. What is the point of crossing Ireland off my bucket list? Because right now, I’m just second guessing my sanity. Really? I’ve signed up to do this alone? What was I thinking? What will I dream about after this? Where will I find another star to follow? How am I going to make it through without tears? How am I going to explain them to colleagues and strangers if they show up despite my determination not to be sad about not sharing the experience immediately with a flesh-and-blood someone to my left or right?

I don’t know how this is going to play out.
But, I’ve stocked up on notebooks, and fast writing pens.

Posted by jaselin at 08:50 PM | Comments (0)

September 11, 2011

9/11, ME Newsletter, Vol. 4, Issue 37

I have so many fun and good things to tell you about: cats and plans…

But last Thursday night, I found something that changed my course for this week. In a box, the same one in which I found some pictures I had thought lost was a stack of folded papers clipped together with a dull paper-clip. On top, was an email. I glanced over it quickly at first, and then stopped and started again. I checked the date and stopped breathing.

On September, 11, 2001, I was at work. Without a TV, and only getting occasional radio reports from co-worker’s who had desk radios, it took me a while to find out and figure out what was really going on. I remember swinging into crisis mode, sending off frantic email, trying to place calls that never went through. I couldn’t even get through to my husband, who was working just across the street from me. Traffic was lined up as far as the eye could see on the two lane road between us. Everyone was trying to get home to somewhere. We drove straight to the bank, took out as much cash as allowed. It was 7:00 PM by the time I was finally able to sit by a TV. I was in shock and shaking, but on September 11, 2001, the tears never came. We shifted from channel to channel hearing that, for our own good, much had been edited out as too graphic or too scary. In an uneasy way, I felt cheated by that. In a easier way, I now feel a bit blessed by the limited and filtered information.

The first email was from a friend in Massachusetts, “I am still coming to your wedding,” she wrote. “I am not afraid, and if the flight goes, I’ll be there!!!.” Second down was from a military friend stationed in Japan who reported, “In one sense we feel very grateful to be on a military installation where they have the capability to protect us. On the other hand, we feel like a target. As I told the children this morning as we sat in front of the TV, material things don’t matter when you’re facing eternity.” Third was from a friend in Ireland who wrote, “I don’t ever want to lose contact with you!” The fourth was written from New York City. “I was en-route to Midtown during the plane crashes and in the office for the rest of. I did not see, hear or feel anything. I can’t get over this. My father keeps telling me that my room at home is ready, if I want to return.” Next, from Georgia, was the note, “I’ve wanted to cry but the tears just aren’t coming yet. It’s all just so unbelievable.” And sixth, from New Jersey, “I’m fine. Thank you for checking up on me. I’m fine. My sister who works for the Fed Gov got home ok. God Bless and stay safe.”

Re-reading them now, I realize this: 10 years ago, within a short 24 hours of panic, grief, uncertainty, and email, my world suddenly became smaller; closer. In an unbelievably intimate way, from far away, we were able to let out our breath a little as we sent and received notes of assurance and gratitude.

Posted by jaselin at 05:01 PM | Comments (0)

September 05, 2011

The Fall, ME Newsletter, Vol. 4, Issue 36

Sunday; late day catnaps and a cup of cocoa. It’s the sort of barely sunny afternoon meant for blankets and nothing much, left wondering when the summer left, and thinking I’ll think about that later. I’m enjoying the sure-to-be short-lived success of two sleepers – no moaning, no rocket running – amazingly at peace within three feet of each other.

The big girl wakes up first, comes to nudge my leg and looks up at me in question. “Go for it,” I tell her. She pads a wide berth around the half hidden little guy, halting in wide eyed alarm as he sighs and stretches, only moving forward as he loses the fight to keep his exhausted kitten eyes open. Her purple, heart-shaped tag tinkles against her food dish. In less than a minute, she reappears from around the kitchen corner. She paths the same wide berth with carefully placed near-silent steps, quietly creeping along but without as much hesitation. Headed for her favorite sill, she detours a little to the right and gives me another nudge. I reward her with sweet talk and back scratches. Then she does what she always does - cuts our physical communication just a little shorter than I would like.

Not needing to gauge her launch, she lands with confident familiarity on the narrow ledge and strikes my favorite pose. It’s the one I’ve taken countless pictures of; black silhouette within a white frame, dignified and regal against today’s backdrop of cool green, rain enhanced, leaves. Head and ears tilted in different directions, she studies her tree, sharp eyed and watching.

Commenting precisely on the random breeze, “There it is,” she trills, as if I didn’t know. I answer her accurate melody with a half-breathed mutter. Reaching, resting her front feet on the arm of my chair, her golden emerald gaze comes in closer. Frank eyes blink twice at the sadness in mine. Satisfied with the scrutiny, she backs herself into my arms, and settles in true cat fasion. Slowly, as only an experienced feline can. Together now… we’re waiting, silently, for the fall.

Posted by jaselin at 09:16 PM | Comments (0)

September 01, 2011

Pre-Pre-Flight, ME Newsletter, Vol. 4 Issue 35.5

Fall means back to school. A mercurial time for me, it signals a time to begin preparing to learn. I suppose I’ll be learning a lot about myself in the next few weeks. Some of it before I even travel as I reclaim my love of the journey and the preparation. Both of which come with a bit of stress that I’d like to rename as a challenge; a challenge to my bravery, my determination and my deductive powers of reasoning. I guess I’ve gotten better at staying put. A dozen years in Michigan is the longest run in 32 years. Still, I can’t say I feel more rooted here than anywhere else; I can’t say I feel less rooted either. Complacency vs comfortableness?

Time to defy inertia. Time to start making calls, making arrangements, arm myself with research and knowledge in un-concrete forms, and use my imagination to thwart any foreseeable problems. It’s turned into a good time to arm myself with pens and notebooks, and a new phone which I am trying to master. Supposedly I can edit documents on it. So far, I haven’t figured out how, but I need to soon. Otherwise how will I send my newsletter from Ireland? Yes, that’s important to me. I’ve never missed a week, yet. 4 years worth of weekly announcements coming up in October; 5 years worth of widowhood coming up in October.

Posted by jaselin at 12:56 PM | Comments (0)

August 30, 2011

Impromptu, ME Newsletter, Vol. 4, Issue 35

I planned on getting the henna, but I hadn’t chosen where I would carry my transient art or even what it might be. That took a few page flips and about three minutes of decision making. As opposed to long term decisions, something in the short-term, non-permanence category affords me brief, joyful, self-permission for impromptu.

Unless of course, I have something else in mind: then I need to consider schedule implications. For me, creating reasonable schedules in advance lessens the stress of wondering when I will or can get things done. I had planned fun for Sunday, so all those normal Sunday assignments needed to be moved to other days. Half went to Saturday, some went to Monday and Tuesday.

Alas, another week’s list of tasks derailed Saturday afternoon and hasn’t gotten back on track, yet. To my immediate delight, Saturday must-do’s were delayed by a sudden kitten, and a case of long standing duo of puppies-love. Sunday was reworked because I had too much fun. Walking around the Renaissance Fair for seven hours negated the desire (and somewhat the ability) to proceed on schedule. Monday’s last minute call from a friend gladly piled everything forward into Tuesday and Wednesday. Until I realized that a well-loved writing group was being meeting on Tuesday.

Tomorrow is Wednesday. I’m already stacked and stretched with a fair amount of stress, feeling close to fracture. I can still accomplish the needs and goals I’m reaching for if I buckle down and get serious. I will attack four days worth of previously properly spaced achievables in preparation for my Thursday plan.

Even through all the self-torturous, guilt-ridden reworking, there is this most important revelation: I may not have conquered a list, but that I’ve thoroughly enjoyed impromptu. A beautiful unusual autumn-hued reminder catches my eye mid-task, reminding me of how I came about it. For a moment I indulged; for a short while I’ve colored my world and my hand. I appreciate and celebrate moments and memories spent and saved with friends and family, and how gloriously off-track I am!

Posted by jaselin at 10:43 PM | Comments (0)

August 23, 2011

Short, ME Newsletter, Vol. 4, Issue 34

I've just finished reading my first James Patterson book. Beach Road.

A short book, I’m not entirely sure it represents him or counts fully as a Patterson book since it’s a co-write. In any case, I loved it the style and the sheer complexity of writing the same story from different viewpoints. My original idea for the one self-horrifying horror story I wrote as a class project centered about a center-room fire place and four points of view. The characters would all be the same person in the end, but it was too complex for the short-term story assignment I was working on, and I couldn’t quite imagine how I could make that work in any short-story way that would make sense. I appreciate Patterson’s novel demonstration that it could work. I’d still like to try that someday.

The other thing I absolutely loved about Beach Road was that it did not have a happy ending. At first I wasn’t sure why I was so excited about that, then it occurred to me I’ve only been reading books with happy endings. Sure these softly written, un-intellectual books have fair amounts of self-identifying angst, unsureity, and betrayal, but in the end, the stories all wrap up nicely and happily ever after for the usually unlikely heroine and her somewhat of a price uncharming. Ridiculous, yet addicting in short order. Drivel, really... still an ok occasional route for escapism, because happy endings are the exception rather than the norm. I can’t really accept the fact that my opportunity for that type of happy ending is past. Of course, life isn’t really about those types of happy endings, anyway. It’s more about the promise of heaven. Yet, in this suddenly capsized moment, that usual comfort seems to fall a little short; and does absolutely nothing to dissuade an irascible, inevitable, and entirely disappointing, rain of tears. Which, of course, I plan on shorting, shortly...

Dear friend, I am praying that all is well with you... 3 John 1:2

Posted by jaselin at 09:05 PM | Comments (0)

August 15, 2011

Hollow, Echoing, ME Newsletter, Vol. 4, Issue 33

Far apart and scattered or close enough to hug, we need to remember to use our common ground as a supportive shield.

When in doubt, when depressed, it is up to us to rally our friends to lend us their armor.
It’s up to us to ask for help protecting us from ourselves.

We need to pull out sticky-note memories of warm words and meaningful hugs, post them on our bathroom mirror and arm ourselves everyday with the knowledge that we have been given the gift of a very real fellowship.

We can’t expect any one of us to be the anchor all the time.
We must remember to look outside ourselves frequently and consistently and give of our hearts for random, non-urgent reasons as well as in times of crises.

When we feel alone and checked out, we must take responsibility for checking ourselves back in; we must take responsibility for checking on our sisters and our brothers as we live in this life.

Unless we ask for help, being alone will always be the hollow, echoing answer.
Unless we offer help, being alone will always be the hollow, echoing answer.

Posted by jaselin at 08:38 PM | Comments (0)

August 10, 2011

Reunion Conclusion, ME Newsletter, Vol. 4, Issue 32

It’s been a week since I’ve been in the awesome presence of long-ago, well-chosen, keepers of an inner circle whom I love. I’ve been silently going over the moments, reliving our stories sprouted from common roots: where we began, where we went to, where we worked. Some of our paths are similar, some are not, but our common strength is astounding. No matter what challenges we have faced, we are still standing. We continue on, we question, we seek, we rework. We all serve our LORD in our own way, and support each other in our service. We’ve all been through at least one significant something, some are still in the going-through process. We all see clearly that the good things in our lives would not be if it weren’t for the bad things, as well. When we analyze what we have, compared to what we lost or what we wanted that we never got, we smile because we know we’ve come out on the good side of things.

When I think of each of you, one thing keeps swelling to the surface: admiration.

Admiration for the one who was inspired by another to civic duty, the one who refused to compromise for another moment, the single mothers who work hard to make their children’s lives better, the ones who demand their integrity remain intact no matter what, the ones facing joblessness who still find time and resources to organize benefits and volunteer, the ones whose roads took a path they never would have imagined yet stand smiling where they are, the ones who’ve had to adapt, the ones who’ve had to outright change, the ones who have taken on challenges out of love and willingly had our hearts broken for it, the ones who found happiness the second time through, for all of us who are comfortable in our skins, pleased that we’ve made it this far. With sincere approbation I offer thanks to and for the ones who orchestrated our divergent paths into comfortable convergence for a short weekend that, should we never meet again, will last for the rest of our lifetime.

Posted by jaselin at 05:00 PM | Comments (0)

July 31, 2011

Preunion Jitters, ME Newsletter, Vol. 4, Issue 31

Jitters. I’m restless, agitated, transmitting slightly off center, not sure if I’m early or late. I thought I was happy with myself. Where do these insecurities come from? They sabotage the excitement, make me want to stay away. I’m nervous those I want to see won’t want to see me. Small talk isn’t my forte. Large groups are intimidating. So many reasons to keep to myself; did I really come this far to fall out now?

I used to go to parties because I was horribly afraid of what I would be missing. I rarely enjoyed them, but believed they were necessary to my happiness, and to my career. I would loath getting ready, feel uncomfortable upon arriving. I would make sure I was seen, always with a smile on my face. I was constantly on the look out for the right moment to slip away quietly. Without fail I would beat myself up after getting home over my awkwardness, my inability to make small talk, my propensity not to care about gossip, nonsense or getting drunk. I'd keep going, though. Each time, holding out as long as I could. Each time, it never failed that all of the good stuff happened after I left, anyway. All of these things point to a long standing reluctance to attend large gatherings.

But tonight will be different. I will not make myself any promises. I will not make promises to any others. I will not expect anyone else to be responsible for my happiness. I will not put pressure on myself to have fun. I will let every experience be exactly what it is, and analyze it later. I will follow and take each situation at face value. I have an escape plan. I hope I won’t need one, but I probably will. I’m sure the bar has a cab service to call when I reach that inevitable moment when I decide that I am done.

Well, then. It appears that it is possible to plan not to plan.
It’s surely shaky ground, but I do believe I have perfected the art.

Posted by jaselin at 04:23 PM | Comments (0)

July 26, 2011

Bacon Syrup, ME Newsletter, Vol. 4, Issue 30

You know those cute bottles of flavored syrups you see on coffee shop counters? The type you can purchase at specialty markets to add uniqueness to your home brew? Well, the other day I discovered another exciting indication that once again (yes, this is bragging) I am ahead of the “norm” curve.

You already knew this though. My love for bacon dust, bacon salt and bacon popcorn, and well.. just plain old thick cut or thin cut, maple or smoke flavored, well-done, super crispy bacon isn’t a secret. The fact that I heard a rumor about, and searched tirelessly for six months for, a bacon chocolate bar, proved fruitful. And yes, kids, if you can find it in a store it means that there is a market for it. I may not know my fellow unusual gourmets, but they’re obviously out there.

And just in case you’re thinking I’m kind of out there, too, I not so humbly present this irrefutable evidence:

World Market made another one of my gourmet dreams come true last week. Right there, in the most obvious path a customer could walk, was a small stack of boxes crowned with a neat little row of brown glass bottles. It took a double take to totally believe what was on the label. Sunglasses came off – bifocals no where to be found. Even though, there was no mistaking the bold lettering. There in the center isle, a gourmet siren song reeled me in. Torani Bacon Syrup…

My fellow seeker of gourmet wrinkled her brows and startled out, “OMG! What would you use THAT for?
My already salivating mouth shot back with uninhibited enthusiasm, “OMG! What would you NOT use it for?”

To pay homage to this truly no-marketing-necessary treasure, I will give you a glimpse into my Willy Wonka world of possibilities. The bottle suggests adding it to coffee –I find this use completely unacceptable. Yuck - not my idea of a good thing.

The tamest, most obvious and probably most easily acceptable idea, would be a sweet dollop or two on pancakes. Or crispy malt waffles. Somehow syrup always touches your bacon, anyway. Just admit it - it tastes good!

How about drizzled over fresh cornbread or biscuits? I’m planning to use my Pampered Chef spritzer to rocket mist the delectable stuff over popcorn and to spray dust a sticky soon to be caramelized surface over quartered Yukon Gold potatoes. I might even try my hand @ making candy bacon caramels coated in concoction of confectioner’s sugar and bacon dust, and wrapped in plain white waxed paper. Those might go over well at Cracker Barrel.

Add a little tomato paste for a sweet salty smoky sauce with a fresh ground black pepper or cayenne kick. How about bananas foster ala Elvis – bananas, bacon syrup & peanut butter? It could also easily be that extra secret ingredient in a crock pot of family reunion cocktail weenies or Superbowl worthy meatballs. Cream some into butter for an orgasmic yeast roll or bagel spread. No doubt good to glaze grilled salmon or shrimp or corn on the cob with. Whip into cream cheese with a little lump crab for a stupendous stuffed jalapeno!

Oatmeal would go down smoothly with a handful of chocolate chips and a tablespoon of bacon syrup. Oh, oh, oh! Grits. Mm, hmmm. Grits, I say! Shortbread! Oh, yes, buttery, sweet, bacon-y crumbly heaven with a thumbprint of raspberry jam on top! Sweet tea? Uh, nope, maybe not…kind of the same unhappiness as coffee.

Yep, yep, yep! Bacon flavor without the fat, what’s not to love?
Feel free to chime in, send recipes….

Posted by jaselin at 08:19 PM | Comments (0)

July 18, 2011

Regarding Reunions, ME Newsletter, Vol. 4, Issue 29

Regarding Reunions:

Just so you know… I plan on arriving as I am. Blonde highlights and blue feathers, diamond nose stud, an unusually healthy glow on my usually pale skin, pedicured, manicured, tattooed by life and talented hands, overweight but minus 100 # you would have been shocked to see, about to turn my life’s odometer over to 48 years travelled, and really, really excited to see you. I’m pretty much the same, with a lifetime of experience behind me. You’ll ask me if I’m happy, and I’ll answer honestly: not really. I am mostly peaceful, though. Some things turned out worse than I ever imagined, and some things - the best way they could. I’ll try to explain as briefly as I can; 4 states, 4 paths, 31 years of memories filtered into highlights and lowlights. You’ll never meet the man I married, but you’ll see him in me. I’ll tell you stories that will make you laugh. I’ll share the brilliant glimpses of his influence, and our mutual promise that I would continue on, seeking love and knowledge. I’ll try not to cry on when I see you, throughout our short, super condensed time or at departure, but I’m not making any guarantees. I’ll hug you as tightly as I can, for as long as I can, and then hold that memory for the rest of this lifetime. GOD knows when we’ll meet again… and GOD knows when we’ll meet again

Posted by jaselin at 11:31 AM | Comments (0)

July 12, 2011

Over-Crowded, ME Newsletter, Vol. 4, Issue 28

If you don’t ask, the answer is always no.

I’ve always preferred the personal daydream of a maybe to the unhappiness of a solid no.
Complacency has its place, especially in a life where things have honestly been worse. Still… tip-toeing around non-completed dreams in tenuous stilettos doesn’t compare to easy bare-footed dancing on navy polished toenails. It’s like looking down to see the midnight sky – my favorite shade of blue. It’s the opposite of what you might expect me to do.

I like it when people question me. It makes me think about myself in different terms. It provides us both with factual informational answers; the kinds that go a long way toward defining me in no uncertain terms and alleviating misjudgments and rumors. The only way to ensure an accurate answer is to query the source.

There are however, questions I am holding onto. Tight in my fisted palm, seeping through my skin, pulsing through my veins, they over-crowd my sensitive heart. I only amuse myself with the illusion of their privacy. Even our unspoken questions are heard, held safe in HIS hands, until we are ready to let them go. Until we believe the answers will be the right ones, and stop being afraid that they may not be ones we want to hear, we cannot move forward. And neither can I.

Posted by jaselin at 07:52 PM | Comments (0)

July 05, 2011

Losing the Battle, ME Newsletter, Vol. 4, Issue 27

The other day a friend posted this non-cryptic notice:
"I lost the battle and no longer care about the war."

Of course my first thought was, "Don't Give Up!"
But my second and third thoughts were these...

Losing a battle is usually preceded by a struggle, singly aimed towards a goal or a desire. Maybe if you lose a battle, it is only because the war doesn't need to be won. Or maybe you’ve just engaged in the wrong war. Maybe we’re fighting for something that, even won, will not lead us to where we need to be. Struggles make us who we are. They open our eyes to the possibilities of what if? But, consider: if we’re continually thwarted in our pursuit, we need to stop and consider why. Perhaps the crusade is a wasted effort, an incorrect approach or not the most reliable way to where we need to be. Why go the long, hard way around? Sometimes losses are really shortcuts to our wins. Quitting an awkward path when you lose a battle may just be the right thing to do.

Losing the battle is not the end, because a battle is but a small thing. Much as a verse is but a part of the Bible. The war of righteousness, the war of love, the war for peace within you as well as around you – these holy wars cannot be wholly won by conquering a single battle or line, verse or chapter. It’s a big book and a long read. Sometimes, it’s best to start at the end, and work your way backwards. Take the opportunity to redirect yourself. Find more realistic ways to achieve your always attainable goals. Be happy with yourself where you are, the way you are, and let the war fall away. If you can say you know GOD’s promises, if you believe, then you can win from exactly where you are.

Posted by jaselin at 07:59 PM | Comments (0)

June 28, 2011

Replanting, ME Newsletter, Vol.4, Issue 26

Six days off work and nothing on my perpetual list of things to do was done. Well, nothing from the long list of task accomplishments I keep. It only took me two days to wean myself off the pain meds. I didn’t know I liked it better on them until I was through with them. Anesthesia and mind altering drugs are a powerful combination. My world became even smaller for a short period of time. I didn’t care as much about being alone. Of course, I would have said I didn’t care about it all before my surgery. But now I know better.

The pepper plants I thought were started too much late turned into pale green sprouts. Uprooting the natural bed where seeds were randomly and not purposefully planted isn’t easy. I worry about separating the seedlings, knowing some of them have only survived because of the shelter provided by the stronger ones, Yet, they’ve all been working to bring their heads out of the dirt, and toward the sunshine despite the fact that it’s been missing from Michigan since February, it seems.

Two packets not carefully sown into to two little six-inch containers; I truly didn’t have much faith, but two weeks ago I set them on the balcony anyway. They surprised me today, after a week away from my life. Thirty or more little lives on autopilot. It never ceases to amaze me inch how dried pieces of former life rejuvenate. I know they won’t survive the haphazard way I sprinkled the seed into the pots. Tight groupings don’t allow for growth. So, even though I just finished polishing my nails, and its 7:00 pm, I’m glad I over-bought bagged soil. So, they’re still in the same space but in a different place.

Scattered in a roomier one-by-three flower box, they look even more delicate. Environmental shock is hard for even the hardiest to handle. But then, our heartiness is what makes us keep growing even when we don’t like where we’re planted; even when conditions are less than ideal. I have a three-tiered wire pot stand I’ve placed over the seedling. I imagine when they grow tall enough, I could help them stay strong by weaving them through the wires for additional support. And yes, I know for a fact that some won’t make it.

Replanting means shedding weaker roots. They’ll be the ones better let go, just like our weakest parts. It’s painful to watch them wither, but it seems clear that we’re meant to step away from them. Keep them from sucking up resources, and in return giving ourselves more space. Seeking GOD isn’t always an upward motion. Sometimes you’ve got to give into the firm anchorage of your strongest convictions. Throw away the weak offshoots. Allow your good roots to run deeper.

Posted by jaselin at 06:09 PM | Comments (0)

June 14, 2011

Proportion, ME Newsletter, Vol. 4, Issue 24

Did you ever have the feeling that your life would be easier if you didn’t have one?
I mean one not full of obligations and chores and others’ expectations?

Asking me to predict how I am going to feel at any time or regarding any matter (emotionally or physically) is completely pointless. I don’t know how I’m going to feel one minute from now. Trust me; it’ll be just as much a surprise to me as it will be to you.

In my current state-of-mind, I’ve become a bit skeptical of the appropriateness of the saying, “GOD never gives us more than we can handle.” I swear, sometimes it’s like my name is on the list twice, or three times. Maybe that’s because women change their names when they marry, or maybe it’s because I chose another name for myself for a decade and a few more years. Makes sense, doesn’t it? There must be some sort of heavenly clerical bookkeeping programming error. I can’t think of any other reason why it seems I’m continual heaped upon.

Fair warning: cranky-meter is registering a solid 10. So, don’t even consider starting in on me with that “stress builds character” nonsense. If that’s the case, than I’m a freakin’ skyscraper of character: built up to top-heavy near toppling-over proportions. With that in mind, there is something to be said for keeping everything in proportion. So, perhaps, in a few days, when surgery is complete and I’m resting (hopefully obliviously), I’ll be better able to consider thinking about how I might be thinking about feeling… someday. I have a feeling though, that’s not what I’m going to be thinking. Anybody have any thoughts on this?

Posted by jaselin at 08:37 PM | Comments (0)

June 06, 2011

Squinting, ME Newsletter, Vol. 4, Issue 23

Patience is a virtue.

Sometimes it’s one of mine. I can wait. Weighing choices, delaying decisions; these things take patience. Which means, according to logic of my world, procrastination must be a virtue, too.

Sometimes, though, it’s not one of mine. Like when I’ve finally made a decision, mapped out a future. Unpredictably, like the stair cases at Hogwart’s, the patterns of my life shift around me, delivering me into unfamiliar territory. That’s when all my virtue tends to disappear.

It flies away completely, leaving only the residue of foot stomps on my trampled angry heart. I scrutinize my world through squinted vision, trying to narrow the source, trying to pinpoint the answer. I only surmise, through experience, squinting gives me a headache.

So, a short stagnation, it has to be. I won’t tolerate much more delay. I’ll react and rebel if my decisions are uprooted by this tornado of events. I won’t allow them to be tossed into the recycle pile. “Someday” has to be coming soon. Probably not entirely on my terms - nothing ever really is anyway. So, I’d best remember that. I’ll stay in the game for now, waiting to see how it all plays out before I decide to test the water again. Before I spring back into action.

Posted by jaselin at 08:08 PM | Comments (0)

May 31, 2011

Gall, ME Newsletter, Vol. 4, Issue 22

I suppose the best way to characterize my present mood would be agitated; angry, galled, if you will.

After four years of not making any plans, I might have gone a little overboard. I’ve almost over booked myself, but thought my well thought out plan would be manageable: NY, NJ, CT one week in July, Ireland in September, and then Hawaii in October.

However, it appears my gallbladder has some traveling plans of its own. I’ve been having some serious trouble eating since about mid-April. In true hind sight, it appears to have been starting to act up in November. On Thanksgiving, to be exact – it appeared that I’d over eaten. Nowadays, a yogurt consumed over the course of an hour or more has the same painful result.

The thing that really makes me mad is that I have been fine tuning the machine that is my body for four years now. I have beaten Diabetes with diet and exercise, for now. Someday, I’m sure the need for medication will arise. My cholesterols, both of them, are well within goal range. Even though I didn’t indulge regularly, I gave up drive-through fast food for lent. I still haven’t stopped for a value meal since. I don’t miss bread as much as I thought I would. I had the urge for a toasted bagel with cream cheese about a month ago, and was sadly disappointed with the experience. It didn’t taste that great and it caused a great deal of pain.

So, when will I fit this little detour in? June would be perfect, but I’m not even scheduled to see the surgeon until June 9th. I was told not to “tough it out” and to take myself to the emergency room if I got much worse. But I think I’d rather go with a solid referral than take whomever happens to be on-call. So, perhaps August? Might make my July trip less fun. The truth of the matter is that will succumb to whatever date is available. It’ll suck up about two weeks of my vacation time, so maybe this isn’t the year for Hawaii even though that is a mostly free trip.

So, the situation galls me, chafes my heart, riles my stomach, and puts an even deeper damper on my way low vitamin D attitude. Of course, I’ll trudge through to the responsible outcome. Of course, I’m gonna try not to compromise any of my commitments. Of course, I’ll let you know how this all works out.

Posted by jaselin at 07:42 PM | Comments (0)

May 24, 2011

Do/Don't, ME Newsletter, Vol. 4 Issue 21

Sometimes, the best compliments come from people who you don’t think really know you.
Sometimes, they’re the one that see you most clearly and are ready to best define you in a short sentence or two.

These sort of compliments can be ugly, though. It has to do with things you don’t think people see. For the most part, I think I make a pretty good actress. Then someone shoots that down with an errant, bulls-eye accurate comment. That’s what I think scares me the most. I tend to take it for granted that people won’t see through me. I also tend to release those who can. I don’t want that, or do I?

Of course I want to go back, but that’s not an option, is it? Going forward isn’t an actual choice, either. I’m just doing what needs to be done and what has to be done. I thought I could help push this along a little, but it feels wrong. I can’t force it by leaps and bounds. The good news I can see what I think I want. And I think it’s going to disappoint a lot of people.

I said it out loud about two months ago. At a funeral of all places, someone turned to me and said, “Your mother really hoped you’d meet someone.” “Really,” I asked. “She wanted me to go through all THIS again?” See, it’s those things you say without thinking that are the most revealing. Of course the response was “You don’t mean that.” I do, or don’t I?

It’s difficult to have and to hold specific expectations, and even more difficult to expect nothing. Where’s the drive for dreaming? Long gone. I off loaded that baggage a while ago, in Kentucky, I think, on the road home to Michigan. Bills to pay, work to be done, projects to be finished so no one else has to do them for me, or clean up after me. Everyday chores and obligations have been enough to fill my day, and my night, and all my time because no one else does. Another weekend of driving and a random grab for a bunch of cd’s before I left home gave me something to consider. I stumbled across a lyrical truth courtesy of Lifehouse. I’ve listened to this song and sung along hundreds of times and saw no pertinence to me or my life, until now.

“Every time I reach for you there’s no one there to hold on to,
nothing left for me to miss. I’m letting go of this.
I want to breathe in a new beginning, with someone who
will wrap their arms around what’s left of me.”

I don’t wish I could feel this way. I just wish I could admit that I do.

Posted by jaselin at 10:19 AM | Comments (0)

May 17, 2011

Gun Shy, ME Newsletter, Vol. 4, Issue 20

Sometimes it’s just nice to know you still got it. Take last Saturday for example. Can’t remember the last time I sighted a shot. Maybe 1974, or possibly 1975. But the gun felt good in my hands, familiar on my shoulder, and it seemed like it was just yesterday. 10 Yards to the tin can - pegged it on the first shot. “That’s good for me. I’m done!” I announced handing the rifle off to my brother. The boys went back to shooting off, aiming for the day’s record. Best of rounds target was a 4” diameter pole 15 yards out. A few rotations and 4 sets of hands later, I found my old Daisy BB Gun in my hands again. It took me 5 tries before the ping-tone announced that I nicked it, and then I called it quits again. It’s true; it was the gun I won a competition with, but the story, like most everything in my life holds a hidden twist.

I have a newsprint picture of my father coaching me at a shooting match. It wasn’t easy to get me into that contest. Brookfield Gun Club wasn’t keen on letting a girl in. But, my Dad stood up for me and there I was at my first meet. Nervous, I failed to hit the target at least half the time. When the first round elimination came up, I got the boot. As we walked away from the competition line, my father turned to me and said “You embarrassed me.” His disappointment in my performance and the announcement of how it reflected poorly on him was devastating. It was probably the first time I ever realized how my actions affected others’ opinions of my family. I hadn’t practiced enough. I hadn’t taken the time to sight. I was slow on reload and cocking.

For some reason I didn’t give up. I kept practicing and another event came around. I wanted to compete again. This time there was a girls’ class. It’s true I won, but I only had to beat two other competitors for that title, and they were as bad as I was the first year. I shot well, scored high, took in my father’s reserved nod of praise, and never competed again.

I’ve carried that picture around with me for a long, long time. I’ve had 38 years worth of occasionally looking at it; recalling the pain of failure and being the cause of my father’s embarrassment. I obviously never forgot those words, but in the long run they seem to have had a somewhat positive effect. I never start anything I don’t intend to see through. If I can say I did it, and did it well, I’m satisfied. I don’t always succeed on the first try, but I make damn sure I do on the second effort. And then I quit while I’m still ahead.

Thinking about it now, I guess I’ve applied that notion to my love life, too. That explains my current non-relationship status. History says - I did that twice. The first time I really lost. The second, I won big-time. There’s no guarantee that the next match will find me a winner, or that I’ll even hit a target. On the other hand, maybe it could be like picking up a gun again: familiar and fun. Have I reawakened the inner strength that always rises to challenge? I think so. Am I going to keep moving forward? I think so. After all, I've never been gun shy.

Posted by jaselin at 10:02 PM | Comments (0)

May 10, 2011

Model, ME Newsletter, Vol. 4, Issue 19

I used to be quite fond of Dale Earnhardt. He’s not exactly a nemesis now, but after two weekends of free-time loss due to re-inventorying collectibles, I’ve started to wonder. I came in on the tail end of Earnhardt’s NASCAR reign. I went to my first NASCAR race in 1998 courtesy of Pepsi. I still didn’t understand what all the fuss was about. But that was the weekend before I met my husband.

Not once or twice, but three times now, I’ve taken great care to catalog the collection currently in my possession. Spanning 15 years of deliberate and deliberated purchases, I’ve recorded pertinent details. I’ve logged information on small cars, larger cars, huge cars, mini cars, trading cards, playing cards, mugs, notebooks, note cards, pencils, yo-yo’s, dinner wear, phones, radios, walkie talkies, games, books, china plates, ceramic figurines, Coca Cola machine covers, full bottles and cans of Coca Cola, candy and dolls. (Oops on the “doll” word – please substitute “Action Figures.”) Hundreds of items later, I am more familiar with the slight differences between the 1998 and 1999 #3 Goodwrench Service Plus Monte Carlo stock cars The Intimidator drove.

With the bulk of items accounted for, I’ve started on previously unaccounted for territory: posters, prints, lithographs and autographed photos. I’ve residually memorized the many angles and details of his face. I’ve silently self-remarked on his stoicism, and taken an extra-long look at the rare smiling photos.

Scattered on my floor is a multi-media, uniform portrayal of a man who really may only have existed on race day. By most photographic accounts the man was a fierce focused warrior. By most written accounts his heart was the size of every capacity filled speedway he ever drove. Therein lies some marketing genius.

Most of us work the opposite way. Happy, love filled in public; angry, sullen warriors within. We certainly sell our package, portraying ourselves in the best possible light of how we want to be. The problem is that we can’t market ourselves to GOD that way. There are no such things as hidden feelings. Maybe Jeff understood that about Mr. Earnhardt, the man he admired. I know he loved and embraced Earnhardt’s principle of quiet charity – doing for others without tax receipts or expecting kudos. I know he respected everyone’s right to privacy, and insisted on his own, but never once believed he was entitled to privacy from GOD.

No matter who someone is, or how close they can be to you, they will never see the complete picture of you the way GOD does. The corners where dark thoughts lurk, the pockets of envy, the cancerous growth of memories, compounded hurt: despicable, unspeakable things we never mention. If there were darker sides to Jeff, he never shared them with me. I don’t doubt that they were there, everyone has them. Perhaps his were just immature, or ill-formed, incomplete. Maybe that explains his fascination with the works of Stephen King – perhaps he truly had no dark corners and needed someone else’s to understand. Perhaps his corners were so deep, he found comfort there. I never asked him about the significance of the King library, so I’ll never know.

Jeff’s version of the history of his life was 99% positive, with an occasional rare disappointment casually thrown in, and quickly glossed over. Every good thing in his life was an unexpected treat, every bad thing just another temporary circumstance to weather until another good thing came along. I’ve come to realize I found my model for faith by following Jeff. Not through rigorous religious study, not through sermons or spiritual self-help books; I’ve done those things, too. Everything I’ve learned always leads me back to Jeff and the basic way he lived his life; un-intimidated by his GOD that knew him well inside and out – heart full-throttle, wide-open, just like Earnhardt in public on race day, and in private with GOD every day.

Posted by jaselin at 09:48 PM | Comments (0)

May 02, 2011

Patriotism, ME Newsletter, Vol. 4, Issue 18

The significance and the impact of the news hit me straight in the heart, just as it did nearly 10 years ago, on September 11, 2001.
From the fall of the World Trade Center towers to current events: Osama Bin Laden is dead.
Surely, I am not the only one whose thoughts drove straight to “retaliation?”
Surely, there are followers of the madman who hold the same quest – and in the name of their GOD believe they are justified in their actions.

The Times Square celebration has left me sad, and disappointed. This wasn’t a football game, or akin to winning the lottery in any sense. Jubilation is just not appropriate.

In the name of my GOD, I profess I will always consider myself a New Yorker at heart. The city enthralled me in my youth, called me back as a young adult, served me into adulthood, and became much of the basis for who I am today. I looked at those pictures carefully and thought of Bin Laden’s supporters dancing in the street when the towers fell, when planes crashed, when lives were lost. I’d much rather we accepted the news with quiet dignity instead of gloating arrogance.

Yes, it had to be done. Yes, it was justified. Yes, I am extremely proud and humbled by the military personnel in our country who have worked for years towards this achievement. I pray that peace has come to the families and loved one of the victims of September 11th. A heinous criminal is no longer in a position to continue the terror.

Patriotism lies in supporting your country, it’s objectives, it’s employees. It should not be about demanding “an eye for an eye” but should rather be grounded in preventing the potential loss of any other eye.

Perhaps if these words had been passed on fliers to the gathered celebrants; perhaps if these words had floated above the crowd on super large screens and tickers;

“I will mourn the loss of thousands of precious lives, but I will not rejoice in the death of one, not even an enemy. Returning hate for hate multiplies hate, adding deeper darkness to a night already devoid of stars. Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that." - Martin Luther King

Perhaps the demonstration would have been redirected towards respectful recognition of a mission accomplished; perhaps the world could have seen One Nation, Under GOD, intent on ensuring peace. Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps…

Posted by jaselin at 07:28 PM | Comments (0)

April 26, 2011

Gold, ME Newsletter, Vol. 4, Issue 17

Many times, most times, always; I have felt the overwhelming desire to change some one thing just so I know I’m still alive and in the game. I’ve felt restless, unfulfilled, without insightful direction. My current emotional twister has looped me back around to what on the surface seems like the same point I started out on four plus years ago. Still, it’s a little different: like a recurring dream with slight detail blurs. Some new clues catch my imagination, some old clues are clearer.

Two decades ago I had a firm list of achievements. A gold record was my pinnacle. The implication of reaching a pinnacle – the highest point of decoration – implies conclusion, fulfillment; nothing more to seek, to strive towards, or to yearn for. Then I earned one.

To quote Maya Angelou, “Achievement brings its own anticlimax.” Much along the line of other climaxes in our lives, accomplishments drive new perspectives. With near immediacy, we wonder what happens next. How soon we can do it again? How can we make it more spectacular? We hungrily plot to ride the pleasure wave longer. My logical succession was fairly easy, fairly fast: official name-in-ink album credits, scaling a double platinum summit, creating a viable production company. Each successful tick off my list sent me on the next goal. I neither appeased nor eased the lust.

It seems to me a common miss-notion that death is a glorious, streets-of-gold, end-all achievement. Merriam’s Dictionary defines achievement as: the act of achieving, accomplishment, a result gained by effort, a great heroic deed. In these terms, it becomes clear that our arrival at Heaven’s destination cannot be considered achievement. In gaining access, we are not required to make an effort or perform great heroic deeds. That was done for us. We are simply required to believe, which settles last week’s question. For myself, I redefine: Death is simply dying. Passing is eternal living. No measure of gold measures up to that.

Posted by jaselin at 04:52 PM | Comments (0)

April 19, 2011

17, ME Newsletter Vol 4, Issue 16

There are 17 unopened sympathy cards unsympathetically taking up space on my coffee table.

Staring them down over my bowl of supper, I realize it must be a sort of denial. I wish I could put a more solid explanation to it, but it’s rather vague to me still: I think I was finally coming out of my grief. I think I was finally getting to a point where I’d begun to lift my eyes and look around me.

It’s so much easier for me to be and remain introspective, but there is a world out there and I was thinking I wanted to be part of it. And then the cards started coming, precipitated by my mother’s death. Even as my pen finishes that last harsh word, I’m split-second analyzing it. Here’s what I decide: death differs from passing. They are not wholly interchangeable. But that’s a thesis for some other day.

Now I can say that there were 17 unopened sympathy cards. There are now 34 pieces: torn envelopes in one pile, flutter winged cards in another. Countless tears have run down my face. There are tears in my lap, tears on the back of my hand.

So close to the summit, I was looking forward to laying down my baggage. The bitter backhand of loss caught up with me and viciously slapped me down. Not quite all the way to the bottom, though not nearly half up the well-traveled stairclimb, either. Griefcase still firmly in hand, balanced on my stunned and motionless lap, I’m sure I’ll start to climb again. But not today. It’s just too soon.

Posted by jaselin at 04:39 PM | Comments (0)

April 13, 2011

Bubble, Part 2, ME Newsletter, Vol. 4, Issue 15

I pick up two still semi-connected parts of the wreckage and take one step forward. The back swings around, sliding another propped piece into the bookcase. It’s like time has suddenly decided to go in slow motion for a very agonizing five seconds. “No, No!” I yell. The furniture bits don’t listen. They topple whole heartedly into the bookcase which predictably lurches 10 degrees, bobbles back and then falls with a slam. Again. Either I truly have no neighbor below, or I am just blessed that she is at out at the moment. I viciously rip apart the two remain cheap slabs and move them away from the rubble.

Starting at the top of the pile, I move the other two broken boards against the wall. I raise the book case, and prop that up, as well. The printer seems to be fine, at first. Then I notice the missing panel. Of course it’s the one with the on-off button. And of course, it doesn’t seem to want to go back on. I get it sort of situated and just for fun, decide to hit the on button. The printer comes to life, and that’s a good sign. I struggle for a few minutes with various ways to reattach the board. It’s just not working. I’ll have to take off a piece of the housing. Then I notice a small little latch. Hmmm – hooray! The panel slides open, the electronic board slides back in, and reassembly is complete. I push the on button again, and nothing happens. So, I push it again and it sounds like the printer is shutting down. I push it again, because I’m ridiculous, I know… It turns on! I turn it back off with a self promise to check that it actually works later. I decide a break is in order. I switch the laundry from the washer to the dryer, and then sit down on the couch. It occurs to me this tale might be useful. I could devote an entire chapter to it in that book I want to write. You, know the one? The Young Widow’s Guide to Unusual Circumstances. I think I’ll call this chapter “Undo It Yourself Decorating.”

From my reporting position on the couch I notice the top of the standing pole reading lamp is listing oddly toward the center of the room. The base remains straight. I re-torture myself with a back-flash eyes still open mind movie of the incident. Yep, the book case is the culprit, but it seems the lamp saved the wall from having a huge hole smashed in it. There’s just a gentle gouge behind where I plan to place the bookcase. I slug a consoling cup of iced coffee back, and notice that Miss Fred is curled up against my seated leg. Aw, she looks so cute and sweet, but I’m about to be a meanie and disturb us both by returning to the surreal scene. I gotta see this through. In a perfect world, I’d be done by the time the dryer buzzer goes off. Then I could fold laundry, make dinner, and get back in my happy, dented bubble. Oh, shoot. There’s goes the dryer buzzer. The chicken’s still semi-frozen. I’m simultaneously hyped up on coffee and semi-fried. Guess I’d better get back at it if I plan to finish this escapade by nightfall.

Saturday, 6:38 pm.
I’ve just carried 4 slabs of sort-of wood down 12 steps. 4 times down, 4 times up. Finally, I can see the payoffs of tread milling. Been to the community dumpster and back. That was its own side-experience. I arrived at the same time as an SUV. A younger man emerged with a cigarette dangling lazily from his lips. He threw open the rear gate and began unloading milk crates full of wine bottles. The empties caught my attention in two ways. Once was because I had to carry my wreckage refuse around them. I did a double take trying to determine if there was any one particular type of wine, thinking maybe it was really good and I should try some. I carried another piece of laminated trash around the crates again. In a thick Russian accent, around his cigarette, the fella announced to me, “They’re not all from one weekend, you know!” He misinterpreted my alcoholic interest as judgment. “Too bad,” I thought. He looked like he might be a fun guy to party with. But, instead of saying that, I just laughed and replied, “Good to know, good to know.”

So, time’s flying and not in such a good way. However, chicken’s out of the oven, steak is out of the pan. Rice and veggies have been nuked. Dinner and work lunches for next week have been assembled or packed up. Laundry’s folded and mostly put away. Crisis contained. Thanks to my wonderful friends who keep reading my stories. Without you, I might not ever get anything done.

Posted by jaselin at 01:01 PM | Comments (0)

April 05, 2011

Bubble, Part 1, ME Newsletter, Vol. 4, Issue 14

Saturday: 2:45 pm
Time’s flying and not in such a good way either. I know I’m not really aware of what’s going on around me. I guess I’ve reactivated my protective bubble. It’s a little cloudy from the barrage of hard-shell deflective pinging lately. It’s hard to accomplish anything from in here. Bubbles don’t maneuver well and don’t facilitate projects. I jump out once in a while to do laundry, or cook, or clean the bathroom. But the moment I focus on my huge list of domino effect projects, I want to crawl back in. Today, I’m doing, laundry and cooking. I’ve done some five-minute sweeps, and I’ve made a brilliant small decision.

Today is the day I will swap the position of the office table and the office bookcase. Small decision = domino task. In order to move the table, I have to move everything under it. Then I have to move the other part of the table – the nested L-shaped part. Then I need to pull out the bookcase, which means finishing emptying it. Once that’s out, and my office is in complete disarray, I will slide the tall table down two feet, slide the L back into place, and replace the stored items. After that, I get to move the bookcase about four feet, and finally, I will replace those shelved items, as well. Sigh. It seems to me that as I feared this mini-task, has now turned monumental plan. However, since I intend to share this information in an upcoming newsletter, I feel impelled to accomplish it. Off I go. Unenthusiastically.

Saturday: 3:40 pm.
Well, that didn’t go as planned. Well, it did, up until about 10 minutes in when everything went disastrous. Really, how hard is it to move a few things and rearrange them? If you’re me, and you’re unenthusiastic, this is how it goes…

Stored stuff – moved. Book case – emptied, moved. Lift up on the big table to begin the 1 foot slide and “crack.” What was that? Oh, no. The ten year old chip-wood assemble-it-yourself desk table has lost its stability bar. Ok, then. Instead of trying to slide both tables at once, I’ll just pull out the smaller one. No big deal. I’m in progress and then “kabloom!” The other side of the stability bar drops. At least now I know for sure that the banging neighbor is no longer living below me. That’s good news for her, too. Because if she had wailed on the walls, I might have been tempted to wail back on her.

So, there I was, holding up the middle of the table because at the start of this mayhem I didn’t feel that the one-foot slide would require me to move everything off it. With no intention of loosening my grip, I shimmy down a foot or two. I logically decide to let go of the desk top and grab the printer. I figure the desk is a goner anyway, and I don’t really want to buy another printer anytime soon. The table actually remains standing. Quite a marvel. I gingerly place the printer on the top of the three shelf do-it-yourself book case. I realize it’s not a very stable piece either seeing as it’s sitting in the middle of the room now. However, I consider the next step and redesign my earlier plans. The printer will be fine for the minute or two it takes me to move the damaged pieces of the desk out of the way. Then I will be able to quickly slide the shorter leg against the wall, and easily transfer the printer.

To be continued….

Posted by jaselin at 07:01 AM | Comments (0)

March 29, 2011

Writing & Elvis Part 2, ME Newsletter, Vol. 4, Issue 13

erhaps, I should be a tad more specific. Elvis is a changed dog. A tiny matte-black Pomeranian, friends rescued him a few years, and he was pretty unhappy. The first time, and many times thereafter, he would snarl, and bark, and assume a threatening pose each time I re-introduced myself. But as I said earlier, he’s a changed dog. Today he comes right up to say hello, following on the heels of Henry who was first in line. Sweet Henry is another rescue. Blind in one eye, he was needfully displaced from his home along with his female companion, Lilly. But it’s Elvis who has changed.

Eager to greet me, he snoodles my palm, and licks my fingers as I extend them for him to verify. He is openly accepting of my back scratches, eventually rolling over. He exposes his short-haired wiry belly and keeps his eyes tightly shut. Now I am unsure, hesitantly rub his tummy. He remains there on the cool marble tile, stretching out his hind legs stiffly. Eyes still squeezed shut, he almost looks as if he is smiling. He lets me soothe and scratch and only moves again when I stop touching him. Yep, Elvis has changed.

It took a lot of work, much use of GOD given patience, and a lot of love. Sometimes, he still has nervous moments, but socially… well, it’s just amazing. Proving, of course, that you can teach an old dog new tricks, and that an old dog can teach us some as well. You’re never too old to learn to trust. Trust in GOD, and be amazed. The peace given in even the most troubled times, will amaze you. When you realize that you’ve found your way through the maze to a peaceful place, it’s amazing. With amazing grace, immersed in surroundings of sorrow, my heart is lifted up. So, it seems for the moment, this morning after my mother’s funeral, I’m ok enjoying the Floridian sunshine, drinking coffee on the lanai, and keeping company with Elvis.

Posted by jaselin at 09:40 PM | Comments (0)

March 21, 2011

Writing & Elvis Part 1, ME Newsletter, Vol. 4, Issue 12

I began taking a rather free-form class a few weeks ago. The premise is to exercise our writing skills with 10 and 30 minute free-writes. We started with lists –which you would think would be easy for me. More than once, I was stumped.

Some of the participants mentioned a routine of writing three free-write pages every morning. I thought it would make more sense to do that at night, after a day of events had passed. But that didn’t work out so well. My cramped writing fingers flustered along spewing row after row of complaints and negativity.

I reconsidered the morning pages, and perhaps making the exercise a devotional – a way to “positize” my day from the start. Truthfully, though the words whirled through my head, I never got them down on paper. It’s hard to do that in the shower, and by the time I got out, I’d be in GO mode. The good news is that I would also be in a more GOD mode. That’s something that I’ve truly needed these past few weeks.

Through the evening exercises, I noticed that I was unhappy. At least, I thought I was unhappy. I am now unhappier. Well, maybe that’s not accurate either. I have unhappier moments. Mostly, I am peaceful. At least, so far this morning I’m peaceful.

Whether I’m at peace with it all, or just at peace with the current GO mode, it’s hard to tell. So, I concentrate on the GOD mode. I’m ok enjoying the sunshine, drinking coffee, and keeping company with Elvis.

Posted by jaselin at 08:15 PM | Comments (0)

March 13, 2011

Reactive, ME Newsletter, Vol. 4, Issue 11

Here’s a secret: I’m working on my people skills.
Ok, now that you’re done laughing, let me rephrase; I’m working on my toleration skills, and trying to be more non-reactive. I’ve had a lot to react to lately. I’m not sure I’ve handled everything perfectly , but I’m sure I’ve handled not reacting better than I have in the past.

For instance, I have a neighbor. Everyone one has neighbors….
I mean I have a NEIGHBOR. The kind that makes you want to react, and for a while I did react. Badly. This neighbor thinks I drop too many things, that my 10 pound cat is a 100 pound Labrador, and floors should be as solid as Stonehenge and never squeak.

How do I know this? There’s the banging on my floor (their ceiling). It’s very consistent: three loud, rapid succession, slaps on the wall or ceiling. They get angrier as the weekend goes by. I cook. I clean. I walk around. I do laundry and open and close closets and drawers. I sometimes drop the slippery shampoo tube in the shower, or completely forget myself and tap a utensil on the side of a pot before placing it in the spoon holder.

I went through a tit-for-tat phase. A knock on the floor lead to a foot stomp. A slam on the wall lead to door and drawer slamming. Repeated offenses were met with prolonged vacuuming and longer than probably required use of the garbage disposal. I thought I felt good about this, showing my passive/aggressive displeasure with their unreasonable displeasure.

“Stand Back Up,” is a Sugarland song that you’ve probably never heard on the radio but I think it’s one of their best, stating, “You’ll know just the moment when I’ve had enough.” That day came for me back in November while I was cooking Thanksgiving dinner for one. I moved around too much. Bang, bang, bang. I wasn’t as quiet as a church mouse when I put the turkey in the oven. Bang, bang, bang. I put a glass lid on a glass casserole. Bang, bang, bang. I dropped a stirring spoon. Bang, bang, bang.

I threw up my unhappy, holiday lonely, frustrated hands, which caught the handle of the gravy pot on the way down. Yep, the pot came off the stove and hit the floor with a thud. BANG, BANG, BANG. That was my moment, I reacted. Stomp, stomp, stomp went my feet. Slam, slam, slam went the oven door. Bang, bang, bang went the mop. Stomp, stomp, stomp went my feet again on their way over to the living room vent where I dropped to all fours and yelled as loud as I possibly could into the slatted opening, “It’s an apartment! Get over it!” Immensely proud I am, of the fact the not a single explicative escaped my mouth.

However, since that episode and the following necessary self-reporting to the apartment office staff, I’ve begun to think of those song lyrics in different terms. Since then, I’ve used that line to keep myself in check many times. Especially, when I need to remind myself that I have not reached my toleration limit.

“Love they neighbor” keeps coming to mind. I wonder if the only thing that keeps my neighbor busy is banging. I feel pity for the constant anger they must be living in. If love includes pity, then I guess I am headed in the right direction.

It helps tremendously to know that the being with bat-like hearing below me will be moving at the end of this month. Now when the banging starts, I laugh. Sometimes out loud and extra loudly, but mostly to myself.

Posted by jaselin at 08:34 PM | Comments (0)

March 08, 2011

Determination, ME Newsletter, Vol. 4, Issue 10

I had a brief shining day of success a few weeks ago. Everything was going well. I felt… optimistic. It is after all the Year of the Rabbit. Happy with my job, feeling great, loving my neighborhood., travel plans arranged…

The emergency room trip took a bite out of that balloon and left me … deflated.

The expense of the episode, doctor office follow ups, prescription expenses and losing about a week of my life, has rearranged things a bit.

For me, physical and mental well-being are tied together. I’m struggling to rise to my former self. Wet melancholy is not my favorite place to be, but at least I recognize it’s where I am at the moment. No matter how hard I shake, it will not roll off. It’s not usually this difficult to pull myself out of the pity-pool and towel off. Why is it harder this time? I don’t know. I could guess, but I don’t want to.

All I know is that I’m not happy to compromise any of my plans for this year. I’ll accept a compromised level of unhealthy stress to avoid consuming disappointment. My plate’s been full of that, and I’m very tired of it. So, I’ll struggle through the next few months until I have some of my life under control.

I’m a little afraid of optimism, and euphoria. They’ve always let me down. Now though, I have a store of self-righteous inspired anger and dogged pit-bull determination. Nothing and no one will take away my plans. I’ll have to work harder at everything. But I’m going to make it work. All of it; not just parts. That’s not optimism – that’s determination.

Posted by jaselin at 10:33 PM | Comments (0)

February 28, 2011

Duet, ME Newsletter, Vol. 4, Issue 9

A mildly famous fellow named Justin Currie posted a clip of the music box doll scene from Chitty Chitty Bang Bang, with the following notation: “I love this part where the actor and actress sang a duet in front of their unlikely audience. It's romantic in the sense that both are deeply in love with each other but somehow faintly deny their feelings.”

That couldn’t be and farther from my long-held interpretation. Growing up, I repeatedly found it to be one of the most stressful parts of the movie. I could all too well feel the stress of having to play a charade in front of people who despise that which you love – in this case, the children, of course. To be in the throes of a mission, just to find time must be wasted playing out the charade-istic method used to position themselves as saviors was breathtakingly horrifying to me.

The impending danger to the rescuers made me unbearably tense. Throughout the years, I completely missed the real duet, the way the words counteracted each other, how each felt restricted in their own way, yet one chose to give an account of their restriction and one chose to give an account of their longing. The problems are the same, but the focus, the way each approached the issue – was at odds. So, in the melody of the moment, the common goal close at hand, the characters find a way to let each other know: “I think there’s something more to this.”

I think there’s something more to this:
Our perspective controls our output. Our mindset controls our wellbeing. Our receptivity controls the informational flow. If we’re feeling uninformed, perhaps it’s because we refuse to take in what is not clearly in our forward sight. We miss those alongside us, the parallel riders whose visions are shifted based on the rut they occupy. Even on the same road perspectives differ slightly, dependent on the fraction of space between us. It is physically and mathematically impossible for two people to see an exact visionary duplicate. Similarities are what we must learn to identify with.

Just because we’re talking over each other, doesn’t mean we are not in accord.
Sometimes we are saying the same thing, just in a different way.
And, not so surprisingly, that’s exactly what it takes to make beautiful music.

Posted by jaselin at 08:03 PM | Comments (0)

February 22, 2011

Sugar Boil, ME Newsletter, Vol. 4, Issue 8

“Don’t want to discuss it
I think it’s time for a change
You may get disgusted
And start thinking that I’m strange
In that case I’ll go underground
Get some heavy rest
Never have to worry
About what is worst and what is best...” (Domino: Van Morrison)

I was not put in this earth to save anybody. That’s not my job. And it’s not yours either. No unearthly angels among us. We are earth bound doubters and sinners, sometimes lost, sometimes found, almost always directionally impaired. Not the sort of people you’d expect to be on GOD’s steering committee, but that’s our position. That’s where we sit, or stand, or walk the line, or walk away.

Not so long ago, I made a very flippant sarcastic remark, in response to what I considered a fairytale-esque unreality based statement about “what-should- happen” within a scenario that has time and again proven it would not be the case. I responded incredulously: “Do you even hear yourself?”

The reaction I received shocked me as much as the retort shocked the other person. On the receiving end it was interpreted as, “Don’t be stupid!” On the giving end, it was meant to be a lighthearted, “Let’s consider that pathway dead, and find a more reasonable expectation.”

Given some of the situations I’ve been witness and party to recently, I’ve stepped back a bit. I’ve begun silently asking myself that same question a lot more frequently. It does give me pause and causes me to think a nanosecond more before I speak. Mentally biting my tongue is making me a whole lot quieter. Being quieter leads to exaggerated introspection, and some speculative outer observations. Here is what I’ve deduced:

There are some who are just not happy. They do not want you to be happy. They don’t want anyone to be happy. And if you’re happy, it becomes their goal to change that. As believers, we assume it comes to fall on our shoulders to resolve conflictive issues. I don’t believe that’s really our role. We are not qualified and cannot be mediators between these people and GOD. All we can do is steer our own thoughts and actions to better places, lead by example, pray, and hope that they will follow.

Even within our limitations, we can surely derail the negativity. Pull out your bravery. Become a stop-gap. Redirect. Fight back with a sudden compliment. Sincerely compliment something: an outfit, a hairdo, anything you can find to like about that person at the very moment they are being the most hateful and destructive to your happiness or others’ happiness. Put some sugar in that boil. Turn up the heat to high-crack temp. Perhaps with persistence we’ll all end up enjoying some sweet-life, ego-dissolving, soothing, soul-resolving candy.

Posted by jaselin at 05:44 PM | Comments (0)

February 14, 2011

Soulless to Soulful, ME Newsletter, Vol. 4, Issue 7

Humor is a veil, and sometimes it gets a little hard to breathe under mine. It’s also a protective shield that deflects others from the intent of going deeper. I’ve given myself a little more leeway that I probably should have with the sarcasm shield. I enjoy it, though. Having to dig for the spin from tragic to trippy is a challenge. I exercise my mind a lot; trying to see around my metaphoric road block. I’ve heard enough that it doesn’t go away. As you move along, it diminishes. Every time you turn back to the way from which you came, it’ll be there just as big and ugly as when it landed in your path. Of course, you’ll go around it. It may not seem like that now, but you will. You might not notice that shift right away. You’ll spend a lot of time maneuvering in its shadow. Then one day, it will be beside you instead of in front. That’s when the decision has to be made. Stand in the at-best momentary warmth of the sun knowing that it won’t always be that way; clouds will come and go. Retreat to the at-worst constant shadow of coldness where life doesn’t change much, but your back is always reliably covered by what it’s flattened up against. The decision is always eventually made; it’s just that timing rules the court. It holds us back or propels us forward. Timing is what drives us from soulless to soulful. For some passing time is counted by continuing little claw scrapes, love bites. For others, it’s a proverbial bandage ripped from the anchoring (erroneously-presumed) stable flesh surrounding our shredded hearts. You can cry. Or you can laugh. I choose to laugh. I laugh because I understand some things I couldn’t comprehend before; it’s the only way to keep sanity in the shadows. I laugh to best demonstrate a sadly acquired knowledge: Humor is a greater teacher and a better companion than melancholy. I should know. I learned from the best.

Posted by jaselin at 07:36 PM | Comments (0)

February 08, 2011

Ambulances, H2O, FM, ME Newsletter Vol. 4, Issue 6

I took my very first ambulance ride Sunday night, well… technically Monday morning. Wasn’t at all as I imagined. Certainly wasn’t a mellow sedan-like cruise, only bare brass cube-truck suspension with a lot of equipment and bright white ceilings. And two very nice techs.

I never really cared much for water. Now, I’m pretty sure it’s my enemy – a necessary evil. In an effort to comply with healthy standards, and to see if hydration eases fibromyalgia, since December I have been attempting to get down those eight required glasses a day. I never managed it. Five was always my tops. And I started to feel horrible. Bloated hands and feet, sloshy stomach, frequent bathroom breaks, interrupted sleep for more bathroom breaks. I eventually slowed that effort down and resumed my normal liquid intake per day. Most days, I could handle three; some days I know I barely got one in.

The physiology of fibromyalgia is linked to dehydration, at least that what a majority of studies indicate. The trigger points on the muscles are not sufficiently lubricated, so when they contract, they stay that way. Tense, never relaxed. The best way to describe how FM feels is this: imagine the worst bruise you ever had, and then imagine putting extreme pressure on it. Now, imagine your entire body feels that pain, all the time, constantly. I’ve learned to tune it out. Massage helps if you can stand the pain. I’m pretty good with pain: tattooing, piercing, living with FM since I was 11 years old.

Ambulance stats: blood glucose 176, BP +10 upper and lower, O2 sats way down. Started an IV, put me on oxygen. In the ER, heart rate was a little high – pain related, and white cell count was slightly elevated. The hospital discharge paperwork says “acute myalgia.”

Three bags if IV fluid, two dilaudid injections later, I was finally able to stop crying, and collapse into a sort of sleepy state. I kept hearing myself saying, “shit, shit, shit… ow, ow, ow.”. I confused and amused the emergency room caretakers when describing my pain levels. Like a shark gnawing on my legs. Like an anaconda wrapped around my chest. Like my arms are being ripped from my body. Like there’s an expanding balloon inside my head and I think it’s going to blow my eyeballs out. My kidneys were hurting, bad. Every organ is a muscle. Fibromyalgia is an equal opportunity muscle attacker.

After the second IV bag, I druggedly pushed the call button. I had to pee, thank GOD. A chest xray showed no pneumonia. Lungs are muscles, too, and people with FM often get pneumonia when those muscles seize up.

In at 1:00 am, out at 7:00 am, it’s now 2:00 pm and I am able to sit up at home. Here I am, with orders: 800 mg of Motrin every six hours. That’s a max dose, and not the first time I’ve had to go that high. Eventually, I’ll wean myself down to 600 twice a day. They sent me home with Vicodin for pain, which I won’t take unless I need to call an ambulance again, and orders not to exercise for two weeks. What that means is I will have to rebuild my routine again starting at 15 minutes and hopefully getting back to 35 minutes within a few months.

But the worst prescription of all is this: dramatically increased fluids. I still haven’t totally stopped cramping or having muscle spasms, but they are manageable. I am going to lie back down now, and try not to flinch when my inquisitive cat walks up my body to see if it’s really me under the blanket or a moaning, snorting monster.

Later, I’ll get up and pee, and medicate, and drink, and lie down again, and repeat. And be very happy about it.

Post-log: the emergency room documented “pharyngitis” but did not treat it. I suppose they were distracted by the other major problem. However, that little oversight has lead to another major problem diagnosed today: acute streph. I have now been armed with horse-size antibiotics, taken the mule-sized Vicodin, and allowed myself a sweet consolation prize vanilla shake. Good night, I say. Good night.

Posted by jaselin at 07:43 PM | Comments (0)

January 31, 2011

Ingredients Happened, ME Newsletter, Vol. 4, Issue 5

Arthur Schwartz and Pablo Picasso have a lot in common. They both taught me to use what is at hand and not get caught up on rigid details. Of course, I’ve know Picasso longer – since the 10th grade when I came across a quote while researching for a paper. “"When I haven't any blue I use red."

Just a few years ago I was inspired by“What to Cook When You Think There's Nothing in the House to Eat” by Arthur Schwartz. The following recipe experience isn't in the book, but it's all about what I had to work with last Saturday without taking my sneezy wheezy self out to the market.

I can never remember if I’m supposed to feed a cold or feed a fever. It didn’t really matter though because after two days of mind-blowing nose-blowing I had decided I was hungry. For some reason sickness sparks my inner gourmet. I want my food to taste good and soothing and special. At 11:30 am, pizza and wings sounded like a good plan until I recalled the elliptical. Hmmm….

Sockeye salmon in the freezer seemed like a good place to start; rice and peas would do nicely as a nice side dish. Dejected dawning reminded me I used the last of the rice on Wednesday, but was certain I was in possession of instant potatoes. My mind slipped into one of those vague recalls from a cooking show combining salmon and instant potatoes to make simple salmon patties! Peering into the pantry I easily located the secret ingredient. Then my wandering eye spied an interesting alternative. A beckoning box of instant sweet potatoes drew me into a fevered creative phase. Coming up: experimental - Sweet Potato Alaskan Salmon Patties with shallots and green pepper!

I launched myself onto the www in search of the simple recipe. There were lots of simple recipes out there… for canned salmon. I’m not fond of canned salmon, and didn’t have any. I did have a can of tuna, but that wasn’t sounding nearly as indulgent. That’s when I went a little colorful and completely marginally outside of the lines. It’s happened before….

Allrecipes.com: Salmon Patties
1 (15 1/2 oz.) can salmon, drained and flaked
1 c. cold mashed potatoes
1 egg
1 med.-size onion, chopped fine (about 1/2 c.)
1/2 c. dry bread crumbs
3/4 tsp. salt
1/4 tsp. pepper
1/4 c. vegetable oil

Right off the bat I knew I would be wandering a bit. I wasn’t aiming for completely haywire (which I have admittedly aimed for in the past). I just figured by default I’d be adding some shadowy substitutive depths. Freshly frozen filets instead of canned, sweet instead of regular mashed potatoes, no egg because I didn’t have one, freeze dried shallots instead of onions, and a half cup of already diced frozen green peppers because veggies are always a good addition. I rarely have breadcrumbs, but theorized that if I used less liquid in the potatoes, it’d be all right.

After 30 minutes in the fridge – since the recipe called for cold mashed potatoes, the concoction was still a little wet. Pondering my only loaf of bread, I kind of quickly decided that cinnamon raisin salmon cakes wasn’t the vibe I was looking for. Somewhat practically-minded, I headed for the oyster crackers and glimpsed a half hidden, half-plumped sack of lime/salt tortilla chip remnants, and thought – why not? I often use tortilla chips as a substitute for bread crumbs, since I never seem to have any. I also thought the original recipe was lacking in lemon, which I didn’t have any of anyway. But, lime would work, no? A speedy round of crunching and mixing, and the attractive mess of orange and green and pink and yellow went back into the fridge, again - to chill.

Two hours deep into my gourmet experiment, I ran out of active boost ingredient in the day-time cold medicine, found myself low on self-propelled steam, and even lower on patience. I dosed myself up again, grabbed a handful of casava chips, a gatorade, and a cup of sugar-free hot cocoa. That’s what happens when I don’t eat on time. I completely lose focus and eating becomes a desperate must not a want.

So, I scarfed that quick semi-food fest, and promptly fell asleep. In retrospect, I could have done worse – I could have grabbed marshmallows, saltines and Hershey syrup. It’s happened before.

Finally, at 5:45 pm, I accomplished my fry pan goal, drizzled those crispy puppies with a little lowfat sour cream, and mmm mmm mmm. I could have easily eaten the whole batch. But I didn’t: saved some for Sunday and as it turned out Monday night dinner, as well.

I’m still not sure of which way this lesson should go. Recipes and rules are written for reasons: ease of duplication, clear boundaries and anticipated results. It’s really wonderful when everything goes as planned. Often times, though, it’s just a wonderful when things don’t. Sometimes it just takes changing a few ingredients to make something super special. Sometimes it just takes changing a few ingredients to make garbage. It’s happened before.

Posted by jaselin at 09:39 PM | Comments (0)

January 24, 2011

Elliptical Shock, ME Newsletter, Vol. 4, Issue 4

Apparently GOD wasn’t all that thrilled with last week's current complacency satisfaction announcement. I got looped out of that smooth little elliptical-path realm last Wednesday. My nice quiet job turned into an interesting series of disasters; fast paced pedaling required. Left the office just a few minutes later than normal and arrived at the gym to find no treadmills available. Waited around a bit trying to gauge the near doneness of the usurping exercising folks.

An observant soul noticed my dilemma and commented that I had I been just a few minutes earlier, there would have been three empty machines. Since I already wasn’t all that thrilled, that news didn’t thrill me, either. Neither did the recommended change of work out pace. The elliptical were free, and probably for good reason. I’ve tried those before and found them awkward and prone to showcasing my basic uncoordination talents. But when someone assures me “it’s easy,” I tend to take it to heart.

First lesson, the thing does not have an on button. You are the on button. If you don’t begin fast enough, it thinks you’re still on pause. So I went a little faster. Aha! Success! For about the length of one song and then suddenly I was unrhythmically off kilter again. I slowed down and– even though I was still moving rather laboriously my new mechanical enemy announced in retina burning red LED lights that I had retreated to “pause” mode. That kinda ticked me off, so I sped up, won that argument again, then slowed down because I was feeling the burn a little too much: sped up, slowed down, tried to talk myself through one more song. Success!

So I decided lurching through another song would be ok – but abandoned the flailing arm bars in favor of the steady ones. “Paused!”flashed beratingly on the message board. Really? As far as I could tell I was still moving and ought to get some kind of credit for that. Nope. The next message flashed harsher; “Move Faster!” Faster wasn’t exactly the 6th alphabetical letter beginning of the focal word flowing through my mind. But I’m one of those pit-bull non quitters so I kept moving like a tim burton character.

After the third song I’d accumulated a massive 14 minutes on the as advertised “smooth walk” jerky machine. Going 15 was completely out of the question. I disembarked and sort of happily realized I didn’t have to expend the energy to turn it off because it thought it already was off. That’s when I discovered that MI was having an earthquake. Unusual for sure but everything was trembling and I wasn’t sure if I’d remain standing much longer. Mr Marathon runner on the treadmill next to me asked me if I was ok. Of course I dimple smiled and said, “Yeah, that’s just not my favorite machine.”

I cautiously wobbled the icy path to the parking lot. As I lowered into the Grand Prix (which I suddenly noticed sits way lower that the Buick), it registered that I was probably going to be really sore. And as I leveraged out a few minutes later, I realized “going to be” was already a past-tense and muscle-tense situation. I’ve had this revelation before, but here I go again: Elliptical muscles are not the same as treadmill muscles no matter how high I step or how steep the incline, how hard I swing my arms or air-box or if I keep myself off guard with random paces. No amount of treadmilling is going to have the same effect as using an elliptical. Which mean, yes…. even my exercise has become complacent. I am a bit curious now how much different my shape could be after a few weeks on the elliptical. However my daily life requires regular walking, sitting and rising from seats and getting in and out of cars. So, for the rest of this week, it’s back to treadmill. And next week, maybe, I’ll try the elliptical again. Or maybe not.

Maybe that wasn’t really the point anyway. Maybe the point was that its not ok not to grow. Maybe the intention was to move me out of the ovalish work-workout-home cycle, from the comfortable place that suits me, to change my prayer routine, to exercise faith in a new way, challenge and stretch myself uncomfortably toward the ultimate goal: that being - a well rounded balanced strength, peace with myself, peace with my GOD.

Posted by jaselin at 07:01 PM | Comments (0)

January 17, 2011

Pie Chart/Plans, ME Newsletter, Vol. 4, Issue 3

I love the Sparkspeople nutrition and exercise web feature. It breaks your daily consumption into three different pie charts, which either provide an overall view of where you've been or where you want to go (depending on if you enter data as planning tool or a recap tool.) It's also an accurate indicator of appropriate balance.

In the pie chart of my life, the together part is the smallest slice of the continuum. It was the best part, the most significant part, the part I learned the most from, the part that saved me. But now is now and as the years add on, the together field grows smaller by percentages. Having to consciously swing the pendulum back to the present, pull away from missing the brief bliss, and bring myself back to the regular world is not insurmountable. It is however, painful and sad and depressing, and not taken lightly. I’m preparing for it now, envisioning the transition, hoping that in 9 months I’ll have developed a plan, or devised a better way of acknowledging it, or at least somehow taken the edge off that alone/together percentage game.

In a recent conversation someone asked me a casual question that left me speechless. "What are your goals? What are you hoping to accomplish?” It took me a few silent blinks to gaped-ly realize - I don’t have any. My lips moved but nothing came out. I just couldn’t answer that question. I’ve got this big blank page that I am in position to color as I will, and I don’t know where to start. I’ve been living with my minute daily goals, and some vague weekly goals, for such a long time now I can no longer see the big picture, and I no longer want to anyway. I'm happy in perpetuation; in the way I've managed to settle into having traded one routine for another.

It's not bleakness. It might be patience. It might be I'm believing - without trying. It might be that I finally live in this trust: "For I know the plans I have for you," declares the Lord, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future." Jeremiah 29:11

Take note of this: HE has plans for us. Not a single plan, but plural plans. I choose to believe we each have more than one purpose to search for; to seek. I gratefully acknowledge the one I have served so far. I am still recovering from that. I believe with all my heart, I know in my soul: I will without a doubt find myself within another purpose someday. But for now - I am thankful for this break. Thankful for the chance to recover, the patience to perpetuate, to live in comfortableness with peace. To know I have been and am blessed beyond whatever I might have imagined.

Posted by jaselin at 04:05 PM | Comments (0)

January 11, 2011

Scrabble Status, ME Newsletter, Vol. 4, Issue 2

Been attempting to accomplish something since late September ’10. It was a big deal to me, and lately became a very big deal for me. It took a lot of tears to get to this point, but on Saturday 1/8, I made a change to my facebook relationship status: from widowed to single. And then quickly distracted myself from the imagined implications of that one word achievement by trying to figure out the facebook Scrabble application with friends.

With three of us in the same room, vying for the same direct satellite connection, the main frustrations stemmed from having to wait: waiting our turn, waiting on messages, and getting information out of order, before or after each other. When it was my turn, player 3 would get the answer first. When it was player 1’s turn, I would get the answer first.

We’d impatiently ask each other, “Did you get it? What is it? What is it?” And even if someone told me, I still couldn’t react to it properly until the answer showed up on my screen. At best I had a vague idea of other letters I could build off of, but no idea if the projection of how I might use my tiles was even viable.

Waiting for GOD’s a lot like that. Sometimes it seems like others get their answers in a more timely manner. Once I saw the answer in context to my own play board, I was able to make better placement decisions, find alternate and more profitable positions. So, I stopped paying attention to what was coming and calculated by what I had to work with in front of me on the board.

For the most part, this monumental decision went unnoticed. No backlash. No support. GOD is like that, too. In the same room with us with hit or miss connectivity based on individual reception or receptivity.

So maybe that’s what the status change was all about: being more receptive, squelching my impatience, acknowledging what I have to work with, and moving the pieces into the best possible usability for myself… and maybe for the inclusion of some others.

Posted by jaselin at 07:02 PM | Comments (0)

January 04, 2011

Resolve, ME Newsletter, Vol. 4, Issue 1

If it seems like I’ve been avoiding the whole end-of-the year, end-of-the decade, re-resolution thing, it’s because I have been. It’s not that I’m without resolve. I’ve got plenty of that. What I don’t have is a clear direction; just a lot of wishy-washy chore-type goals, and some general fitness continuations. One extra day a week at the gym. Transcribe 30 years of pen and paper writings onto computer; burn to disc or thumb-drive. Restore itunes library to original grandeur before I lost that computer, and burn to backup disc. Forgo frozen meals and cook from scratch more often, healthier. Read all of the unread book in my possession so that sometime within this year I can justify purchasing an electronic reader. Yep, lots of goals, and none of the usual rah-rah “fix everything” attitude.

Why we buy so deeply into the traditional New Years hoopla? Why do we run off to the gym, start brown-bagging it for healthy eating, decide to quit a vice? Is it about the impression that we are taking care of ourselves? That our lives are so well under control that we have oodles of time to devote to exercise and diet program plotting? Or are those the quickest easiest resolutions we can come up with. I'm not knocking the fit-mania this time of year brings with it. I'm just asking: what are our real resolutions? The ones we don't share, ever? No, you don't have to share them now, or ever. In fact, maybe it’s better that they are privately yours. I'm thinking in terms of a self honesty issue. Can I really admit to myself what I want and then do what it takes to get it, or get there?

I have one very small resolution; it’s tied to my deepest desire. It’s small and a bit simple, with major implications. I’ve toyed with, seriously considered, denied and come back to this one little point again and again. It will make a difference in my life. I’ve given it to GOD, but I’m still working up to putting it in writing. Still working on the bravery required, knowing that other people will see it... well, that’s scary. I'm not sure I'm ready for the probable back-lash.... or the possible whole-hearted support that may follow.

Posted by jaselin at 01:08 PM | Comments (0)

December 28, 2010

Structural Icing, ME Newsletter, Vol. 3, Issue 52

Sunday morning, pre-post -Christmas breakfast:
I’m flipping through magazines, sipping a gifting of Mountain Blueberry coffee and loving it despite the nose wrinkling protests of others that coffee should taste like coffee. “It does taste like coffee,” I protest… “and a blueberry muffin.”

As the pajama-changing, breakfast prep scattering starts, I settle back with my favorite big black dog and a magazine hoping to find some inspirational new topic to write about. The November 2010 issue of Flying magazine header article addressing the Great Lakes' effect on structural icing looks promising.

“It seems as though some of our most vivid memories come from some of our worst experiences in life. While many pilots don’t remember their first, they will probably never forget their worst. For many, it remains etched in their brain forever. This time of year, convective signets seem to morph into icing airmets as we become prisoners in our own space. But, we can avoid making painful lasting memories if we do some careful pre-flight planning and use some streets smarts to negotiate the system to our advantage during this icing season.”
I skimmed through article searching for physics, skipping the techie talk, sure I didn’t get out of it what that author intended, because as usual my mind flew somewhere entirely.

Structural icing. That’s pretty much where I’m at. Iced. Caught in the limbo of structural icing: frozen in between wanting to be euphorically happy that I have made it this far, and the only semi-acceptable reality of this mediocre place. There is something to be said for acknowledging how I’ve arrived here, and knowing that my own inability to fly at present is due to simply standing still too long, not seeking alternate routes, and exposing myself to elements without regard to long term effects. It’s comfortable alone, above the clouds, in the sunshine of my own false sense of security. It’s pushing through the clouds and coming back down to civilization that poses the most risk. That’s where the moisture hits you. If you’re lucky or if you’ve planned well enough to skirt pitfall pockets, the concentrated condensation rolls away relieving the pressure. If you’re not so lucky or haven’t mapped out alternatives, serious structural icing seizes the opportunity to freeze coat you… from the outside in.

I guess it’s time to pull out those street smarts, find ways around heart-flow traffic jams, calc a good block altitude, rise to required alternative heights. Time to pull out the original instruction manual, find some truer words to fly on, defrost the clear-window ice-box I’ve been frozen safe inside, and glide back in.

Posted by jaselin at 06:00 PM | Comments (0)

December 21, 2010

Dream in Detail, ME Newsletter, Vol. 3, Issue 51

If your dreams have lost their focus, head in a juvenile’s direction. You might be surprised by the clarity with which they dream, and the imagination they so enthusiastically apply to everyday items.

Take for example, the Flush-a-vator, as described by a nine-year-old in delightfully vivid detail:
The room is red. The walls are lined with video games like a library, and there’s a urinal. And when you flush the urinal, the water powers the elevator which brings you to the second story where you’ll find a huge-screen tv, a mini-fridge with a freezer, and robot to get you ice cream when you ask for it. Amusing and captivating; taking multitasking to a new level and harnessing the same simple hydro-energy for two functions and some frivolity.

And to think, I was all proud of my recent imaginings when an acquaintance gave me the recipe for some delightful and delightfully easy truffles. Ingredients: a package of Oreo cookies, one block of Philadelphia Cream Cheese and melting chocolate. Finely crush the Oreos and mix with room temperature cream cheese. Cover in melted chocolate. My mind merely made the short stretch to using those festive mint-flavored Oreos.

Perhaps, as adults, we need to un-train our brains: to allow ourselves the clarity of planned rejuvenescence. Remove the constraints and practicalities, imagine the best of everything we want and create a vividly detailed pictorial mind-collage. No more vague goals, no more practical-izing, no more hazy half-wishes.

Close your eyes and imagine, and if you happen to fall asleep, it just means that we’re not too old for rejuvenating naps. Enjoy the pleasant unplanned slumber; dream in detail.

Posted by jaselin at 05:25 PM | Comments (0)

December 12, 2010

Box and Bow, ME Newsletter, Vol. 3, Issue 50

Three cups of coffee and seven dozen snickerdoodles into the last available baking Sunday before Christmas, I realized how ahead of the game I am for a change. As I sit down to write this I am 90% done shopping, 75% done wrapping, and have baked 33.333333% of the cookies needed for festivities and visiting.

Snow has been falling steadily since 7:00 am. The view from the living room window reminds me of a precious snow globe, long since gone. There’s a lot of long since gone in my life. I’m not sure how I feel about these particular Kid Rock lyrics, “GOD put his hands on your shoulders way too soon.” Sometimes, that’s how it feels missing my grandparents and my Dad, my mother-in-law and her mother, a cousin, my husband. Other times, I feel GOD’s hands may have not moved soon enough to end the suffering and pain. I know I am theologically out-of-bounds, though; there is simply no argument. GOD’s timing is perfect, and I’ve come to recognize that I am where I am because of that. The only true things - the only real things we have - are our emotions. Too often, our emotions drive our faith or drive out our faith. Our emotions last, unlike gifts or any objects

So, I guess it’s time we take some time from our preparations to prepare our hearts; to bring them back to the present and away from the presents we all expect and give. To distract us from that trying feeling we’re all up against this time of year, I present to you from my heart , this precious gift: Everyone dies. Some are blessed to know it’s coming in a more immediate sense, some are taken away with little notice. There is absolutely no reason for anyone’s death to be a surprise. I know that’s a weird and probably unwelcome notion to try and wrap your head around this time of year, but you can do it. Do not give in to the fear; let the knowledge booster you.

Concentrate on the people instead of the things. Include a little something extra in each gift: an appreciation note. Tell each person the real motive behind the box and bow: I like your smile. I love your laugh. I appreciate your sense of humor. You have the best fashion sense. Tell loved ones, coworkers, waitresses… everyone you hand a gift to this year. Tell them one thing you think makes them special. That will be the gift they remember.

May the LORD bless and keep you.

Posted by jaselin at 08:24 PM | Comments (0)

December 07, 2010

Future, ME Newsletter, Vol. 3, Issue 49

It’s so much easier to ignore your empty when you avoid exposing yourself to others’ full.
Despite that, I stubbornly lift myself and continue forward. So far this holiday season, I've conquered two events knowing before I attended that I'd be hard pressed to stay. I actually missed two escape routes at the first event because I was busy talking and enjoying myself. Didn't completely negate that panicky feeling when I realized I only had one option left, even though it was the most reliable one. Didn't have enough time to panic at the second. No downtime. I liked that!

I wish I'd kept track of how many people told me it would get easier. It’s not. It's only getting harder. I suppose the fact that it’s not getting easier, means I must care more about this not being alone thing than I thought. I guess. I'm not sure. Which might actually be more healthy than being sure. Because being sure leaves you without any options or wiggle room, and makes you look ridiculous when you change your mind.

In some ways, the worst is over. Yet, I'm still unclear how to deal with the future. For a while now, I've only been planning in short increments - this week, next week, the week after. I'm ahead of that now: a short upcoming trip in January, possibly one in March, possibly one in July, possibly one in September. All that pretty much constitutes a longer term future than I've considered in a while.

In the meantime, though, the immediate future is still in control. The holidays are approaching and events keep coming, and, yes, like everyone else I am seem to be running out of time at the end of each day. I need to reverse the slow-down and put some hustle in my bustle. I’m thinking that one of those previously scoffed at pre-lit spiral pull-up trees in-a-bag might be a viable decorating option. I’m not 100% sure which unpacked box the ornaments are in, but I have located the wrapping paper and gift bags. The majority of the presents (except the ones which are back-ordered or still in route apparently via slow-trot covered wagon caravan) are in one place, bundled into future ownership piles, ready to wrap. … sometime in the near future.

Posted by jaselin at 07:25 PM | Comments (0)

November 30, 2010

Wish List, ME Newsletter, Vol. 3, Issue 48

Do you remember making lists as a kid – for birthdays, holidays. Things you’d like others to give you that maybe you saw on tv or at a friends house, music you heard on the radio. How long has it been since you’ve made a wish list? You know, a real out-there no-holes-barred list of things you want?

I've had a running list of minor wants for a while. Some people consider some of them needs, but so far I'm doing ok without them.
I sort of want a few things - like a digital book reader - although I won't even consider buying one until I read all the books in my accumulated pile. I want to make it to Ireland next year, too. These aren't really wishes, though. They're more like short term goals. The real wishes are the ones we keep to ourselves; the ones that are so outrageous and unlikely that we won't voice or pen them.

I recall having conversations with adults and not really believing them when they said all they really wanted was world peace. Full of my own youthful wisdom, I was pretty sure they were full of it. I thought that they just said those things to teach us valuable lessons about the cost of what we were asking for; or that they either really just had enough stuff or just not enough imagination.

Since my longing list of tangibles is nearly non-existent, I guess I'm thinking more like an adult lately. Yeah, complete world peace would be nice. I'm wishing for no abused children, free comprehensive health care, and a couple of hours without conflict of any sort. I was wondering about this frame of mind and it's acceptability, when I happened across a fb post that said what I would've said if I could have thought of a way to say it. So, I requested permission to reprint. I appreciate that permission was granted, and hope you see what I saw in these true wishes.

“Give me a present! Sounds a little selfish. I’m asking ALL my FB friends 2 show those you encounter between now and Dec 25 sum LOVE. NOT just the ones that are easy 2 love but even those who make it tuff. I know you ALL can do it! Knowing that the 118 friends of my little FB world are showing LOVE is the greatest gift I could ever get. It doesn't cost a penny!! Let’s do everything we can to change the world!

Please note that showing LOVE has nothing to do with kissing, hugging etc……Showing LOVE is being kind! Being patient and really caring about your/our fellow man, even the one who cuts us off in traffic, laughs when we slip and fall and for whatever reason we look at as jerks. Sometimes it means speaking up when we see injustice sometimes it means shutting our mouth when our words can do harm. I know that I have friends out there who are not Christian or religious and at least a couple who don’t believe in religion/GOD at all.

I admit that the “love is patient and kind” comes from the bible but I am NOT making any attempt to convert you. I TRULY believe that we CAN change the world one person at a time and it starts with me and you!

BEWARE! Showing kindness and love to others can be something that also changes YOUR life! You may find yourself “loving others” even beyond December 25! I CAN, YOU CAN,WE CAN CHANGE FOR THE BETTER!!”

Posted by jaselin at 06:24 PM | Comments (0)

November 23, 2010

Roadie, ME Newsletter, Vol. 3, Issue 47

Still feeling pretty good about my hit-and-run weekend.
I reconnected, was able to help out, catch up and just be me – away from home.

I’m still hearing the hum of the tires.
Could be I’m still reeling from the 3 c’s of road cuisine: coffee, chips and candy.
I’m pretty sure I’ve never fallen asleep while eating, so there must be something to this combination.

After six hours of alternating myself silly between David Cook, Lifehouse and Kid Rock, here’s what I know for certain: I’ve got to figure out the voice memo feature on my new phone. ‘ kept having to pull off the highway to write stuff down. Tried to make it coincide with gas stops, but sometimes I didn’t need fuel, and was worried I’d forget the lyrics or the tunes or the melodies that popped up complete and completely logical. Inspired by songs that I heard and signs that I passed, people I’d left and places I was still headed.

If I thought too long about any one thing, melancholy would threaten the buzz. So, I just kept driving and singing along. Imagining how really good it all could be. And asking myself, “Why not?”

This Thanksgiving, I'm wishing you God Speed and safety as your travel to your blessings.

Posted by jaselin at 06:10 PM | Comments (0)

November 17, 2010

Slow, ME Newsletter, Vol. 3, Issue 46

I need a little time away from my own thoughts, so this week, I'm sending you someone else's: Richard Cardinal Cushing
_________________________________________________________________

Slow me down, Lord!

Ease the pounding of my heart by the quieting of my mind. Steady my hurried pace with the vision of eternal reach of time. Give me, amidst the confusion of my day, the calmness of the everlasting hills. Break the tension of my nerves and muscles with the smoothing music of the singing streams. Help me to know the magical restoring power of sleep. Teach me the art of taking one-minute vacations, slowing down to look at a flower, to chat with a friend, to pat a dog, to read a few lines from a good book.

Remind me each day of the fable of the hare and the tortoise that I may know the race is not always to the swift; that there is more to life than increasing its speed. Let me look up into the branches of the towering oak and know that it grew great and strong because it grew slowly and well. Slow me down Lord, and inspire me to send my roots into the soil for life's enduring values that I may grow toward the stars of my greater destiny.

Slow me down, Lord; slow me down!

Posted by jaselin at 05:52 PM | Comments (0)

November 09, 2010

Drop Out, ME Newsletter, Vol. 3, Issue 45

It’s that time of year I tend to disappear.
It’s more comfortable to drop out than stand in.
I don’t know if it’s the fleeting false forced happiness requirement that irks me.
Or the pressure to keep saying, “Yes, I’m fine.”
Which, for the most part is true - just not all the time.
Just as I’m sure you’re not fine all the time either.
We isolate each other with pretenses that make us doubt ourselves.

I know we’re supposed to love the gatherings and celebrations.
At what point does it become easier to walk into a crowded room alone, to leave alone?
I can’t say, because I don’t even try anymore. It worked the first year, but I think that was numbness.
It’s only become more dreadful since. Once I get past the door, it gets a little easier, and if I can keep busy serving or setting up, I’m fine. It’s just the walking in and walking away that kills me.
If I find the strength to show, I stay for as long as I am useful.
You’ll probably miss me leaving because I slip away quietly on purpose.

I’m not sulking away. I don’t cry myself home. I’ve just had my outsider’s fill. Throwing me into your family mix makes your great-aunt want to meddle or coddle or match make. I’m ok on my own, really. Lonely sometimes, but smart enough to know that’s not likely resolvable. I’m pretty pleased with the way recent changes have worked out. There’s still something missing, and I’m well aware of that. But forcing my solo self into that barely-enough-room-for-elbows extra chair at any dinner table isn’t the answer.

Even perennials have a non-productive dormant season. No reason to be hard on me if I choose to lay low for a while; I don’t plan to stay in that place forever. Lows are part of the science of highs; I'm looking to an even keel as welcome relief when the emotional lash-back battering becomes too much.

I know this is all anticipation. I promise I won’t make any choices until I have to.
I’m going to do what feels right and best for me.
Maybe this will be the year I don’t drop out, or maybe next year will.

Posted by jaselin at 08:42 PM | Comments (0)

November 02, 2010

Perpetual, ME Newsletter, Vol. 3, Issue 44

According to Webster’s Dictionary, perpetual can be defined as blooming almost continually throughout the season or year.
I wish the season of thanks was a perpetual one. I wish I could freely point out on a daily basis all the good things worth saying aloud as opposed to enduring the repeated grumbled muttering of all that is bad. The thing is, no one seems to want to hear that. They’re looking for unhappy agreement, strength in disgruntled numbers.

I tend to hold my breath in the midst of gripers and spouters. I guess I’m just not willing to ingest all that pollution. I need to remind myself to keep breathing, because...

If you’re breathing, you’ve got the chance to do great things. Not necessarily great big things… just great things. Like hand out a compliment, or give a grateful smile, or offer a sincere handshake for no reason except that you’ve encountered another person walking this earth, and they’re struggling, too.

Let’s be an active part of GOD’s repetitive beauty.
Let’s not wait for spring to bloom. Let’s be evergreens.
Let’s do it now, perpetually, through the fall and the long winter ahead.

Posted by jaselin at 07:15 PM | Comments (0)

October 26, 2010

Firewall, ME Newsletter, Vol. 3, Issue 43

Firewalls are good. They don’t let anything in. Well, scratch that… they’re not perfect. Sometimes things get through. Sometimes they shake up the system a little before we get the chance to kick them out.

I’ve slowly been building my own negativity fighting firewall. It’s been a struggle. Like any good dam, you’ve got to get that first block in the water before you can even dream of stopping the rapid flow. And then you’ve got to build, build, build. You can’t lay a foundation block and then wait too long before adding to the line. If you do, you’ll find the edges of your early blocks begin to wear away under the constant barrage. What you end up with is little places water can slip through, and water is a very adept eroder. That isn’t always a permanent disaster though. Patches can be made, as long as you keep up with them.

Same thing applies to fighting fire with fire. The only way to combat unfriendly negative fire is you’re your inner positive flame. Use your fire to consume and contain. For every negative thought you have, throw back a positive one. For every negative comment someone else throws your way, throw back a positive one. Silently, of course -I’m not encouraging conflict.

I am encouraging amusement. Remind yourself your shoes match, so today’s going ok. Admittedly this one didn’t work so well for me last fall when I grabbed two different brown shoes one morning. But nowadays when I find myself faced with an excessive griper I silently consider, “My shoes match!” I also make a concentrated effort to not giggle aloud.

Nowadays, after years of practice, I view my firewall more as a way to keep the good stuff in my internal circulation than to keep the bad out. I’m not unaware of or choosing to be blind to the constant negativity of life. I know the bad stuff is out there. I know I have some gaps in my amateur walls, after all I built the without a well mapped out plan or even outline instructions. I’ve just learned how to spot my own weaknesses, and I know they’re best sealed with humor.

Posted by jaselin at 07:36 PM | Comments (0)

October 19, 2010

Bully, ME Newsletter, Vol. 3, Issue 42

Freedom from Bullies Week is October 17 – 23, 2010!
No, I’m not kidding, and no this isn’t a new recognitive.

An online poll from my news home page asked the following sidebar question: Has bullying become worse or is media just engaging in the problem dujour frenzy?

Yes, and yes. There have always been bullies but intimidation methods were more juvenile, and sometimes vague enough to make us question if we were under attack at all.

Growing up, my parent’s take on bullying was this: Sticks and stones may break your bones but names can never hurt you. I took this to heart and used it frequently as a retaliative retort to frequent verbal bully teasing about my religion, my weight, stuttering, and a mentally handicapped sibling.

Standing up for yourself was another nugget of wisdom passed on to whiny students by teachers and school counselors– only you’d better be sure you can handle the results on your own if you did.

Back then, ink markers on bathroom walls and lockers were how word was spread. Annoying, juvenile and doubt-worthy the impact was usually short-lived.

I’ve significantly bullied a bully once or twice. Maybe more but only two episodes come to mind. I defended one of my brothers once when some idiot decided to book check him in the halls. I rushed the jock and landed a good heal kick right in the back of his knee causing a nice buckle and fall. HE lloked straight at me, stunned, and then continued his searching sweep for the culprit. I skirted around the incident unscathed. Yes, I was standing right there, the closest one to the action, but no one suspected shy me.

Once a cheerleader at my new high school decided it would be fun to slam my locker door shut while my head was still in it searching for a book. Didn’t take kindly to that either, so I whipped around blindly and threw one punch. I suppose it could be categorized as successful because I caught the side of her head and broke her glasses.

There weren’t security cameras in our school hallways, and there wasn’t a flurry of electronics avail for common use. Nowadays such things as digital cameras, phone cameras, webcam, and video can document arguments, spread rumors or stop rumors in their tracks. They also they provide “evidence” of a person’s weakness – real or not, staged or otherwise. Bullying is a convenient but lame word for the recent string of well publicized atrocities that invaded others’ private lives.

If there’s a national Freedom from Bullies Week then it seems we have a problem that goes beyond grade school teasing, high school false hierarchy formation and has moved undoubtedbly into the workplace. I know. I’ve seen it, and so have you. I don’t have an answer but I do have a starting place.

I don't see where it matters if bullying has increased or not. What I do see matters is how we choose to react right now, and in the future.

Here’s a pretty little idea that packs a mean triple wallop of respect, compassion, and kindness:
Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.

In this issue: Bully, Boullion, Surrounding Yourself With The Right People.

Now posted; Facebook Gems, September 2010.

Posted by jaselin at 08:44 PM | Comments (0)

October 12, 2010

Affirmative, ME Newletter, Vol. 3, Issue 41

I could easily become a hermit, not exactly along the lines of Emerson or Thoreau, but I could survive… with internet and phone capabilities. I don’t think it’s temporarily inspired complacency. I do think it’s got something to do with finding a comfortable place within and without.

Finding myself at 47, alone, on the deck of gorgeously well equipped cabin sipping a fine cup of mocha was the inspiration for this train of thought.
Sure the nearest market was 20 minutes away, but would it matter if I trekked out once a week?
Not much, since I’m such an excellent planner and accomplished over-stocker.
Would it be hard to be snowed in? Not any harder than being sunned in.
Could I make those necessary extra careful decisions and not compromise my desires? Sure I could,
Hot tubbing alone with coffee at 8:30 am is way more responsible than hot tubbing alone with wine at 4:00 pm.
Taking the stairs rather than navigating the rocky terrain short cut on the way down to the private beach was another good choice, as far as I’m concerned.
Ok. Calm down. Of course I wouldn’t be alone all the time. There’d always be holiday visitors to consider.

Affirmation is the confirmation of anything established. So I hereby affirm: I’m quite comfortable in the void of solitude. However, since the established may not always be what my heart will desire, here is where it all goes wrong: the trouble with getting away is having to come back. What I have convinced myself was ok is truly at best mediocre, which is better than awful, but not quite fine. Yet.

Daily affirmations occur whether we realize it or not. A good deal are negative based, some are positive enlighteners. Inner monologues consisting of half happy mantras are becoming more common for me.

Years of dreading a job I had come to dislike has preconditioned me. I still have the residual “I don’t want to” thoughts when the alarm goes off. But at least I have changed the meaning of the ’”I don’t’ want to get up and go to work because I hate my job and my commute.” to “I’d rather stay home read a good book and bake a loaf of bread than go to work.” Truly, who wouldn’t?

It’s taken some diligent purposeful practice, moving toward the more positive side of things.
I’ve found it gets easier to identify the true underlying negativity in our pretend positivity.
What I need to do, and what I want to do, is get past what I don’t want and get to what I do want.

In this issue: Affirmation, Worry, Alexander Haig, Build-a-Prayer part 5.

Posted by jaselin at 07:30 PM | Comments (0)

October 05, 2010

Fours, ME Newsletter, Vol. 3, Issue 40

Who decided to measure significance in fours?

4 years of high school. 4 years of college. 4 score. Scholarly times, significant times, self discovery and soul expansion; whether we realized it or not.

First year scared, uncertain, going through the motions and just trying to keep up. We don’t think about seniors because it’s unimaginable that we will ever be them.
Second year more comfortable, finding routines to follow, not so much worried about being lost, we know our place, for now.
Third year holding our own, established, feet planted firmly in ownership of our roles, noticing a new class of freshmen.
Fourth year – accomplishment, realized a pinnacle, and confidently measured our success and scholarship.
Some of us went on to college and some of us decided not to take quarter ride again.

Widowhood is a lot like that.
First year scared, uncertain, go through the motions and just try and keep up. We don’t think about happy because it’s unimaginable that we will ever be that again.
Second year not so uncomfortable, not so much worried about being trampled by anniversary dates, holidays and every days since we’ve already been through a round of those.
Third year it seems we’re holding our own, sort of established, feet planted firmly because we’re tired of change, noticing more freshman faces and wondering if they’ll survive.
Fourth year – taking careful measure of each minor success in our educational journey, we don’t really need to decide to go on pursue a higher education. It just comes with this particular type of scholarship; not exactly a free ride - this one comes with a moral obligation to guide, if we can. Some of us will decide we’ve learned enough. Some of us will seize the opportunity to further our education.

So here I am, four years later having completed a reluctantly personal four year scholarship to widowhood. Not a freshman, or a sophomore, not even a junior anymore: I’m a senior. I’m sure I haven’t learned all the “alone” there is to know in the universe, but I’ve established a pretty firm, well-rounded foundation. I’m sure additional unanticipated lessons will come my way. Circumstances seem to dictate further education is in store. Never content standing still I guess I’m headed into the college years now.

Maybe, after another 4, I might qualify for some sort of teaching certificate. Although after another 4, I will no longer be a “young” widow, so I’m not sure how much help I’ll be to the younger accidental scholars. On the other hand, I anticipate, not with happiness, that there will be more peer aged victims of the inevitable.

I keep coming back to the conclusion that timing is everything. So how we count it is important. Whether it’s a four-year program, a five or eight year program or an accelerated path, time doesn’t change the way you hurt, it merely adjusts your tolerance for the pain and moves it towards a strange and previously unimaginable acceptance.

Posted by jaselin at 07:47 PM | Comments (0)

September 28, 2010

Placed, ME Newsletter, Vol. 3, Issue 39

There are times when we all do it: something that we don’t really want to do.
I have so much less on my plate than so many others, and yet I still feel overwhelmed at times.

Now that it’s within my grasp, I’ve developed a selfish reluctance to give up my down time when it is needed by others. I talk myself through uncomfortable approach issues – I can do this. I tell myself it’s important to show, knowing I will be able to find a way to slip out quietly if I need to. I plunge in and keep as busy as possible because I know idleness is my enemy. It finds me in the lulls, and I argue myself through flight issues. Just for a few hours. Just one more hour. Just until the event is over and things are settled. Just until…I find I have stayed to the end, even though every cell in my mind and body rebelled against it, echo-demanding “go – retreat – recoup!”

It would be nice to be able to say my philanthropic nature is easily swayed to participate. Lately, it’s not been like that. It’s been more hesitant, more self-searching, more me-driven, or more accurately: me-parked. I wish I could come up with enough self-importance to believe that GOD places me everywhere I need to be. But I don’t think that’s the truth at all: GOD puts me where HE needs me to be. And sometimes, I just don’t like it. I follow through, but in ways that sometimes make it harder for me. I’m not half committed, just slightly over – enough to be there, but still a bit removed. Sometimes being there is only an illusion that makes us look reliable while our hearts are somewhere else.

There is no obligation that holds me there. It’s deep down admiration. It’s being surrounded by people whose plates are more like platters; heavier than most, and way harder to balance. Knowing they are determined to do whatever it takes, for as long as it takes, is what drives me to be there. What keeps me there, keeps me in step, is that hope that someday it will be just as natural for me to rise to that level of commitment without carefully measured consideration.

Then when the crisis begins, I step up. When it’s time to get something done, I do it. It’s always been that way, but lately it’s not without second thoughts. And there is a certain sadness to that. Being there at the right time brings our hearts back to the present; to what is in front of us. It calls us into action, superceding awkwardness and doubts.

We lend our hearts and hands to situations that we could not have predicted. We put aside the annoyances of the day, the goals of the day; we instantly cease measuring our success and count only our could-be losses. We hold ourselves together while we wait. We don’t panic. We do pray. We look around at our treasures, meeting their eyes in understanding, acknowledging our unspoken fears, sharing a suspension in time that life has placed before us, and GOD has placed us for.

And that, my friends, is what is meant by - and the true meaning of - being there at the right time.

Posted by jaselin at 03:52 PM | Comments (0)

September 21, 2010

Luminary, ME Newsletter, Vol. 3, Issue 38

“You hold yourself together like a pair of bookends
But, who are you when I'm not looking
Do you break things when you get mad
Eat a box of chocolate ‘cause you're feeling bad
Who are you when I'm not around
When the door is locked and the shades are down?”

Preface: I re-fell in love with a song recently. A 2010 second incarnation of a 2007 release that reminded me of a greater love, and the greatest love of all. Yes, that’s a bit abstract, but no, it wasn’t that far of a leap for me.

Mostly, we all like to think we are who we are – always.
Even though we actually know better.
We know what goes through our minds – our doubts, our regrets, and how hard it is to keep that façade.

So now, I’m wondering who we’re really keeping it from and why? I have some fairly legitimate self-answers. No one likes a downer. A hidden weakness can’t be held against you. Anger makes you ugly, and the after affects of crying don’t look good on anyone.

Still, we like to think, in fact we insist, we share our whole real selves with some; an equally careful few whose souls may have evolved like ours. But even those relationships come with expected limitations of holding back when hurtful or afraid to hurt.

The thing is, eventually, everything leaks without consistent, repetitive repair. If you spend enough time around anyone, they’ll come to see the subtle signs. They’ll call you on a distant look or heavy shoulders, and you can’t really say that you’re fine. So, you say, “Oh, I’m just thinking….” and it’s not a half-truth, at all because by now you’re thinking… “How did they know?” That’s always followed up by a split second cost analysis of the price of divulgence versus the price of alone. We hope our cultivated mirror image, which we’ve spent hours, days, lives practicing is a luminary. But even luminaries cast shadows.

So, who do we willingly show our hidden side to, and who always sees it anyway?

GOD doesn’t need to ask us, “Who are you when I’m not looking?” But we certainly need to cultivate our presented personas to a point where they must, and do, merge with our private selves. It’s unreasonable to project infallibility when every moment is a failure. Failures in disclosure, failures in encompassment, failures in alone; we fail until we believe.

Only then do we recognize the difference between the glass refraction – our reflection of ourselves – and the luminary that allows us to see deeper. Only then do we come to and begin to know how GOD so closely follows who we are when no one is looking, answering well-hidden un-sent prayers we didn't even know we had prayed.

In this issue: Edith Wharton, Luminaries, Lighting a Path, Autism Hope of Lenawee @ Clinton Fall Festival

Now posted: Faith, Current, Build-a-Prayer 2

Posted by jaselin at 05:23 PM | Comments (0)

September 14, 2010

Changing My Position, ME Newsletter, Vol. 3, Issue 37

I changed my position on prayer.

Basking in a sunny Sunday morning, listening to the crisp fall breeze carry caws and chirps and chatters, coffee cup in hand, I realized I have been praying down - eyes closed focused on my hands or lap or perhaps the floor.

About a year ago, in my ever active pursuit of peace and contentment, I purchased a daily affirmation book: Spiritual Diary, An Inspirational Thought for Each Day of the Year by Paramahansa Yogananda and others. Occasionally, I remember to thumb through it, always choosing the appropriate date.

Yesterday’s 9/11 daily rumination apparently caught my attention in a way I was unaware of. It’s not like I consciously carried it with me all day, or even thought much about it after it was read.

Then, this morning, in the perfect surroundings, I thought to aim my prayer focus into the space between the brows know as the spiritual center. Before I even began to name my morning prayers, I realized I was praying up. My body followed my closed eyes, trained upward, chin slightly raised, shoulders straight, back tall.

In many religions we are trained in supplication, positioning ourselves as naughty children, davening, bowing our heads or down on our knees, forever asking for forgiveness and guidance. I've found this new position promotes something more powerful. It brings about an awareness of prayers that are flowing from the heart up through the head to pinpoint place of concentration.

My prayers were not so much a lame and lowly “forgive me” but a more powerful, highly aimed “give me.” Dear Lord, give me strength to face whatever lies ahead, as I change my heart and my body, my mind and my focus both physically and spiritually.

I reposted this 9/11 comment from a friend who wrote: “[she] stands arm in arm with all who mourn, regardless of what they call their book.” Wholly against fanaticism, I hold my beliefs solidly; yet open enough to know there is something to be gained from every method of spiritual focus.

I plan on holding my new position, whether alone or among others, praying this personal prayer:
Dear Lord, give me strength to face whatever lies ahead, as I change my heart and my body, my mind and my focus; both physically and spiritually.

In this issue: Bindi, Spirit, Build-a-Prayer, Paramahansa Yogananda
Now posted: Humor, That's Random, 15 bras

Posted by jaselin at 02:28 PM | Comments (0)

September 07, 2010

Down Load, ME Newsletter, Vol. 3, Issue 36

Sometimes restrictions can be more freeing than we ever imagined. Trading a house for an apartment meant having to off load extra items, and re-evaluate finances. I walked away from the house with just two rooms of belongings and a bit of cash that I’m sure will come in handy when my eight year old vehicle inevitably needs repairing or replacing.

Some expenses went down, others went up. Others went completely away. Like the house phone which only ever received messages for some delinquent family named “Berciaga” who thought it would be a good idea to give everyone my number to call. For almost 5 years I weeded through calls from schools, truant officers, doctor’s offices, repair shops, major retail stores, mortgage companies and banks, the list goes on and on. I found myself telling my tale of “they-annoy-me and they-fooled-you” woe to anyone who called looking for them, including one thugly sounding fella who demanded, “Gimme Joey, now!”

Where was I? Oh, yeah – down loading. Going from three computers to two computers seemed like a triumph until I recently involuntarily downgraded to one computer. Of course the old tower, used mostly for storing itunes is the one that now refuses to turn on.

Significantly and a very thought out deletion – no television. About 6 months before I moved, I realized that I just hadn’t watched tv in just that long. Was going to eliminate it, but the sales rep talked me into a basic news plan for $21 a month, down from $70. However, I still didn’t find myself mindlessly parked on the sofa, so I said so long to that expense.

I wasn’t really in for bucking the new electronic system of things. I was just trying to lessen the load; remove distractions, find more time to do things I want and need to do. I’ve got cards to make, books to read, exercise goals to meet, frontiers to conquer, and a café to run – there’s no room for boredom.

However, on the slightly over-consumption side of things, I rarely have less than three screens open on my laptop computer at any one time. Writing the newsletter, playing a game, checking email, and balancing my checkbook are common multitasks. I do sometimes find myself lost in that realm for a few hours at a time. I came across an article the other day citing research that indicates multitasking is damaging our cognitive processes.

Hmmm... where was I? Oh, yeah... extoling the virtues of restriction.

In this issue: Fractured Multitasking, Video Magazine Ads, Bryan Beckstead.

Posted by jaselin at 12:27 PM | Comments (0)

August 30, 2010

Help, ME Newsletter, Vol. 3, Issue 35

For me, there’s comfort and kudos when I can say I did it myself. From start to finish – whatever the project is. I love that there’s a time when I can step back and admire my work, my persistence, my accomplishment.

For me, that was last Sunday when I single-handedly applied a Stampin’ Up multi-pieced vinyl mural to my living room wall. It’s the same mural I had in my old house, just on a smaller scale. The first one took a few hours on a ladder and a very patient friend to help me engineer the levelness and artistic placement.

The second took an “I can do this myself if I exercise extreme patience and use the correct tools attitude”. A step stool, masking tape, level, and wooden shim – for lack of knowledge where the specialized plastic vinyl rub-thingy might be. I tested it, and it worked, so I was ready for action.

After many more than anticipated eyeballing trips up and down the ladder, I discovered that while the level might be level, the walls aren’t exactly squared, which was causing the mural appear crooked. Just about an hour later, I made the final trip down the ladder and crossed the room to gaze at my handiwork.

I was momentarily pleased. That lasted only a few seconds. It’s a very short step from contented self-containment to the solo realization that the moment can’t be immediately shared. That’s a very short comfort, isn’t it?

I stood there astonished, re-reading the chocolate brown words I had carefully applied above the chocolate brown tree of life silhouette. “As for me and my house, we will serve the Lord.” Joshua 24:15. Sometimes my brain works faster than even I can fathom, and it throws kinks into my working-on-being-happy life at the seemingly most unwelcome moments.

It is a well acknowledged fault of mine that I rarely ask for help. Most of the time, it needs to be foisted on me; taxing my friendships as others to struggle to “do” for me. In fact, I have said “no” so many times, that when I finally do ask, it’s hard to find helpers.

I’ve been shown this lesson before. I feel better when I “do”, so why should I deny others the pleasure they seek in their hearts and souls? Service sometimes means being gracious enough to understand that allowing others to assist may thwart a fleeting individual sense of accomplishment – but what is an accomplishment if it is not a true service to the Lord? It’s a merely painful moment: a shoulder sagging humble acceptance as I am once again reminded that GOD does not want us to be - or to achieve - alone.

Service is the key to sharing, caring, and temporarily not being alone. No, it doesn’t always last beyond the confines of the situation. Eventually you end up on your own, in your own little space, wondering where everyone went. The key is to keep coming back together, leaning on each other, asking of each other, and in my new definition of service - accepting assistance offered, as well.

In this issue: Stampin' Up!, Grieving the Loss of Dreams, Trompe-l'œil, and Shims

Posted by jaselin at 08:52 PM | Comments (0)

August 23, 2010

Hanging, ME Newsletter, Vol. 3, Issue 34

I’ve decided it’s time to be all in - embracing what I know is only semi-permanence - with more than just half of my heart.

Put things where I want them, knowing I can always change my mind later on – rearrange at will with just a bit of putty and a slap of paint. It’s easier to make decisions knowing there are ways to reverse them, glossing over pinpoint scars no one would even suspect were ever there.

Even though that’s not really how I want things to be. I want to leave big I-was-here impressions, fissures - in a non-destructive way. I want to move right through - confidently knowing a not-so-gentle stir-things-up wake follows.

On a rainy Saturday, I started hanging pictures. Not so much pictures, though; folk art, modern art, handmade art, antique art. Not too many, carefully placed to stand alone, or compliment each, other as I see fit. Impersonal, but thematic. The personal ones remain closeted – pinnacles of achievement that sadly really didn’t, haven’t, and simply can’t define me the way I thought they could or would. Photos line the storage area wall, stacked up, laid out in a line.

Perhaps, I’m being too picky about what I choose to display nowadays. Careful calculations are becoming more of a mask than a declaration. Maybe I should hang them: if only to remind myself that they weren’t what I was really after, after all. Maybe someday, when I’m stronger.

In the meantime, I have another project in mind. Black and white photographs for a cabinet collage – some collected long ago, some not collected yet. Snapshots taken down to basic shades of grey drive a different kind of focus, evening out the memories. We see them for what they are, purposeful moments which we meant to capture, intent on hanging on to them with our hearts. Then, we begin to recognize previously overlooked obvious gifts from GOD, and HE turns them into treasures. I’m really looking forward to that.

“For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.”
Luke 12:34

In this issue: Hercules, Hercules, Allen Toussaint, Accepting Responsibility.
Now posted: Humor, That's Random, Facebook Gems, July 2010

Posted by jaselin at 09:04 PM | Comments (0)

August 15, 2010

Tattoo, ME Newsletter, Vol. 3, Issue 33

Tattoos are permanent reminders of temporary feelings. Jimmy Buffet
Tattoos are permanent reminders of permanent feelings. jak

True, more than a few tattoos have been inspired by an altered state of consciousness.
For some it’s just a matter of being "cool" or joining an "in" crowd.

For some it is an ominous imposition – the result of looking for something more and finding loyalty requires a permanent demonstration of commitment.
For some it signifies a rite of passage; recognition of the power of determination and the freedom of self expression.

For most, a tattoo signifies a landmark in a lifetime: memories or
memorials, honorariums, self-validation, a purposeful constant reminder of love or loss, an assertion of who we are.

Emotions - negative or positive - are powerful things. They can
overload your mind with the unnecessary stress - fear of losing moments
or memories.

Please do not mistake this note for outwardly directed justification.
It’s self-exploration: retrospective.

Oh, I could romanticize and compare tattooing to the deliberate reopening of infection-ridden healed over wounds and the subsequent careful debridemental healing required for healthy permanency, but that would merely be an over exaggerated and rather lame symbol-ridden gait towards the justification I don’t believe I owe anyone anyhow.

For reasons that remain un-definable even now, 17 years ago, I chose to begin carrying my emotions on me instead of inside me. I see them daily: they enforce who I am, they perpetuate strength. They triumphantly display ownership of my emotions, confidence in my own self-worth: akin to wearing my heart on my sleeve, freeing up space for loving GOD and loving you.

This is a good thing.

In this issue: Tattoo, Waring Blenders, Struggling to Find Your Voice
Now posted: Humor, That's Random: Facebook Gems June 2010

Posted by jaselin at 08:39 PM | Comments (0)

August 10, 2010

Greener, ME Newsletter, Vol. 3, Issue 32

It seems I’ve entered an era of disappointment, not in myself for change.
It’s the disappointments I’ve inspired in others that gives me some concern, and some peace.

Standing up for myself is not always easy, and I’ve been doing a lot of that lately, more than I think I ever have before, in rapid succession. It certainly isn’t my desire to bring on disappointment, but the result of discovering my own limits, and the realities of them.

I’m not a climber; socially or professionally. I’ve never had that priority. I find a place I like and stick with it for as long as it remains comfortable. Previous minimum 7 years. Current maximum 10. I stay until the last chance of challenge is gone, and the prospects are dry to almost petrified. I suppose some could consider that point too far… I just need to be sure... and GOD smacked.

My annual physical is coming up. I’m not worried at all about the physical part. The part where they peer over the clipboard and ask if you’ve had any major changes in your life is what I’m afraid of. I wonder how many checkmarks it takes before you are relegated to mandatory counseling? I don’t need counselling. No, don’t argue… won’t do you any good.

I’ve reached this place through hard personal work and I like it here. I had that little epiphany last week when I lost my computer to a virus for a few evenings. Thanks to my friends who have lovingly sucked me into the Facebook gaming abyss, I not only changed my home, my job and my age, I also became a café owner, farmer, and a frontier gal. I finally gave up the mall store... sort of.

Escapism aside the point here is this:
While it’s true the grass isn’t always greener on the other, sometimes it is.
The only way to find out is the change your perspective.
Letting GOD move you out of where you are isn’t always a smooth, quick or painless process.
But it seems to be working out ok for me.

Psalm 23:2 He maketh me to lie down in green pastures; He leadeth me beside still waters.

In this issue: Greenery, Chlorophyll, Job Burn Out, Escapism
Now Posted:

Posted by jaselin at 07:31 PM | Comments (0)

August 03, 2010

Perfect Moments, ME Newsletter, Vol. 3, Issue 31

I saw a post: “Perfect moments just leave bitterness.”
Incomprehensible; not understanding, I post back, “?”

What I’ve been thinking of as perfect moments have never been tinged with bitterness, rather closely followed by sadness.
I’m no longer sure that the sadness needs to be there.

It almost shouldn’t be because I have been given a gift, and then gifted again.
And much in the vein of last week’s note, even as I am storing these new nearly perfect moments as memories, they nestle amongst reminders of loss.

I rethink the reminders. I cry. Like now.
I let that come and pass. Lately it seems to pass more quickly into thanksgiving for the wonderful moment, and selfish prayers for another to soon follow.

Perfect moments are neither, elusive or impossible.
If perfect moments leave bitterness, the focus is not correct.

Or, perhaps, they weren’t ever perfect moments - only moments wished perfect.
Weighing wishfulness against thankfulness, the first is a far heavier carry than the second.
And if like begets like: light begets light – thankfulness begets thankfulness.

It’s a blessed cycle. It has to be the way of life.
It’s the way we live our moments – which are all perfect by GOD’s design.

In this issue: Bitterness, Magnanamous, Triggers, Lewis Smedes, An Attribute of the Strong
Now Posted:
New Orleans, 2009: Repeat, Reunion
Faith, Current: Not With Me

Posted by jaselin at 08:52 PM | Comments (0)

July 27, 2010

Reminders, ME Newsletter, Vol. 3, Issue 30

I feel I am fighting a losing battle with the boxes.
Every item is a memory, and needs to be put in exactly the right permanent place.

But each place touches the other and like a domino effect I find myself saying, “If I put this here, I can put that there, but then those other things will have to move.” And I stand there holding whatever it is, turning circles in my mind, stationery, stuck to the freshly cleaned carpet, embedding foot prints I know will need to be brushed away later.

16 hours = 8 unpacked boxes. Did it take me this long to pack? I don't remember.... Isn’t that odd? I can’t touch the last few weeks in my memory. Too much concentration or too much autopilot sail-thru don’t-stop-to-think?

I can’t find a permanent place for anything, so I wander until I find a cabinet, or shelf, or closet; anywhere I can lose that piece of the puzzle for a while. I’m becoming uncomfortable; nothing seems right or organized or anything like I had imagined.

I’m relieved to find a box of books. That’s a simple task with only two possibilities. There are only two book shelves; one in the office, one in the dining room. So, I start in quickly but am sidetracked by subjects. Reminders jump out at me from bold, solid spines.

My grandfather’s Festival of Prayers in Hebrew, the Holy Bible in Hebrew and English, the NIV New Message Parallel Bible, The Philosophy of House (yes, the TV show), Inspirational Thoughts for each Day of the Year, Your Best Life Now, The Unusual Suspect, A Cherokee Feast of Days, The Yoga of Sound, Why Zebras Don’t Get Ulcers, Givers Gain, What Happy People Know….

Title reminders re-point out to me what my distraction had overlooked; where I’ve been and where I want to go.
GOD does not want us to suffer over things or where to place them, or at all.

So, it seems I’ve at least found a place for this reminder: I open my heart to temporary because that is all there is for now.

In this issue: Reminder, Triggers, Alan Alda, The Importance of Setting Medium-Term Goals part 1
Now posted: New Orleans, October 2009, Reunion

Posted by jaselin at 03:26 PM | Comments (0)

July 20, 2010

Yardstick, ME Newsletter, Vol. 3, Issue 29

I wanted to do it all at once, and have it all done.
Neither one of those things happened on the first scheduled moving day, or the second.

In the very last load of belongings, I transported three yardsticks - one each: wood, metal and plastic. I had already giving away quite a few, uncertain why I had so many to begin with.

I’m tempted to judge myself harshly according to the plans I mapped out. The yardstick I am holding myself up against measures my own impatience with transition. I am annoyed that my plans are no longer accurate because I have more space than I imagined for furniture and less space than I imagined for storage. Yes, I measured, and re-measured, and even had help measuring.

It’s my imaginative spatial judgment that’s lacking, not the figures. Designed by generalization; frustrated by reality. Torn between seizing the day or systematically destroying my boxed-in numerically labeled mess, I take the first option and concede a new yardstick is order.

Recognizing that longer-for-the-moment daylight hours and an amusingly short Green Wave commute will help move the settling process along on rainy days, I am busy enjoying seasonal amenities like sunshine and a pool at the moment. Maybe by Labor Day, I will be box-less, and ready for routine.

Maybe then, I’ll pull out that expectation yardstick again, and measure my successes.
Followed, most likely, by measuring up new challenges…

Commit to the LORD whatever you do, and your plans will succeed. Isaiah 30:18

In this issue: Setting Expectations, Mental & Physical Expectations, Yardsticks, and Green Wave.
Now posted: New Orleans, October 2009, Trippy

Posted by jaselin at 09:09 AM | Comments (0)

July 13, 2010

Follow Up Wishing, ME Newsletter, Vol. 3, Issue 28

I am not amazing or strong or brave. I am trying to accept my current circumstances by approaching them from a different view. I don’t know how this is going to be or turn out.

I’m not about to predict how long any of my changes will last, although I am completely emptied of future plans, and very content with the ones I have made for now.

I am not even going to try to live up to the lovingly offered and hopeful expectations others have for my new life. I just want to improve a little on the amount of free time, spiritual time, sleep time I have been running low on for years.

I want to open my eyes each morning in the next few weeks blessedly realizing that at last something has changed, and thank GOD for the new perspective.

I’m not going to say goodbye to anyone because I am still right here, accessible and open to two-way communication, anytime, all the time.

I am going to ease myself into my surroundings, let practicality decide which adjustments I will make because I need to and which ones I will make because I simply want to.

I am going to say “not now” when I don’t feel like I can, and “absolutely” when I am able; to everything and everyone, equally.

I am going to try and give myself more patience than I show to others; and step off my own toes when I realize I am being unfair to myself, about anything.

I am going to embrace my environments; take advantage of amenities, explore all opportunities.

I am going to be learning from others and GOD, and listening more intensely to others and GOD.

I am going to follow up wishing with prayers and positive actions, and being more open to them coming true.

I am going, and I am going to be.

In this issue: Tacking Inspiration
Now posted: New Orleans, October 2009, Follow Up Wishing

Posted by jaselin at 02:13 PM | Comments (0)

July 06, 2010

Tensile, ME Newsletter, Vol. 3, Issue 27

This morning, on what I am so looking forward to as my soon to be nearly non-existent commute, it occurred to me that I am running out of patience.

Lack of patience on my part can usually be correlated to a lack of strength within me. Gauging my ultimate tensile strength, I doubt my ability to resist the extreme opposite forces threatening to tear me apart.

Everyone and everything has a tensile strength. Strength is determined by the composure of materials used, the processing methods, treatment, and life-time exposure. A cabinet made of steel is harder to crush than a cabinet of aluminum… in most circumstances. But suppose the steels in just mils deep, and the aluminum is a foot thick? When you think of it that way, it’s not so much what we are made of which matters. It is how many layers our lives have.

Just one piece of GOD’s immense fabric of life, I have been resisting with all my might.
Reluctant to tear away from the garment I’ve over and over re-fashioned from former pieces of myself.
Pieces of the plain bolted cloth from which I was made, pieces I have desperately held onto, now torn-away again.
Diminished until I am but a patch, usable only as part of a larger plan.

A plan I sincerely hope includes recycling my newly reduced sense of self into a brighter quilt-work: attaching me to other smaller weaker pieces, building a more colorful comforting world than any of us could ever achieve alone.

On the surface, held together by common threads.
Strengthened by GOD’s backing.
This is my current fervent prayer, and will be my continual prayer for life.

In this issue: Tensile Strength, Connecting with the World Around You, Power of Choice, Brief History of Quilting
Now posted: New Orleans, October 2009, Welcome Back

Posted by jaselin at 04:42 PM | Comments (0)

June 28, 2010

Close Encounters, ME Newsletter, Vol. 3, Issue 26

Close Encounters of the Tornado Kind. A 100% True & Embarrassing Story

I’ve managed to keep this string of instances to myself for a bit.
I probably wouldn’t even be sharing now, except that it so significantly impacted my current psyche.
And because I was accidentally too honest last Saturday afternoon during a yard sale lull and didn’t want you all hearing this from someone else.

We got to talking about last week’s tornados. I marveled aloud at being able to maintain live-contact via laptop and cell phone texting as two storms passed through. “Tornado warning! Are you up? Turn on your radio.” Communications travelled even faster than the 70 mph winds as I announced my whereabouts just in case anyone had to look for me later: “In my bathtub: laptop, phone, ipod, purse, wallet, comforter, pillow, the cat & me. Another night of tornado warnings. Stations are giving conflicting reports, so… here we hang.”

About 3:20 am, I made the decision to disengage. Shut down the computer, silent mode-ed the cell phone, set the radio alarm clock that runs on batteries in case I still lost power somewhere in what was left of the short space of the night, curled my blanket around me, and coiled up pretty comfortably in the bathtub. On the edge of drifting into sleep, I heard an unmistakable sound that would have me shaking my head for days. I distinctly heard the Close Encounters communication theme. You know that note progression that resulted in supposedly intelligible intergalactic communication? Well, it was loud and clear - in my bathroom. It sent me into a bit of illogical panic. I immediately texted a friend who I knew happened to be riding the storms out in her bathroom as well: “I am so not kidding. Lying here & I hear Close Encounters notes. Not laptop or phone or ipod…wtf?”

Just to validate, I did another prompt electronic inventory: Phone - still silent. Computer - still off. Ipod not eaten by the cat – I know because (sigh, here comes the too honest part…) I lifted her tail and checked her puckered backside for musical emissions. Not that I have the Close Encounters sound track on my ipod anyway, but it was late, and there was excess air pressure, and I was somewhat confused.

I considered the theory that someone’s still active TV had ended up in my yard, not likely. Or perhaps, someone was watching the C.E. movie in their car due to their power being out – hillbilly, but possible. Either way, I wasn’t about to leave my sanctuary to check the situation. I credit myself with at least being smart enough to know that if I opened the door, Miss Fred would fly by me, long gone and unretrievable. There’s no way I could have corralled her back into seclusion with me, especially after my indiscriminate and insulting butt-check behavior.

I shook my head - nothing was rattling around in there, either. I was just about sure I had fabricated the tinkling tones, and was starting to mentally giggle when I heard the simple strains again.

I jumped out of the tub, and lunged for the phone just in time to see a fading message inform me that I was “roaming.” I was pretty sure I wasn’t, but then again things were looking a little muddled at this point. After some consideration, I settled on believing that Sprint has the dorkiest roaming tone alert system on earth, climbed back into the tub and settled down - uneasily wondering how and when Miss Freddie would choose to seek her revenge.

So, back to the slowest yard sale on earth…. To my weight-of-the-world-off-my-already stressed-out-fragile-psyche relief, it turns out that I was not the only one who heard those bars. My neighbor had been monitoring the weather channel when she thought she heard something recognizable but extremely odd. She knew it didn’t resemble a normal warning siren so she lowered the television volume via remote, and listened for a heartbeat or two. Not hearing anything except driving winds and rain, she re-upped the volume on the set. Suddenly, a bedroom door crashed open. A blur ran past her, flinging the front door wide open, as well. The Close Encounter vibes were so loud they had woken someone up, catapulted them from their bed, and driven them down the front porch stairs only to be left standing on the sidewalk in the turbulent dark night scanning the sky for alien lights.

I’m sure gonna miss my real-life neighbors when I move. And I really do appreciate my local friends in other neighborhoods who checked up on me, family and friends across the country who made me feel safer because they knew where I was, and am incredibly thankful for technological blessings that give us the chance to weather storms of any type as closely as if we were in the same room.

In this issue: Civil Defense Sirens, Close Encounters, "I'm a Scientist, Get Me Out of Here!", and Appreciation of the Good Things in Life.
Now posted: New Orleans, October 2009, Out Reaching Me

Posted by jaselin at 09:07 PM | Comments (0)

June 22, 2010

Thunder, Dogs & Practice, ME Newsletter, Vol. 3, Issue 25

I decided to give y’all a break from my micro-cosmic world of moving and packing. However, before I decided that, I gave myself a break from the same circumstances. I spent a delightful 2 days traveling mid-to-western Michigan in a minivan with a bunch of semi-strangers. Sounds like a mission trip, doesn’t it? In some ways it was, but without the destination of a disaster area and without the focus of fixing anything. And, as a bonus, I wasn’t in charge of anything.

Get In The Car Ministries puts a great deal of emphasis on the outcomes of our assignments. But it’s usually not physically installing vinyl siding or floor tiling or the roofing repairs we are referring to. Those are only the means of achievement. The goal is to complete projects, thereby effectively taking them completely off the oppressive “to do” yoke of those whose physical lives have been in shambles. There are also two sub-culture emphases. One is that sharing our GOD-induced desire for service with others restores their faith in people and in GOD. The other is to support that those who serve on our teams so that they come to their own thunderbolt understanding of how it is that they ended up with us in the first place.

Well, the thunderbolt was mine this trip. It struck me after spending 24 extremely comfortable, fun, and funny hours with these particular five ladies. Having spent the previous day shopping, eating, shopping, eating, shopping and eating, on Sunday morning we found ourselves sitting outside the Golden Brown Bakery in downtown St. Joseph. Under the watchful eye of “Homer” one of St. Joseph’s interactive art “Hot Diggity Dog” project sculptures, we were sipping coffee, munching sweets, solving our problems, solving world problems, and finding reasons to laugh along the way.

On the surface, we didn’t have anything specifically in common. In fact, it seemed we were closer to having nothing at all in common. All five of my companions are mothers of Autistic children; I have never been a mother. All are happily married, and able to good-naturedly grouse about their spouses. I don’t have a spouse to good-naturedly grouse about anymore. I do have plenty of experience being the sibling of a mentally challenged person, and well, there were plenty of funny husband-ism stories I could relate to. There were a few I could share, as well. One involved a Beagle puppy, a 2 year old Jack Russell, a no longer stray 5 year old black cat and a drastic misinterpretation of the word, “No.”

The major lesson that boomed through my heart was this: While we may have not traveled common paths, doggedly traveling our own paths has made us commonly stronger, steadier, more self-assured, practically non-judgmental, able to laugh at the drama, happy to be in the present and in each other’s presence.

Being able to give is an art form. Being comfortable accepting what is given is a struggle for well-tried, self-sufficient women like us. I believe our GOD-given, minivan-driven mission was to practice and polish our "give and accept." I believe this particulat team has it mastered. I also believe I want more practice time - can't wait to do it again.

Posted by jaselin at 03:44 PM | Comments (0)

June 15, 2010

Gifted in Distraction, ME Newsletter, Vol. 3, Issue 24

It’s been a week of random thoughts. From stun guns to office supplies to hair color, then from progressions to Bose, the relationships seem vague and jumpy at best. But, I think sometimes GOD is a better distracter than we realize.

For example – I am never listless or list-less. I don’t have time for the first, and couldn’t survive without the second. Oh, I suppose technically, I could survive, but I really do thrive on lists and without them who knows what I might miss along the way.

Writing all those little and monumental tasks down can be self-intimidating, but the reward of removing an item from impending status is apparently an addictive high for me. Sometimes, while I’m creating a list, I get stopped by a word. Sometimes, it’s wondering about a dual meaning, alternate spelling, the origins, or where I last heard or read it.

Distraction is a positive force to be harnessed, though. It can bring you back to the present, which sounds like an impossibility, but here’s how it works. You can take yourself out of a situation, and then put yourself back in, peacefully. This week’s Take 10
Meditation class provided a do-able example. You’re driving, your mind is racing, traffic is stopped; frustration is building. Ask yourself three questions.

Who am I? Where am I? How can I participate?
Name yourself – silently or aloud. Announce yourself – silently or aloud. Participate – silently or aloud.
I am a driver. I am in an air conditioned car. I participate by taking in my environment, saying “wheat grass lines the road.”

I am re-distracted by the results: head swiveled, breathing returned to normal, tightened grip relaxed.
Where did those other thoughts dissolve to? Where did those briefly abandoned worries go?

It’s like that when I am listing. I veer off task to participate in a purposeful and specific distraction; leading me down a different path for just a while, then, bringing me back with an enthusiastic clarity for the task at hand, having been gifted with a mind-expanding exploration.

I thank GOD for the distracting random thoughts and the incentive to follow them.
And, I thank GOD for the email and note pad capability of cell phones.
Otherwise, I might forget these moments, and not be able to pass them on to you.
Here’s to all our distractions, and the celebration that should follow each and every one.

In this issue: Progression, Hairdressing, Stun Guns, and Bose.
Now posted:
New Orleans, October 2009: Real Wealth of Sharing & Caring
Humor, That’s Random: Office Supply & Demanding
Humor, That’s Random: Hair Today

Posted by jaselin at 11:25 AM | Comments (0)

June 08, 2010

Misnomered, ME Newsletter, Vol. 3, Issue 23

You know what? Packing is more painful than I thought it would be.
I spent most of the day the purchase payment for my house credited to my bank account in a weepy state. At first I thought maybe it was because the opportunity to back out had receded. Not that I ever wanted to back out. I really need this move. However, I’m not entirely ready for it, either.

I guess this is the appropriate time to interject my apologies to anyone I may have offended due to being starchily offended by rote comments regarding the changes I have chosen to pursue. I have repeatedly been offered the following misnomers for my actions:
“You’re making a brand new start.”
“You’re getting on with your life.”
“It’s what Jeff would have wanted.”

It’s not possible to start over, but it is possible to continue on in a more “healthy” manner.
I’m not getting on with my life – I’ve been living in the present since the day my past died.
It is not at all what Jeff would have wanted – he would have wanted to be here doing this with me if it was what I wanted.

However, semantics aside, this is my situational analysis. I suppose my solid rejection of these standard niceties is due to the underlying notion that they are surreptitiously implying that I shouldn’t feel guilt.
I’m giving up a daily commute which has been robbing me of three hours a day for over ten years. I feel absolutely no guilt over that.
I am giving myself more time to take care of myself, relax and expand my world. I feel absolutely no guilt over that.
I have made arrangements for some things to continue on without me, uninterrupted, and to no one’s disadvantage. I feel absolutely no guilt over my departure from those duties.

So, what exactly is it I am feeling? Stress ? Sure - selling, buying, moving. Regret? Sure – I’d rather not have to be at this point in my life. Sadness? Sure – this particular vignette is winding down.

E-conversations with friends have led me these self-written reminders:
Chapters are only short sections of our lives. Each chapter has a prequel and a sequel. They're all connected, and flow with reason and rhyme: All in good time; all in good time.
I have been paused a while in that small blank space that signifies a turn is due. I will be shuffling the page corner, and am anticipating the story’s continuation in exactly four weeks. My hope remains intact because I know this chapter won’t stand alone, and I know there’ll be a sequel.

All right. Now, back to the origin of this note: in order to distract the tears, I stop packing long enough to log onto facebook, searching for something either brain numbing or heart lightening. There on my profile page, I find the following verse for the day: The LORD had said to Abram, "Leave your country, your people, and your household and go to the land I will show you. - Genesis 12:1.

Well, then. I guess that's that. I’m going. It probably won’t be at all what I had in mind, but it’s where GOD has led my heart – leaden for so long, longing to be buoyant.

In this issue: Misonomer, Continuing Forward, Corrugated Cardboard, and Corn Starch
Now Posted: New Orleans, October 2009, On a Personal Note

Posted by jaselin at 10:47 AM | Comments (0)

June 01, 2010

Fringe, ME Newsletter, Vol. 3, Issue 22

“A funeral is one of the few times when we give completely of our love without expecting love in return.” Unknown

“Every day should be like a funeral.” jakorte

I went to a funeral Saturday, not for the one who had passed but for the ones who are still here.
For the one, it may seem that I am (at best) only a fringe friend… a friend of a friend.
For other I am more than a friend, more like a sister.
As a spectator, I believe this may have been the first funeral I have ever attended that I have not been emotionally invested in: meaning, I did not know the deceased.

So, why did I go? Because sometimes you meet someone who you just get. Someone you can see yourself in, and someone you want to be. I doubt very much I was born with an extra bit more sensitivity to other’s pain than normal, but through the years I’ve both accidentally and forcibly had to hone that skill. I’ve used it quite bit, had to draw on its reserve. There have been times when the pain has been my only driving force.

I wish I had met the woman who was laid to rest. She read real books, questioned everything, held herself strong in her faith, and loved writing letters. She wrote eloquently, and with humour. She was humble, but had the fire to not be ignored. She was 89, and yet we had so much old-fashioned-ness in common, I caught an uncomfortable glimpse of how I must seem to the young people in my life.

I thinking I’m seeing myself a lot more like I really am these days. Four years older than the year I thought time would stop, and looking it lately, too. At least that’s what my mirrored eyes are telling me. Anyway, about being a fringe friend - in my world there isn’t really isn’t such a thing. It’s only the way I describe those that I rarely see, don’t see often enough, or may not have spent any more time with than a few volunteer hours once.

If you’re reading this note, you’re permanently on my list of people I would do most anything possible for. Even if I don’t know you well, or if you’ve come to this message via a friend, or a friend’s page – that means somehow you've found your way into my fringe. You’re a part of the edgy border, splashing decorative color and texture onto an otherwise minimalist framework.

If you’re reading this note, be assured: GOD loves you, and so do I.

In this issue: Brookside, Fringe, Decoration Day, James Garfield, Garfield the Cat.

Now Posted: New Orleans, October 2009, One Week to Go.

Posted by jaselin at 01:05 PM | Comments (0)

May 25, 2010

Anticipation, ME Newsletter, Vol. 3, Issue 21

I’ve always been baffled by the chorus of Carly Simon’s hit, “Anticipation.”
The verses make strong sense; but not the repeated refrain:

"Anticipation, Anticipation / Is making me late / Is keeping me waiting"

Anticipation doesn’t keep us waiting; waiting is what leads to anticipation, or dread.
The difference being one is a joyful wait and the other is stress induced.

Not to be too picky, but how could anticipation make us late? It’s been my experience that anticipation drives us to move forward, especially in the case of trying to be sure we make it to the airport in time.

I suppose there is a sort-of-related, very minor, plot line duplicity. Anticipation almost forces us to fore see obstacles, and can, in its favor, be credited for early terminal and gate arrivals due to hopeful avoidance of dreaded delays in long lines.

Yet, our lives follow an exactly opposite pattern. We commonly delay; in fear of the end. An inevitable event, death most commonly remains viewed with dread. Only the most secure, the most rooted, the few true believers, face death with unabashed anticipation.

But, I worry that too much of an intense focus on the future results in missing the “now.”
And, I worry that too much foretelling dread results in missing the “now.”

All time is scientifically and solidly non-retrievable. Not observing the present is a costly mistake.
How is it possible remove the anticipation or dread from our lives?
Simply by giving our worries to GOD; HE has asked for them, and expects them.

Ms. Simon wrote:

“And tomorrow we might not be together: I'm no prophet, I don't know nature’s way
So I'll try to see into your eyes right now: And stay right here, 'cause these are the good old days.”

Let’s work alongside HIM to create better circumstances.
Let’s live in the present and love in the now.

In this issue: Carly Simon, Definitions of Anticipation, Heinz
Now Posted: New Orleans, October 2009, Levees and Shirts

Posted by jaselin at 12:58 PM | Comments (0)

May 18, 2010

The Dandelion Effect, ME Newsletter, Vol. 3, Issue 20

Even if you prefer pristinely pampered lawns, you have to appreciate the amazing and delicate beauty of a mature dandelion. The strongest stalwart weed becomes a fragile flower… most beautiful as it is about to disintegrate. Transforming into delicate architecture, the structural nature is completely at the potentially destroying mercy of even the slightest whispering breezes.

Saturday night on the porch, kept company by April and May rescued black labs, Gary a rescued gray kitten, Fluffy a friendly old blackish-brownish barn cat, a human friend, a glass of wine, and an unusual sunset view. Low western clouds blocked out the majority of the show, but a glorious pink-orange peeked in around them and settled on the northern horizon.

So there we were, two good friends a little into dusk, sipping Pentemere sweet apple wine, contentedly watching happily adjusted 3-year old puppies run random but strangely organized figure eights, getting swatted by kitty clawed paws and tiger-striped tails.

There’s usually not much evening traffic out there in the middle of Britton’s fields but one of those infrequent, fast moving cars came barreling down the quiet road, quickly dismissing our peaceful and only partial isolation.

I missed it the first time. Wouldn’t have even known about it unless my friend had questioned, “Did you see the dandelions glow?” It wasn’t the reserved sunset streaks that cause the dandelion effect; car headlights cut across the pre-barn fields dotted with patiently waiting flocks of clocks.

I paid more attention the next time I spotted a car on the horizon. As it swished past, I saw the fluffy weeds in an entirely new light. Halogen light hit wispy white filaments. At first the glow shattered, then echoed a few long seconds within the seemingly suspended, floating orbs.

Once the moment and the vehicle had passed, a ripple of forced air flowed through the grass. I can’t say for sure, but I imagine there must have been at least a few less flower-heads. Not exactly going out in a blaze of glory, but hosting a brief shining moment, we were lucky enough to share.

So, yes, dandelions are weeds. And, yes, they are surprisingly strong rooted.

And, yes, they eventually turn from golden petals into gorgeous seedling tufts of luminescent withering threads - undoubtedly one of GOD’s most intricate designs. Strong enough to hold themselves together until the right moment sweeps over them, riding on GOD’s well-placed wind to where they will have the opportunity to grow again. So, maybe falling apart isn’t so bad when you are letting go under GOD’s command. Maybe falling apart is the only way there is to truly give away pieces of ourselves to HIM and to others.

In this issue: Dandelions, Lawns, Top 10 Reasons Why People Move, Possibilities & Opportunities
Now posted: New Orleans, October 2009, Fitting It All In

Posted by jaselin at 02:21 PM | Comments (0)

May 11, 2010

Classified, ME Newsletter, Vol. 3, Issue 19

I’m buzz tired.

I’ve committed to another northerly move. A slight 40 miles above my present coordinates, the relocation will and has already sparked changes. First, there’s the short categorical list of things to do. Second, there’s the partially detailed but still generalized by-room list. Third, there’s the flow sheet step-by-step tiny-tasks to do on a daily basis. Within eight weeks I hope to be organized to the point of merely directing short-traveled numerically labeled boxes to their new room assignments.

I’m looking forward to paring down and selling off extraneous items.
Baker’s rack, miscellaneous duplicate tools, game table, full size bed, library bookcase, dual twin king sized bed, sofa, treadmill, entertainment center, surround sound system, TV, dining room table, wardrobe, laser printer, washer, dryer, patio set, deep fryer, display shelf, 10 gallon pickle crock, corner desk, antique dry sink with copper insert, burl wood bedside table, fax machine, antique dishes, fondue set, reading table with lamp, small round coffee table, 2 wood based lamps, lots of kitchen items, cookbooks, and whatever else I come across that falls into my newly revised “unnecessary” classification.

I’m looking forward to the semi-urban setting; only classified that way because there isn’t a convenience store directly below my apartment. Yes, I still moon some things about Manhattan. There are, however, stores, restaurants and even an entire shopping mall within walking or short driving distance. I will have a 3-mile commute, which I don’t have to drive if I don’t feel like it – a free MBlue bus stop is a short walk away. The apartment comes with a decent multi-equipped work-out facility, large heated pool, hot tub, tanning bed, and a perpetual coffee station sometimes equipped with freshly baked cookies, as well. The affordably rentable club house comes with a baby grand piano, a flat screen wall TV, and a street-vendor size popcorn popper on wheels.

Although, classifiable as amenities, when moving from a house to an apartment, what these things really add up to is additional living space; square footage I don’t have to maintain!

I’m looking forward to getting back to my youth inspired hippie-chick days with a twist of middle-aged semi-responsibility that I’m only slightly sorry about. Being semi-responsible does have some semi-advantages. I’d considered explaining that this week, but changed my mind. Sorry – that’s classified… at least for now.

In this issue: Playing to your strengths, classified, amenities, Craig's List, Body Clock

Now posted: New Orleans 2009, Space & Aspirations and Poetry 2010, Time To

Posted by jaselin at 04:28 PM | Comments (0)

May 04, 2010

Monotonous/Mountainous, ME Newsletter, Vol. 3, Issue 18

How do we end up fixated on one mountainous point?

How do we end up monotonously moving toward it?

We’ve learned by fearsome rote: had it drilled into our way-back-when very young minds that we need to get somewhere. We’ve come to believe that our happiness is directly related to the conquering motto: “Climb every mountain!” Rather sadly, the simple enjoyment of circling now cries out to our over-fixated conscience “woeful inadequacy!”

For me climbing mountains is about the perpetual monotony of placing one foot in front of the other. There never seems to be a good place to rest – it’s not so easy to sleep on a steep inclines. It doesn’t matter if you relax your toe-grip or your brain; you’re bound to end up sliding.

In my opinion, cloverleafs at least hold some minimal challenges – signaling, merging, accelerating; all while moving forward.

Carousels are different – those are the rides we take knowing they go nowhere but not really caring. Personally, I love the happy the rhythm of repetitiveness, the sweet soundtrack, and the perpetual wind in my hair.

So, I’d like to know.

Who says we have to scale mountains? Why can’t we simply (and probably more efficiently) just go around them?

Who says the summit is the goal? Maybe it’s really the fresh water lake at the foot of the other side.

Who says we have to keep moving forward? Why can’t we be pleased with where we are?

Why is routine comforting to some and appalling to others?

We know the mountainous fixed rules: we live by them, we embrace them, even if there is no joy found there.

Of course I’m not recommending anarchy, bucking the system, or complete hermitage.
But I think it’s ok, and super healthy, to once in a while just ask, “Why?”

In this issue: Climb Ev'ry Mountain, The Emotional Eating Beast, John Burroughs, Monotonous & Mountainous

Now Posted: New Orleans, October 2009, One Week to Go & Humor, That's Random, Thursday Diet Desperation

Posted by jaselin at 08:54 PM | Comments (0)

April 27, 2010

Brass Ring, ME Newsletter, Vol.3, Issue 17

I really loved the carousel at Playland in Rye, NY. I wanted to ride every single horse and every buggy being pulled by lions, elephants, or giraffes or whatever pretty bejeweled animal, however impractical it may have seemed.

I don’t recall how old I was when I first discovered the brass ring. Actually, I really didn’t discover it on my own. My Dad pointed out to me that I could get another ride for free if I succeeded in grabbing the sporadically offered incentive. Up until then, I’d just been enjoying the ride. Over and over and over.

From that moment on, I kept my eyes peeled and semi-extended my arm each time I passed that crooked hook, just in case.
Then it happened: the brass ring suddenly rolled to the tip, dangling.

I guess when you’re that young your world is pretty self-centered.
I saw the rider before me suddenly lean as far to his left as possible, extend a grasping hand, and miss. Automatically, I did the same. I missed, too.

I frantically turned in the pony saddle, looking around. I looked behind me, in front of me, and across the center of the whirling gallopers. I remember being surprised that I wasn’t alone on the ride. It was sort of a shock, really: to find that others had the same drive for the challenge as I did. Who told them about the brass ring anyway? I didn’t think that was fair at all, and I certainly wasn’t going to give up even if others had longer reach spans that I did. I wanted that ring!

After a few more brash tries, bravely placing all my weight on the right stirrup, barely holding on to the methodically shifting leather reins by my finger tips, I caught that brass ring. I held it out as I rode around to the finish, grinning and waving my prize for all to see. My dad was grinning as widely at the triumph as I was. When the music slowed and the rounder finally stopped, we walked back around to the Carousel entrance. I proudly showed the ring to the gate keeper, hopping up and down, impatient for my next turn.

I was momentarily stunned when the man in the striped vest plucked the shiny ring from my fingers. I hadn’t realized that was part of the deal. I didn’t want to give it up. My dad explained it to me: I could either keep the ring and go home, or give the ring back and take another ride. I wanted to do both! However, I reasoned with youthful myself concluding that taking another ride offered me the chance to grab another ring. I relinquished the otherwise useless and weighty memento, and rode again.

I’ve caught site of a few brass rings along my regular route lately.
Somewhere along the way, though, I’ve become afraid.
Suppose my plan isn’t detailed enough? Suppose my calculations aren’t accurate enough?
Suppose I reach too far and fall gracelessly from my comfortable seat?
Suppose I can easily reach the prize, but the hook doesn’t release the ring when I grab it?
Suppose I can’t let go fast enough to not get hurt?
Suppose I miss the rest of the ride because I took a risk that didn’t pay out?

Suppose the prize isn’t really what I’m after?
I mean, the brass ring isn’t really any good unless you’re planning on taking another ride, right?

In this issue: Brass, Brass Rings, Brass Ring Awards 24, Taking Responsibilty for your own success.
Now posted: New Orleans, October 2009, Breathing Easier & Harder.

Posted by jaselin at 03:03 PM | Comments (0)

April 20, 2010

Cloverleafs, ME Newsletter, Vol. 3, Issue 16

At first I thought I was happily heading for another new phase of my life. But the more I think about it, the more I am sure that I don't like that idea. I'd rather view this latest upheaval as a continuation of my life's adventure.

Why? Because looking back on it all it has taken me to get here, the highway has remained.
Exits, entrances, construction, pot holes, and even clear-sailing, radio-blaring days are all part of our highways.
No matter how many ramps we navigate to temporary scenic routes, we always end up exactly where we need to be.

Yeah, those detours make the trip longer, and sometimes harder than necessary, but the beauty found during pauses are what fuels renewal.
It's hard to determine where you are with the landscape always flying by.

With construction season come inevitable temporary delays. Sometimes sitting still is the only way we can focus on where we're really at. Sometimes those are the moments where we find ourselves more than ready to throw open windows for fresher air and clearer views. Opening up also means intentionally or unintentionally being more open to GOD's rerouting routine.

So, I've found myself stuck on one of those ideas that has been growing on me for quite a while. I don't care for being forced to make a decision, but even I eventually recognize a strong leaning towards the strong leading I've been feeling.

Not every exit is a cloverleaf, but neither are they as rare as they used to be. I've been riding my own personal cloverleaf ramp around in stiffly interconnected circles under the guise of constant movement; but in reality, not getting anywhere, at all. I'm not opposed to having the same life continuing circumstances, just ready to move a little further down the path and try coming at it from another direction.

My time with Jeff has been a most amazing scenic route, and a life changing experience.
No amount of past, present or future roads will lead me away from the now experienced heart I developed while driving through difficult interchanges.
It's made me who I am, and has been my most defining detour ever.

There's always been a soundtrack to my life: many favorite songs that are always appropriate like "Life is a Highway," and lyrics reminding me, "I thought I walked a twisted trail 'til I saw where it lead me to." Or lead me back to, in my case.

I'm ready to merge back onto the highway, push the pedal down and go where ever my life's adventure takes me next.
NOW: without reservations, without self-imposed speed limits, without worrying about spiritual toll booths, enjoying delays to the best of my ability, scanning the horizon for the next slow turn off, and looking forward to whatever it is I am supposed to see, where ever it is I am supposed to be.

In this issue: Highway Cloverleafs, Four Leaf Clover, GreenRide Stats, and Part 3 of Healthy Food You Thought Weren't.

Now posted: New Orleans, October 2009, As the Road Looms

Posted by jaselin at 02:39 AM | Comments (0)

April 12, 2010

Self Competition, ME Newletter, Vol. 3. Issue 15

I’m pretty big into self competition.
Pushing myself one step further gives me a nice “so there!” buzz.

Because of this I have been understandably afraid of facebook online games.
I knew I’d get sucked up into seeing how far I could go and how fast I could get there.
Still, after a particularly bad case of temporary post-holiday lonely, I followed a repeated and repeated suggestion from a dear friend.

Got a little thrill the first time I hit a level where I passed one of my neighbors in Country Life game.
Got a bigger thrill when I reached a point where I was allowed to gift my neighbors what they were asking for: things they needed to improve their farms, levels, and virtual cash flow.

At first I wanted a bigger farm. But then my anti-establishment territorialism waned.
Nope, I decided. I want to achieve the highest level possible with the smallest farm possible.

Yeah, I know that’s not right in line with the game. Yeah, I know that’s not normal.
But it is one heck of a self challenge. And it’s in keeping with recent my “less is more” life swing strategy.

And now that I can afford automation, well, I can shred old bills and check registers, or wax poetic, while feeding virtual cows, and making virtual cheese. Virtual multitasking is the way to go.

I do think I spend more time on the farm than necessary.
I do have to make a self-appointment to complete my virtual chores. I try to schedule those after the real chores.
Then I have to self-impose an absolute time deadline to log-off; usually followed by a real meal as an incentive to cut the power cord.

I have a list of other games I think I’d like to try.
Evony Age II sounds interesting, especially since the game claims “No more bullies. No need to farm.”

Once I master self-control while self-challenging, I’m thinking Mafia Wars sounds like a good way to invest in brainy exercises and keep my planning (plotting) skills sharp in between missions.

Who are you competing with?
And do you want to be my Country Life neighbor?

In this issue: Scholarship, Sponsorship, Healthy Foods You Thought weren't Part 3, and Who Are You Competing With?

Now Posted: New Orleans, October 2009, Scholarship

Posted by jaselin at 04:30 PM | Comments (0)

April 05, 2010

Taxation, ME Newsletter, Vol. 3, Issue 14

Holidays are always a tough call for me. Spend time with family and friends, or keep to my hermitage.

It’s a little reminiscent of the party dilemma I frequently suffered in college.
Most of the time I wasn’t really interested in crowding into a stinky, sticky-floored party to ogle a bunch of drunken fellas, while trying to determine if they might be good intellectual matches for me. However, most Thursday, Friday and Saturdays nights I would find myself standing in some fraternity or sorority or off-campus house basement doing just that. I was more afraid that if I didn’t go I would miss something, than I had common sense to tell me that so far I really hadn’t missed anything.

Now that I’ve matured into my widowhood, I am frequently faced with holiday taxation entrenchment. I love the root ideas of holidays: spending time together, eating comfort foods, establishing ties and traditions. But... they're also equally worthy of my dread.

I’ll try to explain: It’s not the going because I love a journey and the welcoming arival. It’s not the being there because I love my fam & friends. It’s the leaving that hits hard. Should be expected by now, but still ends up feeling like a sucker punch.

After the laughter, after the love, after the bonding, after memories are made, after stepping out of my very single, comfortable, self-efficient and self-sufficient routine – I repeatedly find my solo self heading back in the direction from which I came. The closer I get to my stagnant zone, the less appealing my safely padded turtle shell appears. The thing is - life really isn’t all that bad if I stay within the confines of my simple world. However, that can get pretty lonely, at times, too.

So the issue resurfaces at least once a month: Remain aloof and comfortable in my microcosmic bubble, or venture out knowing that sooner or later I’ll be traveling home alone to my big empty house, miles away.

I’ve tried both.
I’ve enjoyed both to an extent; suffered both to an extent.

Genesis 2:18 In the beginning, and from the beginning, a reflective covenant is established through GOD's creation of Adam - “It is not good for man to be alone.”
Yet, no matter which choice I make, the ending is just the same.
The question becomes whether to remain comfortably alone always, or to feel accutely alone sometimes.

I guess the best I can do for myself and for others is to evaluate each choice based on perceived merit and impending taxation - basing my participation on whether or not I can afford to or even want to pay the heavy tax for love and laughter now with painfully predictable taxation tears later.

In this issue: Intaxiction, TurboTax, Government Taxes, Cyber Tax Day, Imposition, Part 2 - Healthy Foods You Thought Weren't.

Now Posted: New Orleans, October 2009, First Reflection

Posted by jaselin at 08:38 PM | Comments (0)

March 30, 2010

Veggie Tales, ME Newsletter, Vol. 3, Issue 13

Veggie Tales.

I love broccoli – well, I used to love broccoli.
Actually, I’m sick of broccoli. Really, I’ve just had enough. How did this happen?

I originally set out on a search for frozen vegetables that would taste like real ones. Michigan winters are long, and “fresh” winter produce tends to taste like grey shadows of the real summertime deal.

Carrots didn’t work – didn’t like the weird grainy disintegrating texture.
Green beans didn’t work – didn’t appreciate the waxy squeaky sounds when chewing.
Corn – loved it, but the sugar content’s a bit high for a “healthy diet.”
Cauliflower – not in my vocabulary, so that nixed a lot of mixed veggie medleys.
Onions – way too smelly when defrosted from frozen.
Peppers – defrosted into unnaturally spongy browned muted colors.
Yams – ok, but frozen tubers melt down into mashed, no matter what the bag shows.
Squash –was a little bitter, but a little Splenda brown sugar works magic.
Broccoli was ok, pretty good in fact.

One can of pickled beets and four bags of steam-able frozen broccoli into the Weight Watchers at Work Program I became pointedly aware that I desperately needed a new sidekick. Broccoli wasn’t so palatable anymore. Then, the leader mentioned something about not eating the same things everyday lest your palate and metabolism become complacent. Oops.

I’d so been enjoying my diet regimen, thank you very much. It fit so nicely into my other established routines. But, it’s true that variety spices things up. And it’s true that routine is boring. I guess that’s why there’s so much fuss about wearing your watch on the opposite hand, driving a different route to and from work, rearranging your furniture, and now varying what you eat.

Ok, so I have a few frozen yellow options. Corn, Yams, Squash; maybe someday green broccoli will be re-included. Canned tomatoes, pickled cabbage, beets and beans suffice for the red spectrum, for now. I’ll continue to use the market’s over-marketed too brightly green peppers and celery until spring. I’ll suffer the almost tasteless onions, and buy expensive fresh spinach instead of watery lettuces.

I already know I’ll be way more thankful this year when farms stands start to pop open for business.
I think we should change Thanksgiving to spring time.
I think we should change Thanksgiving to monthly.
Come to think of it, I think we should change Thanksgiving to always.

In this issue: Healthy Foods You Thought Weren't, Wive's Tales, Carrot Tales, and VeggieTales.

Now posted: New Orleans, October 2009, Weekly Membership

Posted by jaselin at 01:13 PM | Comments (0)

March 22, 2010

Car Wash, ME Newsletter, Vol. 3, Issue 12

I keep a prayer pad next to my computer.
Sometimes more than prayers end up on there.
Sometimes I write down song titles or book titles.
Sometimes I write down questions or thoughts provoked by requests.

The other night a request came through from a few states away asking for prayers for the direction a life was taking.
I suppose that should have been easy enough, but I was stumped. Was I to focus on the continued direction or was I supposed to focus on a change of direction? Was the requestor hoping to be led back to GOD or for the necessary strength needed to continue to follow HIM? I wrote it down, knowing I’d ponder more, later.

I wasn’t really thinking about that dilemma when I decided to take advantage of an oxymoronic "nice" winter day and UofM’s free fleet vehicle wash bay. It’s pretty much a drive-thru at your own pace automatic experience. I’ve done it dozens of times. After the soap application there is a 3-4 second delay before the vehicle is engulfed in a high-pressure water storm. There is no way to see where you are going; no moving rails to guide you, just bumpers along both sides. Of course you can always look behind to see where you’ve been.

Out of habit, I checked the driver side mirror and realized – too late – that earlier I had cracked open the rear fin windows to enjoy a balmy breeze. In the few seconds it took to register the error and close the windows, an accumulation of about an inch of water filled every available crevice on either side of the third row seat. The bench ended up a little damp, but the center seat stayed dry. It was a good thing we only had 5 riders that day instead of 7. Otherwise, two sad someone(s) would have ended up with soggy bottoms.

One positive result of my oversight is that the cup holders and arm cubbies are now bereft of build-up. The harsh waters of the wash bay did exactly what they were supposed to do – clean away dirt and debris. Once the super jet air driers did their magic on the windshield, it was once again a clear marked path to the road ahead.

I still don’t know the specifics of the request, but I’ve decided that having that knowledge might just water down the prayer, anyway.
Emotional pain is a spiritual opportunity: a reminder we’ve been given ample space for messages to fill. Until we open up and give the cleansing messages a chance to soak in, our paths will remain unclear.

So that’s what I’ll be praying for: a spiritual carwash.
Here’s hoping your heart’s windows are open for the deluge.

Trust in the LORD with all your heart; and lean not unto your own understanding. Proverbs 3:5

In this issue: intercessory prayer, car washes, cleanliness & godliness, prayeronearth.com
Now posted: New Orleans, October 2009, Papering/Submission & Release.

Posted by jaselin at 04:25 PM | Comments (0)

March 15, 2010

Slipping Disks, ME Newletter Vol. 3, Issue 11

I found a forgotten tale while going through more office files last week: “Always Wear a Slip.”
I was so excited to have such an old piece reemerge, that I thought I might add it to this week’s blog message.

I quickly saved it to my desktop and continued on my shredding journey.
Tearing apart plastic disks and slipping the cute little true-to-name floppy-disky part into the shredder was fun, and somewhat therapeutic. Purposefully destroying something under the guise of spring cleaning, making garbage, and de-cluttering the office, translates into a pretty good time for me.

Quite a bit later, I had the remarkable luck to find myself in that precarious daylight savings time mythical hour.
Ironically, my phone woke me up with a text message politely reporting it had very considerately updated my phone clock so I wouldn’t have to lose any sleep over it.

Since deep sleep had already slipped away, I decided to get a jump on the newsletter.
I clicked on the cute desktop short-cut item only to have my nefarious computer insistently repeat “Insert a floppy disk into drive A.” Huh? I had checked the file to make sure it saved. I had closed it and opened it, and it was there. However, as I stared blankly at the no longer cute but rather taunting icon, I realized the sad truth. Of course it had been there, because I had checked it while the disk was still active. I hadn’t created a back-up file, just a shortcut requiring the disk.

“Always Wear a Slip” was lost. Slipped; from an over 15 year old floppy disk by way of my fingers through a very thorough grinding machine.

I can’t accurately recreate the exact wording even though I read it just a day ago.
But, the moral of that story was of course to always wear a slip, because badly embarrassing issues can result if you don’t take that precaution.
The sub-moral was to make sure that you always follow the advice you give.

The moral of the above story is to remind those few remaining folks who are still using archaic floppies to check your back up file after you remove the disc.
The sub-moral is to make sure that you always follow the advice you give.

In this issue: Disk vs. Disc; Slips, Slipped Disks,
Now Posted: New Orleans, Oct 2009: Action Plan: Papering/Liability
Humor, That’s Random: Always Wear a Slip

Posted by jaselin at 01:10 PM | Comments (0)

March 08, 2010

The Secret, ME Newsletter, Vol. 3, Issue 10

Who doesn’t dislike at least some part of their job, would rather not pay bills, wish they could just win that ridiculous battle of the stubborn 5 pound over bulge once and for all, frequently and easily find fault with their lives, surroundings and selves?

But sometimes, something else comes along.
Something with the potential to devastate you; something you just didn't see coming.
Then you have to decide: fall into it and let it swallow you whole, or say WTF and roll on.

It certainly takes an effort to stay on the brighter side of life.
And to my semi-sadistic delight, it really annoys some people as well.
Maybe that’s why I want to be more persistent about it –
if I can bring the cranky people around, my life would be easier.

“I know what it is to be in need, and I know what it is to have plenty. I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want. I can do everything through him who gives me strength.” - Philippians 4:12-13 – NIV

What does that translate to in modern language?
How do we merge that into our everyday influential lives?
I like Uncle Kracker’s summer D-town semi-spiritual take on it:

“If you don’t like me brother, that’s ok
I ain’t gonna let it ruin my day
I’ll keep smilin’, stylin’
& handin’ out the sunshine.
I got it all figured out
I got no worries that I’m worried about
It’s like I caught some crazy happy disease,
Damn, it feels good to be me!”

Decide for yourself.
Like your life.
Use your energy to radiate warmth.
Devote your soul to happiness.
Catch that crazy happy disease; be purposely contagious.

In this issue: The GratiDudes, Webisodes, Emotional Atmosphere, Grateful Hearts.
Now posted: New Orleans, October 2009, Action Plan: Papering/Medical Release & Humor That's Random, Arrested Follow Up.

Posted by jaselin at 07:23 PM | Comments (0)

March 03, 2010

Moo Tube (part 2), ME Newsletter, Vol. 3, Issue 9

Blame it on anthropomorphism - the tendency to ascribe human attributes to inanimate objects. Anthropomorphism is a primary driving factor leading people to collect objects. It brings sentimentality and memories together in one place. For example, I could pretty much tell you where, when and who I was with for when I acquired each piece in my mostly Boyd glass hen flock.

Sometimes you have to let go of things to be healthier. Under stern self-direction, I faced a choice: cows or chickens. There was just as much (if not more) APMistic value in the flea market chicken treasures as there was with the store bought cow collection. I chose to keep chickens.

That meant 23 Cow Parade cow figurines, 4 Cow Parade magnets, and a Cow Parade book found themselves on the Home Care Services silent-auction block for Haiti Relief last week. At first, I suggested the herd be sold as a set, but then people began expressing interest in certain ones. There was some semi-bullish but mostly good-natured competition over some of the more unusual and amusingly named pieces.

Alas, when the bids were culled, the cattle competition left a few still fielded, without bids. I approved the overhead announcement that the remaining cows were free to good homes. On my way down the hall to my office as the offer came over the intercom, a mini-stampede formed for the free-roaming leftovers. All were adopted; some were later traded.

I’ll miss the bevy of bovines, but am certain that they will be loved and cherished in new homes. The cute critters helped reach the HCS silent auction goal of raising over $300.00 in relief funds. Judging by the enthusiastic reactions, they have probably already been anthropomorphized by new owners, who in years to come will view them in delight as they recall the means by which they were attained.

Interestingly, while it’s true I have 23 less cows, I still hold the essence of their cultivation.
Our hearts and minds are very capable of storing and guarding thirst quenching memories of loved ones. A revelation of comfort comes from knowing for certain that those we miss may be out of our sight, but they have been firmly bid on, and are loved and cherished - in a new home: GOD’s home.

(PS. I kept the Chicken Cow and the Nas-Cow, for what should be semi-obvious anthropomorphic reasons.)

In this issue: CowParade, Content, Automated Cow Milking, Happy Cows, and Anthropomorphism
Now Posted: New Orleans, Oct 2009, Action Plan: Skills Assessment
& Humor, That's Random, Distress Signals

Posted by jaselin at 02:34 AM | Comments (0)

February 23, 2010

Moo Tube (part 1), ME Newsletter, Vol. 3, Issue 8

It’s been a while since the DOT posted a name, but there was another one this week:
Army Sergeant Dillon Foxx, Traverse City.

Between post-holiday regrouping and pre-tax season prepping, I have to admit I’ve been complacently ignoring some realities. I originally had the topic of contentedness on my agenda for this week. And, I’m going to see that through, with a little side trip.

The other day a friend told me of a television show she had watched about happy automated cows, and some interesting technological advances in the world of milking farms. Supposedly, cows on an automated farm are less stressed because they decide when they need milking, and wander into the milk house at their leisure. They are then auto-udder-washed and auto-udder-connected to milking cups. No people involved.

So, I went to research that, and instantly found a promising lead: Contented Cows Give Better Milk, by Bill Catlette and Richard Hadden. Sadly, I did not find what I wanted. Aimed at business management leadership, the book was officially subtitled, The Plain Truth About Employee Relations and Your Bottom Line. The title simply employed an unflattering metaphor.

Although catchy and somewhat amusing, I am still only slightly less insulted than when the management team of one company I’ve worked for sent out a questionnaire asking employees if they preferred to be recognized for outstanding work by: A. a paper certificate, B. a pin, or C. food

Yep, those were the only choices. Things like promotions, raises, cash awards were not included as options. You can probably imagine the angry herd-mentality unrest that little survey raised. Sort of the same buck-kick reaction we had when an upper manager once told me and some other coworkers – to our faces – that they believed “any monkey off the street” could do our jobs.

Perhaps Michigan's secondary motto should be “The Stoic State.” We stoically continue on about our lives despite ever-present dangers lurking. The potential loss of more jobs, more lives to be lost in war, more worries about family, education and financial security of any type.

Complacency could do a good job of helping us to ignore stress, especially here in Michigan. The problem is we are aware of the pitfalls around us, which technically makes us willingly contented.

In other words, most of us are stressed enough to convince ourselves that we are happy enough with what we have or are; wanting to hold on to it all at least a little while longer. But, really, what good does it do us to claim contentment but still be grasping? In that sense I am progressing toward content. No longer grasping, paring down, thinning out my belongings; I may in-fact be over-releasing. Yet, the more I release, the happier I am.

I’ll let you contemplate the implications of that for a few days.
And then we’ll pick up right here again next week.

In this issue: Complacency vs. Contentedness, Milk, Contented Cows, John Kenneth Gilbraith
Now posted: New Orleans, October 2009, Papering & Mom's Notes from Mayo: Going Home.

Posted by jaselin at 12:43 PM | Comments (0)

February 16, 2010

Unusual, ME Newsletter, Vol. 3, Issue 7

Well, Valentine’s Day stealthily passed me by.
Didn’t get my taxes done. Don’t have any new piercings.
Although, even after a year, my elbow still has the ice-capades bump.

I was concerned I’d lost the fire for non-conformity, until someone set me straight the other night.
“I always thought you were unusual,” he said. “But, now I think you’re just strange!”
The friendly revelation followed a discussion with his wife and a few others regarding some of the unexpected ways I’ve chosen to mark milestones, and a cross-examination of my motivation behind chosing a deeply irridescent shade of midnight-navy nail polish.

I don’t like to think I’m the only one who likes to stir things up, set things straight, and forge on.
I’m know there are others out there who go their own way naturally, and do their own thing creatively.
I just don’t think they are brave enough to tell anyone else about it.
Well, maybe that's too harsh. Maybe brave isn’t the right word.
Maybe, it would be more appropriate to say foolish enough.
Nah, it's not really foolish. It's way more purposeful.
I like to throw it out there. I like to bring on questions.
I really like responses.

In this issue: Tom Jones, Usual, Throwing It Out There, Impacting More People, Key Presentation Skills.
Now posted: New Orleans, October 2009, Meeting Up

Posted by jaselin at 11:51 AM | Comments (0)

February 09, 2010

Shunting, ME Newsletter, Vol. 3, Issue 6

While the Mayo Clinic is still searching for Mom’s diagnosis, one new theory is that she has a shunt somewhere in her body.

The term shunt is used to describe a situation where there is ventilation without oxygenation. It is a serious physiological problem, resulting in more carbon dioxide than oxygen in the system. However, it is interesting to note that not all organs are designed to transport oxygen into the human system. The nasopharynx and trachea are examples of areas known as "dead space" and are an anatomical necessity.

Uncomfortably, I started thinking about psychological dead space; you know - the place we retreat to when we’ve had enough. It doesn’t really matter what it is we’ve had enough of. Retreat is the way we respond, repair, and regenerate the necessary authenticity of our lives. The scary part is wanting to stay there.

In a way, personal shunting occurs a lot more frequently than we might imagine. We cultivate our “dead space.” We simply do not allow the flow of a good, gracious, helping and healing GOD to reach our hearts. We allow ourselves significant dead space, in order not to feel pain or injustice or loneliness, or anything we don’t want to.

I’m not a fan of personal pain, but I’m also not content to live without love, or the accompanying losses that inevitably occur. I realize I can’t have it both ways. If I choose to employ a shunt, to expand my “dead space,” the consequence is clear: neither the bad nor the good will get through.

Am I saying that we have enough control to commit our shunt to letting GOD in or keep all Godly things out?

Of course we can: a theological shunt can be theologically directed.

And as I have philosophized before: The only real control we have is how much control we allow GOD to have.

But, it is important to clarify - GOD is not the shunt. It’s what we need from HIM that must flow through; uninterrupted, uncorrupted, unconditionally. Just as the good and welcome rain may sometimes temper a tornado, we may expect some bad will flow through with the good.

And, it is important to clarify - we will also never have any hope of being healed unless HE is allowed, and moving, within us. Unless we end our shunting.

In this issue: Shunts, Mayo Clinic, Tornados, Making or Enduring History?

Now posted:
New Orleans, 2009, Action Plan: Detailing
A Seussian Ode to Neurology, Poetry, 2010

Posted by jaselin at 06:59 PM | Comments (0)

February 02, 2010

Encapsulated, ME Newsletter, Vol. 3, Issue 5

Encapsulated:
I lost myself once at home. When my mom found me, she took pictures. My sleeping little body was jammed between the backside of the American-eagle patterned sofa and the radiant heat baseboards along the wall. I was sound asleep amongst my mother’s pot and pans; happy, encapsulated, warm.

Encapsulated:
I closed my eyes to the already dim lights, absorbed the warmth flowing through me, and listened for patterns in the deep changing vibrations. Easily immobile, I found myself internally grooving to the infectious pulsating resonance of Lady Gaga's "Money Honey."

Encapsulated:
45 minutes of MRI absolute stillness is a bane for some. For me, it’s a vacation.

A chance to blank my mind of worries, say a few long overdue prayers of thanks,
and offer sincere intentions of supplication. That lasts about 8 minutes.

Then, it’s off to the mind races where I am evaluating what furniture I could stand to part with rather than move to where ever my new, as-of-yet non-existent, job takes me. Mission accomplished – without the use of a pen and paper. They don’t allow that stuff in the tube.

Then, it’s off to my happy place: a beach, anywhere provided there is sunshine, blue water, an umbrella, a good book or two, and some sort of beverage. Oh, and some pretzels and fresh fruit, too. Absolutely no pineapple, though. That would ruin everything.

Have I distracted you enough, or are you still wondering, why an MRI?

Well, I first noticed it in Louisiana last October. On October 6th, to be exact.
I did a double deep-knee bend to sign Ms. Cheryl’s Katrina-survived fence. The long string of volunteers who have worked on her home have left their names, thoughts and well-wishes on the boards she plans to apply protective coating to and hang in her workspace.

I lowered into a squat, and signed, but I simply could not stand back up.
At least not the way I was used to – pushing off on my right leg. At the time, I figured it was due to the 3rd day on the job site in sunny, one-hundred degree, ninety-percent humidity conditions.

Back in Michigan, the leg weakness did not go away; it spread to my side and right arm.
Since then, I’ve had some new interesting symptoms appear. Like the constant microphone-feedback ringing in my ears going on for over four weeks now.

I’ve had x-rays, blood work, a CT scan, more blood work, an EMG, yet more blood work, and just this morning, an MRI. I’ve already learned to mostly ignore the ringing. I’d rather not live with it, but I could.

It will take a few days for the MRI results to get back around to my totally engaged MD. I love that she's in good spirits about it. She cheerily announced at our last meeting that she “gets to play House!”
I love “House” and Hugh, so I just as cheerily answered, “Fine, but beware - I can be just as snarly!”

As I mentioned, the good news is I did a mental inventory of excess furniture and estimated sale prices.
Plus, I took a mini vacation on my own perfect little island.

In this issue: MRI, Encapsulation, Lady Gaga.
Now Posted: New Orleans, Oct 2009: Super Conductors

Posted by jaselin at 05:34 PM | Comments (0)

January 26, 2010

Bliss & Signs, ME Newsletter, Vol. 3, Issue 4

“If ignorance is bliss - there should be more happy people.”

Although I’m sure this doesn’t sound at all like something that would actually come out of my had-it-to-the-limit ascetically sarcastic and well-bitten lips, rest assured the thought has gone through my mind a time, or few.

However, in this case they truly weren’t my words.
I took them off a church announcement sign on US 223 in Blissfield Monday night on my way home from a late Ann Arbor appointment. At first, I wondered if the whole “bliss” and “Blissfield” thing may not have been such a big coincidence.

I’m sure there was a noble thought behind the posting, but I haven’t been able to pinpoint one, yet. Maybe it was that we should better educate ourselves and that would lead to happiness. Better education leads to higher salaries, nicer homes, and bigger bank accounts. I can’t imagine that’s really where this church was going, though. I’m sure it was meant to point out something more like, “knowledge of GOD is what will set you free.”

In juxtaposition, here are some words which have come out of my mouth many times, over many years:
“In my next life, I want to be dumb and happy.”
I’ve joked I’d like less of brain, fewer analytical skills, and lower expectations.
I’ve said I’d like to not be able to rationalize balance, over-plan in obnoxious detail, or require all outcomes to equal inputs.
I mean, if I didn’t have the knowledge and the capacity, I wouldn’t have the issues, right?

Of course, I decided to analytically pursue Merriam-Webster's opinion.

The definition of bliss is happiness;
the definition of happiness is felicity;
felicity is the definition of an apt expression.
"Apt" is defined as: keenly intelligent and responsive, suited to a purpose; especially being to the point.

Then, I suppose, I am happy, and I should celebrate that at all times.

In fact, I could use some help. So, help me out here.
Tell me: what does bliss mean to you?

In this issue: Defining Bliss, Charity - Where Does the Money Go?, Merriam-Webster, a short history of Blissfield
Now Posted: Action Plan, Roll with It, New Orleans, 2009

Posted by jaselin at 12:15 PM | Comments (0)

January 19, 2010

Jitters, ME Newsletter Vol.3, Issue 3

It's been sort of a jittery week for me, personally.

Changes in family health, changes in friends and families.
Disappointments, celebrations, anxieties and reliefs.

The types of up and down experiences that tucker you out,
and make you either want to collapse in a dizzy pile or change your life drastically.

No need to worry, however.
No drama or drastic measures are forthcoming.

Because, as you may know, I am a subscriber to the slow and steady method of decision making.
And, as you may know, once I make a decision, I'm prone to stick it out, as well.

I have this vision of where I want to be. Soon, maybe by June.
I've got my outline and my list - no surprises there, either, huh?

Still, I keep looking around nervously;
thinking I'm missing something.

There's probably a big, giant movable billboard behind me that swivels when I do.
I bet it has a neon arrow and the blinking words "Find Your Future Here."

I suppose if I spin fast enough, I might catch a glimpse of it.
But then, I'd be even more impatient to get there.

So, I might as well enjoy the journey.
It may be my goal, but it's always GOD's timing.

"When times are good, be happy; but when times are bad, consider: God has made the one as well as the other.
Therefore, a man cannot discover anything about his future. - Ecclesiastes 7:14 - NIV"

In this issue: Jitterbug, Configurations of Jitter, Why We Get Dizzy, and Spinning Tops
Now posted: Action Plan, Pre-meeting Jitters, New Orleans, October 2009.

To subscribe to the one-page issue email: jakorte@tc3net.com

Posted by jaselin at 12:26 PM | Comments (0)

January 12, 2010

Saving, ME Newsletter, Vol. 3, Issue 2

Just in case one of your resolutions is to "save money"...

I know I’ve mentioned this before, but still… I cannot believe that I am the only person in the world who has fun saving.

It’s time for my New Year’s cabinet inventory challenge, again.
You know the one… where I see what’s left in my pantry and make as many meals as possible without going to the market for groceries for as long as possible. Of course, I’ll need perishables like milk and yogurt and bread. But mainly, I try to spend January not spending money on groceries until I have used up the majority of canned, bottled and dry goods, anything else considered “staple”-like, and the contents of my freezer. Then, come February, I have a great deal of fun comparing store ads, clipping coupons and bargain shopping for more staples.

On the menu so far:
Pesto-filled mezzaluna with smoked chicken
Stuffed pork chops with balsamic glaze
Chili with sweet potato biscuits
Southwestern steak and rice
Turkey with apricots, cranberries and rice pilaf
Pulled pork loin w/ southern white sauce and bean salad
Shepherd’s Pie, Boca Burgers, and Quinoa spaghetti, at some point.

Not spending money is not exactly “saving,” though.

One thing I that I have found useful is the concept of zero-budgeting. The object of which is for income to equal out-go. Don’t mistake this for a “spend-every-penny-you-earn” or “live-life-only-for-today” philosophy. It’s more about an income of $1,000 a month and regular expenses of $950 a month. In order to zero-budget – you must allocate the $50.00 difference to something – hopefully to a savings account, or towards paying off larger debts owed such as vehicles or mortgages.

In order to save money, you first need to figure out exactly where it goes. So, I thought I'd share my tracking sheet with you.

The key to using it is to be completely honest about where every penny you spend is going.

Normal expenses are listed, but the categories are open to editing. Go ahead and type over any of the monthly expenses category to suit your needs. You may also insert a row anywhere between lines 4 and 33. Be sure not to type in line 35 - the red line. (This is a formula total line.)

Once you've entered January's expenses (all of them - include every little thing) you'll have a good idea where your money is going. It may take you a few months to figure out where you can save money.

Saving is something I had to grow into, and something I have to keep on top of.
Saving is not about not having any fun. Technically, you can save for that, too.

In this issue: Zero-Budgeting, Savings Accounts, Klinger.com., Randy Pausch, The Greater Price of Financial Security
Now Posted: Fun-Fundraising, Action Plan Mid-September

PS. If you'd like the spreadsheet - please email jakorte@tc3net.com.

Posted by jaselin at 08:11 PM | Comments (0)

January 05, 2010

Control, ME Newsletter, Vol. 3, Issue 1

Now that we’re thinking about resolutions in different terms, let’s consider our commitment to self control, and how it applies our desire for achievement of goals.

"The only real control we have is how much control we allow GOD to have."

It took me a few minutes to wrap my head around that revelation.
And it took me even longer to figure out why I wrote it.

I guess I am feeling a bit out of control lately, and have been trying to make myself feel better. I’m not really giving it all to GOD. And I know that makes things harder. Yet, I still feel like there are things I should be taking care of and find myself steering towards them with all my might. It’s like I’m trying to take a sharp right and GOD wants me moving straight on. Am I straying or am I testing? Does it matter?

If I give it all to GOD, will that decrease my temptations? No, not likely.

But it will give me space. Giving our goals to GOD along with our fears, apologies, hurts, and hopes, opens space within us. It is the open space within us - space within our hearts and minds - that GOD uses and fills.

Let out the “I can’t”, “I’m afraid”, “I’m sorry,” and let GOD adore you, assist you, assure you: “You can.”

In this issue: Resolutions, Goals, Intentions; Keeping our Resolutions; Remote Conntrols
Now posted: New Orleans 2009, Action Plan, Team Time

Posted by jaselin at 11:05 AM | Comments (0)

December 29, 2009

Resolve, ME Newsletter, Vol. 2, Issue 52

Ok. So how did we do on last year’s resolutions?
Are we ready to make more this year?

Are we ready to choose a new direction – move away from the same old goals?
Open our hearts and our souls to ourselves and others in ways we never have?

Are we ready to stop accepting commitments based on convenience and analyze the cost of declining those hard to make and keep ones instead?

Are we lost as to where to begin?
Are we unsure about when to start?
Are we where we want to be? Do we know how to get there?
Are we afraid to try again?
Are we certain this time we can hold firmly to our beliefs and each other?
Are we willing to be as resolute, steadfast, tenacious, and unwavering in our choices as GOD's love is for us?

Because, no matter what we resolve, the gift of any achievement we attain will be received from - and should ultimately be for - HIM.

In this issue: Resolution, New Year's Resolutions, 21 Days to Better Habits
Worth watching; Tony Robbins, "5 Habits to Thrive" @ http://www.tonyrobbins.com/Home/Home.aspx
Now Posted: New Orleans, October 2009, Action Plan, Labor Day - One Month To Go.

Posted by jaselin at 01:20 PM | Comments (0)

December 22, 2009

Gifts, ME Newsletter, Vol. 2, Issue 51

Foreword: Sometimes GOD smacks me more than once a day. Today was one of those days. First it was a gentle tap, and a little inspiration. Followed later by a slightly firmer “I don’t think you’re getting it” smack that now brings tears to my eyes. Contemplating tokens from my coworkers – a lovely pear, some homemade healthy Cheerios snack mix, and delightful truffles, ornaments, cards and best wishes. I started writing…

“Gifts.
Presents.
Is there a difference between the two?

Language says there is. The dictionary says there is. My research has led me here:

Gifts are more valuable than presents defined by this distinction: Gifts are given from the rich to the poor, from those higher in social standing than those receiving the gift.
Presents are given from inferiors to superiors or between those of equal standing.

To me, it makes sense to be sure we always refer to giving as “presents,” based on the knowledge all are created equal – especially in GOD’s eyes.
We can only ever receive “gifts” from GOD, for he is the only true gifter and our only superior.
Especially at Christmas, the presents we pass among our peers reflect our love and acknowledgement of those we hold in regard.
Especially at Christmas, the gifts we’ve been given must be cultivated and used for the glory of GOD and the betterment of all mankind.

Wishing you many blessings this year as you receive presents, and rejoicing that you’re my gift from GOD.”

As my day went on, amid problems and unhappy employees and cranky coworkers, I found myself approaching an evening of blues. I had truly lost my Christmas spirit. Even so, I stopped on the way home to buy the one last “present” on my list. I stood in line for 20 minutes calculating the “real cost” of this particular effort. Of course, I knew it would be worth it. I’m so looking forward to presenting it to a very special young man.

And then, just moments after getting home tonight, I hadn’t even turned on the living room lights in my haste to drop the mail and my briefcase and presents, when I heard music. Christmas music.

Confused, I checked my phone. I don’t know why –I know it doesn’t sing “Hark the Herald Angels.”
My next thought was, “Boy, my neighbors are really getting into the Christmas spirit. They must have their windows open.” So, I opened my front door to peek outside, and maybe yell across the walk to ask what they were up to.

I wasn’t prepared for the six carolers, bundled up and bunched up at the foot of my front porch stairs. In the glow of red railing lights I decided to hang this year, I began to recognize faces. Faces from church who had driven 15 miles to serenade me with words I needed to hear.

Tonight I see, once again, my words are not my own.
I am touched by the present of the carolers’ time and faith, humbled and amazed, once again, by GOD’s gifts of awesome love and perfect timing.

Thanks be to GOD and the Tecumseh United Methodist Church Christmas carolers.

In this issue: Gifts, Social Value of Gifting, Spiritual Gifts, Potlatch,
Now Posted:
New Orleans, Oct 2009: Action Plan: Late August, Early September: Slightly
Humor, That’s Random: Go Ahead - Analyze This & Alrighty Then – Analyze This

Posted by jaselin at 08:25 PM | Comments (0)

December 15, 2009

The Way Things Were and..., ME Newsletter, Vol. 2, Issue 50

It was a slightly chilly, yet thoroughly passionate, mid-bleacher gymnasium discussion last Saturday about the way things were and the way things should be.

It’s hard to believe. It was absolutely astonishing, in fact, to have very recently found myself accused of being uneducatedly too politically correct. It’s true!

See, first I had to get used to the practice of cheering for both sides. In elementary school basketball, teams are “equal.” No try out needed, no score is kept, equal play time for all, equal polite cheering for all good plays and baskets (even though no one is “keeping score.”)

So, there I was at my first middle school 5th grade basketball game cheering for all good plays and baskets. After a bit, I received a mildly scorning (but friendly) informational admonishment. Players had to try out for this team, scores are kept, and equal play time is only until the 4th quarter when the coaches reserve the right to play whomever they feel will win the game. This league was for “real”, and I was behaving like an obnoxious visitor sitting on the home side cheering for the home team’s losses. Oops.

You know, it’s just not that easy to teach an old aunt new rules. Apparently, my previous political correctness junior sportsmanship training was very thorough. I found myself having to make grand gestures of feigned stretching or ear scratching whenever I had the urge to clap and reflexively began to do so. I’m sure I wasn’t fooling anybody. I considered buying a donut from concessions to keep my hands busy and my mouth full. In the end, I decided it would be smarter to just sit on my hands.

Now, I’m wondering. If I was so confused, how are the kids doing with all this? That’s a pretty drastic turn-about from the sportsmanship way they were previously taught.

There were a few confused parents as well, when fouls for previously politically-correctly overlooked rules were suddenly enforced. I suppose that facing this adjustment is a great “learning” experience for the youthful team players, and that maybe their minds were too young to memorize “all” the rules. Is there some sort of brain growth spurt that occurs in the summer between 4th grade and 5th grade? Is there a magical moment where it is suddenly ok to throw our children into the reality of winners and losers in life without warning them first?

Just in case you’re keeping score, I’m gonna set that thought on “research hold” for now, and add it to my list of things to check into someday. I’ve got old-fashioned hand-made Christmas cards to finish, stamp and send on their merry way, presents to inventory and wrap, and still have yet to find a clever winning way to tie it all together for this week’s newsletter.

As soon as I’ve scribed my scorecard with big bold checkmarks of completion, I’ll be able to justifiably applaud myself for being a winner - since it's now perfectly acceptable to keep score.

In this issue: The origins of postage stamps, holiday cards, wrapping paper and applause.

Now published: Action Plan, The August Cycle, New Orleans, October 2009.

Posted by jaselin at 04:13 PM | Comments (0)

December 08, 2009

Fan, Out. ME Newsletter, Vol. 2, Issue 49

This week’s tangent has been quite an education for me. I started with one simply word, and discovered a couple of new ones. At least, they’re new to me. Words like “fandom” and “fen.” Although, I prefer not to ever find myself in a fen.

For me being a fan is about the enthusiastic, wholly belief that you have found something that touches you, brings you joy, and gives you a little something to own.

An early Christmas concert ticket gifting exploded into instant mind-shattering and reformative-coagulational fandom. Even if there were only two of us to begin with, all the necessary factors factored us IN.
The reason for my fired-up-ness: WPA - also known as Works Progress Administration.
Nope, I’m not talking about the 1935 WPA work producing relief measure, either.

Perhaps I’m a bit prejudiced, or maybe even a little over educated on the roots of this conglomerate band featuring a fantastic mix of pop-folk-bluegrass love-dripping only semi-sarcastic cynicism that would make Lou Reed proud, Guy Clark laugh, and will probably end up way overlooked in the world of music accolades because no one will be able to pin a definitive category label on it.

Hurray for me! It’s nice to, once again and suddenly, be a fan. Out!

Now posted: Wheeling Into August, New Orleans, 2009 & 10 past Nashville, Poetry, 2009

In this issue: Fan, Fans, Fan Out, Fandom, and the Works Progress Administration.

Posted by jaselin at 07:59 PM | Comments (0)

November 30, 2009

Not So Solo, ME Newsletter, Vol. 2, Issue 48

Once you’ve decided to spend a holiday alone, you will discover for yourself that there’s a fine line between good friends and pushy people.

Luckily, my friends aren’t afraid to cross that line, and truthfully, there wasn’t much pushing involved. It was more like a swift natural progression that started out as a simple question: “What are you doing the day after Thanksgiving?”
Which, quickly and happily, evolved into: “We’re having a Thanksgiving at your house on Friday!”

My two planned visitors bloomed into an additional welcome third, then fully blossomed into wonderful group of five. I'll admit now, that I was a bit relieved by the increased size.

Previously, I'd been wondering how I would entertain my two friends. Backgammon wouldn’t work because it only requires two players, and we were three. Not everyone is enthusiastic about the cerebral game of Scrabble, and although I own dominoes, I don’t really have a clue as to the real rules. I considered buying Yahtzee, but by then my guest list had grown and I figured there’s be enough convivial congeniality that I wouldn’t need a back-up entertainment plan.

Naturally, I was prepared for an overage.
It might have been my up bringing – possibly a genetic predisposition, as well. Or maybe it was just not being able to judge just how much stuffing a box of Stove Top Stuffing would make. Rather than fall short, I had purchased two boxes for three people.

Okay, first stop laughing, and then stop balking at the Stove Top Stuffing. You know I can never leave well enough alone. Taking a cue from my father’s revered homemade recipe, I sautéed onions and celery, to enhance the commercial shortcut. It ended up being a rather sizable pan of improvised gourmet goodness.

I found a recipe for yams with cranberries and apples. I couldn’t even leave that alone. I ended up buying cherries and golden raisins instead of the prescribed cranberries, and a short-cut bag of pre-sliced yams. However, the yams turned out to be spoiled: icky, slimy, and smelly. Frantically, I tried washing them just to see if that changed anything. It didn’t. So - what to do with the perfectly diced apples, cherries and raisins? (yes - I sliced them myself and have the scar to prove it. There are reasons there are pre-diced foods.)

Prepare the stuffing as the box says, adding the already sautéed celery and onion, plus diced apples, cherries, and raisins.
Microwave (yes –microwave) according to box directions. Fluff and let cool.
Grease a baking pan – yes, with butter. It’s Thanksgiving!
Spoon half of the stuffing into the pan, spreading over the entire bottom of the pan.
Add a layer of thinly sliced apples on top of the stuffing then add the rest of the stuffing on top.
Add another layer of decoratively placed thinly sliced apples over the last stuffing layer.
Refrigerate over night. Or not… if you happen to be against pre-preparation and like to cook like a maniac on Thanksgiving morning.

Heat alongside my other pre-prepared refrigerated-over-night favorite: Green Bean Casserole. There'll be plenty of room in the oven, because the turkey will be in the crock pot.

Oh, for goodness sake! I traditionally roasted the Butterball boneless turkeys (yes – plural – another one of those judgment things)in the oven, basted with butter – yes, butter – after a serious rub down with Bob Gibson’s famous BBQ Spices. A friend mentioned a good way to keep cooked turkey warm is in a crock pot. Out of the oven, directly into the crock pot, lid secure, heat on low. The bird kept itself appropriately warm. At least, no one complained.

So, going solo for four straight days wasn’t to be. In fact, the only day I ended up completely solo was Sunday. Encouraged by a grey, rainy morning, I assembled snacks and beverages, grabbed a fluffy pillow, a comforter, and couched myself down with Stephenie Meyer’s third book in the Twilight series; Eclipse.

I read the whole thing cover to cover, and it only took me from 8:30 am to 1:30 pm. Then, I de-couched and ate some leftover turkey casserole I had layered up the night before.

Yes, I think that’s exactly how my next Thanksgiving holiday will be spent, too.

In this issue: The Physics of Cranberry Sauce & Instant Stuffing, Scientifically giving thanks, and Enjoying the Road to Accomplishment.

Now Posted: Action Plan Wrapping Up July, New Orleans, October 2009.

Posted by jaselin at 12:13 PM | Comments (1)

November 24, 2009

Solo, ME Newsletter, Vol. 2, Issue 47

Yes, it’s true. I’m starting my 2009 holiday season with a personal solo vacation.
It takes a lot to step away from tradition, but I’ve decided to start my own tradition.

Yes, I love my family and friends.
Yes, I’m looking forward to spending time with family and friends during the 2009 holiday season.
But... No - not this Thanksgiving.

Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday. It is also a four day break which I am so rarely treated to.
I spend my earned vacation hours doing what I love – mission work. Along that line, I guess you could say I’ll be spending the two-day Thanksgiving freedom-from-work break indulging a personal solo mission.

For two days, I will not clean, or pay bills, or do anything boringly necessary to function.

For two days, I will sleep late, wrap Christmas presents already purchased, and snuggle with Miss Fred the misread cat.
I am especially looking forward to watching the last 5 remaining dvr episodes from last year’s season of House, and hopefully catching up on dvr's for the current season, too.

For two days, I’ll relish the quiet, and take stock of my accomplishments this year.
Perhaps, I'll meet up with Miss Clairol since she’s the only one who can turn my age-revealing sparklies a little less sparkly, and move them more towards youthful, perky highlights.
Hopefully, I’ll come up with a smashing design for holiday cards, as well.

Good grief – so much for doing nothing!
I’ve created a list, and therefore I must achieve!

Have a wonderful, blessed and safe Thanksgiving.

In everything, give thanks. 1 Thess. 5:18

In this issue: Butterball Turkey Help Line, Sustaining Yourself Through the Holidays, Portion Control, Stress Busters

Now published: Action Plan Later July, New Orleans, October 2009. & Results of the List survey, Surveyation

Posted by jaselin at 09:11 PM | Comments (0)

November 17, 2009

Sorely, ME Newsletter, Vol. 2, Issue 46

I’m sorely about to prove my own point from last week’s newsletter.
I simply do not feel like being a beacon of niceness and light this evening.
I suppose if I had sat down last week when I began formulating this week’s message, I might have been successful without anyone knowing of my little happiness rebellion of the moment.

Instead, though, I scrawled out vague ideas, an outline, some researchable topics, and trusted myself to go forward at a reasonable rate. Which, for the most part I did. But… only because it was on my “list.” There’s still a lot of interesting information in this newsletter, but not much of it is going to be tied to this moody memo.

You see, pet peeves, trying to remember the value of small things, being aware that deer season started Sunday which makes my dawn and dusk commute more hazardous, and lastly, recalling errors made in July, are all related to my current funk. But, not what I had planned to talk about, at all.
I’m working on a project from the conference I attended last week. I created a survey – rather quickly with the assistance of SurveyMonkey. The hard part was whittling down the questions to get at the answers I really want to know - and the ones I need to know - to drive the project forward

So, on that note, if you would, please visit the survey link below. There is a short, 10 question, multiple choice, no wrong or right answers, anonymous survey, that should take no more than 3 minutes to complete.
http://www.surveymonkey.com/s.aspx?sm=Fl8nhXC3OnXLSSM8px2UBw_3d_3d

As an extra catalytic incentive, I want to let you know, that you’ll be helping me accomplish one of those many specific tasks on my list.

With prayers for a better tomorrow, and blessings for you, as well.

In this issue: Pet Peeves, SurveyMonkey, Fall Driving Stats, and The Value of Small Things

Now posted: Action Plan Mid-Late July, New Orleans, October 2009

Posted by jaselin at 07:28 PM | Comments (0)

November 10, 2009

Fulcrum, ME Newsletter, Vol. 2, Issue 45

I’m going to answer a hard and frequent question, but I can guarantee it won’t be answered clearly.
If I had the answer myself, I wouldn’t still be searching would I?

There is a line of fear that I have not yet crossed, and may not ever cross either.
The line exists solely due to an imaginary scale that I believe will undoubtedly tip a love towards either obligation or enjoyment should I stray too far from the fulcrum.

I write because I like to. I like to because it challenges me. It is, therefore, a hobby.
I acknowledge this: it has surely evolved through 89 straight weeks to become a hobby with a purpose. The purpose is to share, encourage, challenge, and enlighten. To do all these things requires love, and the willingness to give it away.

My grammar is not perfect; my notes are not void of typographical errors or run-on sentences. My messages may be murky because I am muddling through them. Sometimes the more I muddle, the less I understand. But, I know this, too: unmoved muddy waters eventually settle, and when the vision clears, I too will go back and clarify.

If writing were an obligation, I don’t know that I would be as enthusiastic. I don’t know that I would be allowed the sprawling loose liberties that I allow myself. I don’t know that I would be placidly accepting of rejections that would intimate I do not have an amazing accurate wide-reaching professional talent. I would rather continue to be a familiar folk artist, engaging wide-open irregular keystrokes, portraying only the patterns of my life, and the bits of wisdom I’ve gained from living it.

In this issue: Obligation, Hobby Horses, Grandma Moses, QWERTY keyboards.
Now Posted: Action Plan Mid July, New Orleans, October 2009

Posted by jaselin at 03:44 PM | Comments (0)

November 03, 2009

Swimming, ME Newsletter, Vol. 2, Issue 44

Something in me has changed within this season,
- giving me a starker view of the bare branched, fiery, fallen-leafed landscape of my autumn life.
I struggle with my own inner peace and the turmoil of lives around me.
I find myself caught between “seize the day” and "heed the future”, and sometimes when asked – I find myself advising both.

So which one is to be, then? Or can it truly be both?
If I seize every opportunity today to make the future a better place, and if I accept that GOD loves me as I am, and yet strive to be more frugal, more healthy, more steadfast in my faith – there really isn’t that much of a conflict, is there?

As I left a friend the other day, she innocently displayed an image which captured my attention and my imagination. Moving her arms as if she were swimming she declared in unspoken action, “I am a fish swimming upstream, everyday, pushing through the weeds, towards something better.” Sometimes the only goal you can focus on is the one that says “just keep going.” I suppose we all want to believe that we are headed for something better if we can just push through the negativity of others, the cramped means of our lives. Mad paddling, sweeping breaststrokes, scissor kicks – we move in whichever way our limitations allow.

Of course we’re not frantic salmon with only one pre-programmed genetic goal. But, we are pre-programmed with a great universal goal – whether we choose to acknowledge it or not. There is an innate drive for and toward “something” better, “something” more. Not an abstract, but rather an easy, well definable target: Heaven is the ultimate goal.

Realize this – we spend hours swimming against the negativity of our world, so that we can make our way to peace and joy. And as long as we’re headed there, let’s recognize this as well - It is our responsibility to bring others along on the ride.

In this issue: New Pennies, Salmon, Thinking for Yourself in the Face of Doubt,Health Benefits of Swimming
Now Posted: Action Plan Early July, New Orleans, October 2009.

Posted by jaselin at 09:32 PM | Comments (0)

October 27, 2009

Pre-Thanks, ME Newsletter, Vol. 2, Issue 43

Plans for this weekend (after minor out-patient surgery on my right eye Friday) include dismantling the salsa garden (sigh), putting away the summer furniture (sigh), and bringing the holiday decorations in from the shed now so I don’t have to trudge through the snow and muck to retrieve them after Thanksgiving (sigh).

Pitifully, all of this planning plainly points to the end of my two favorite seasons – summer and fall.
I don’t usually start griping until after the first snowfall, which is usually some time before Thanksgiving (sigh).

I’ve been thinking a lot about Thanksgiving: my absolute favorite holiday – a chance to reflect on the best things, the happiest things, the things that matter most.
I’m thinking I’ve already been so much more thankful this year than recent years.
I’m thinking I’m thankful I still have so much more to be thankful for.
I’m thinking if I start now, I might be able to get all the good stuff listed by November 26th.

I received a gift book a few years ago titled: 10,001 things to be happy about. It was an interesting book. Not all were choices I’d have made, but I enjoyed the point. For a while, I would grab the book, open to any page, and find dozens of interesting ideas of where I could begin to look for happiness in my own life.

I’ve thought about going back to that book now, but I think I’d rather start my own.
It’s likely to include things like cleaning out the filing cabinet, dismantling the salsa garden and even putting away the summer furniture.
We should be more thankful about the things we do for ourselves.
Because tasks fulfilled, plans achieved, goals attained, responsibilities met, are all accomplishments to be happy about.
If you’re happy, be thankful; if you’re thankful, be happy.

Psalm 118:1
Oh give thanks to the LORD, for he is good; his steadfast love endures forever!

In this issue: The Miss America Pageant, DoGood App, Effective Email
Now posted: Action Plan June, New Orleans, October 2009

Posted by jaselin at 05:50 PM | Comments (0)

October 20, 2009

Teams, ME Newsletter Vol. 2, Issue 42

Happy Wednesday, all.

I've returned home safely, and tired.
Learned a little more about vinyl siding than I already knew.
Learned a lot more about insulation than I never knew.

I've spent some time looking back already just trying to figure out how this particular October GITC mission trip got started, and how it could possibly be over so soon!

Both the word and the concept of "team" have changed for me.
The most surprising part of the change is the realization that we are always involved in, part of, or on, a team of one sort or another.

Every relationship is a team effort. Every coworker is a team member.
Every person in your family is part of your assigned team.
How positively or efficiently our teams work is another issue.
For now, let's just try to concentrate on the idea that we are always on a team.
GOD is with us; we never alone.

In this issue: Vince Lombardi, definition of a team, duffel bags, and Obstacles to Success.

Now posted: In The Beginning, New Orleans October 2009

Posted by jaselin at 02:32 PM | Comments (0)

October 13, 2009

Reopen, ME Newsletter, Vol. 2, Issue 41

Ok, I admit it. I’m surprisingly tired.

However, not too surprisingly, I found it a whole lot easier to jump out of bed in New Orleans than I did this morning in Michigan.

Coming home is always hard for me. Everything I left undone before my journey remains in waiting. The perpetual list is overwhelming and in many ways an obstacle of my own making.

For tonight though, the urgent list is shorter than usual. Newsletter, unpacking, and sleeping.

The rest of it will just have to wait until I am ready to reopen the door to my immediate past.

In this issue: Leo Tolstoy, Blog, Are You Your Own Obstacle, A Few Last Words About Worry.

Now posted: slidell, poetry, 2009

Posted by jaselin at 08:45 PM | Comments (0)

October 07, 2009

Food for Thought, ME News, Vol. 2, Issue 40

1:17 am. What day is it? Wednesday morning? Ack! No newsletter! What on earth should I write about?
Technically, it is still Wednesday, and since Wednesday is mid-week, this is still a Midweek Encouragement Newsletter, and therefore it’s still on time!

What was I thinking or not thinking yesterday?
98 degrees, 100% humidity, working with insulation in extra garb, glasses fogged up, masks damp, necks itchy.

Also, 10/6 Historically:
Wedding Day - 2001
Funeral Day – 2006
How did I end up here? Day – 2009

In this issue: Big Bob Gibson, Bob Gibson, The Idiom of Food for Thought, We’ll Never Be This Young Again.

Posted by jaselin at 12:21 PM | Comments (0)

September 29, 2009

Manage/Lead, ME News Vol. 2, Issue 39

I have a hard time motivating myself to do the things I don’t want to. And an even harder time motivating myself to do the things I do want to.

Somehow it works out though that the things I don’t want to do are always first on my list of things to do. I always find a way to give in to responsibility by assuring myself that I will get to the fun stuff as soon as the not-so-fun stuff is done. However, this has turned into weeks on end of meeting my own obligations, and the “lesser” things remain undone.

So, if I struggle with motivating myself, how can I possibly motivate others effectively?
I can’t. And luckily, I don’t have to.

The team I am about to travel with is already comprised of completely motivated individuals. My strength is to be found in encouraging others who are already motivated. My simple gift of administration is offered to assist the motivated in making their visions reality. Despite the required volunteer essay submitted with each application, I can’t say for sure what it is that has motivated them to join this team at this time. As we know, words don’t always convey the full conviction of the heart, no matter how flowery or firm.

I can, however, put this out there: If the difference between management and leadership comes down to functions and relationships, it can be explained this way:
Team coordinators are managers whose job it is to plan, budget, evaluate, and facilitate.
Leadership’s job is to select talent, motivate, coach, and build trust – which obviously GOD has already done – at least 9 times that I know of.

Based on this, I can confirm that I am in the right place for me.
And with hopeful faith I can believe I am in the right place for this team, as well.

In this issue: Stop Worrying parts 5 & 6, Margery Allingham, Management vs Leadership, Motive, Try It - writing down what we are grateful for.

Posted by jaselin at 08:04 PM | Comments (0)

September 22, 2009

Killing Somebody, ME News, Vol. 2, Issue 38

Sunday, September 20, 2009. Dawson Auditorium, Adrian College.

Framed by stage-lit floral displays speaking aptly to the active transition between waning summer and looming fall, Adrian Symphony Conductor John Dodson introduced the first body of an afternoon of compiled works by living American composer John Williams, remarking how the symphony is usually filled with songs by dead people, about dead people. A glance at the program clearly indicated first on the docket was Williams' orchestral music from the film "Jaws."

“This year,” he continued with obvious exhuberant enthusiasm, “We’ll begin our new season by killing somebody!”

What does this have to do with this week’s message?
As usual - absolutely nothing; and then predictably - everything.

For me, Sunday’s season opener was a much anticipated escape. Even so, as I was sitting there, the floor vibrating with menacing bass and brassily snapping shark jaws, my mind remained distractedly clamped on missionary management issues.

At this point, our vehicles and our volunteers are in accord.

However, there are also three more potential volunteers looming on our horizon. As our discussion evolved, someone said, “We have room for one more.” Technically, there is one traveling seat still available the first week, and two seats available for the second week.

But that’s not completely accurate, either. When we began to evaluate it, we all headed the same direction. Do we really have room for one more? Nope, we have room for as many more as GOD sends our way.

Why? Because, we cannot limit ourselves to our current resources. We cannot encourage inclusion or exclusion based on “now,” when our missionary organization is based on “faith, hope, and the future.”

How? Oh, I’m not 100% sure GOD will provide what we want, when we want it. But if HE leads people to be moved with the compassion for volunteering, I suspect HE will also provide a way for us to move them. Probably not without stress or worry, probably not without reworking all the figures, reanalyzing the budget, or resubmitting required paperwork. But probably with gifts we’ll have to reach for, seek out, and submit to. And there’ll surely be a lesson to be had, a message we can pass along, a testimony to how GOD works for the good of all men.

And if, in the final hours before departure, we still find ourselves one seat short, we could always begin our new missionary season by killing somebody.

In this issue: John Williams, Apple App – Ocarina, Stop Worrying Step 3, Learning to be a More Valuable Employee

Now Posted: Details

Posted by jaselin at 12:07 PM | Comments (0)

September 15, 2009

Positively Negative, ME News, Vol. 2, Issue 37

Negatives can be positive.

In a high school Humanities class, we were instructed to change the arm we wear our watch on. If you wore it on left, you were to switch it to the right and vice versa. The point was to disrupt our routine, draw attention to automatic reactions, and make us more aware. I indeed found myself continuing to check my left wrist for the time, even though my watch was on my right wrist.

Last weekend I changed my bedroom setup. My new neighbors are noisier than my old neighbors, so I moved the bed from near the windows to the opposite side of the room. Actually, I reversed the entire room. Not a life-changing event, but enough to change my perspective at least twice a day. Once when I wake up facing the windows, and again when I go to bed glancing down the long hall to the den.

Turning things around, creating negatives of our prior routines, mirroring our perspectives, soundly alerts us to how stagnant we have become. Acknowledging that, I’ve decided to change another part of my routine, as well: my prayer routine. I’ve been waiting until the end of the day to set my thoughts to GOD, for the goodness I have received and in the prayers I have for others.

Morning prayers take a lot more thought for me. The prayers I have for others remain the same. However, I am no longer able to inventorily thank GOD for the day’s events. I must pre-thank him for guiding me through a day of events yet unknown. That leaves out the possibilities of specific gratitude, and causes a more specific step of faith. Beginning my day with trust is a challenge I have not quite mastered. I find myself falling back on gratitude for the prior day, and then asking for more of the same.

Still, this purposeful negative has developed into a positive. Recognition of rote behavior, realization of the differences between beginnings and ends, and devoting myself to uncomfortable changes: all positively negatives. All positively worth pursuing.

"O LORD, be gracious to us; we long for you. Be our strength every morning, our salvation in time of distress.” Isaiah 33:2

In this issue: Stop Worrying (part 2 & 3), Photographic Negatives, Positivity at Work, Negative Calories, Negativity Word Challenge (I made 55 words from the word "negativity", can you?)

Now posted: Blow Pop Man - Transformer! Humor, That's Random.

Posted by jaselin at 10:12 AM | Comments (0)

September 08, 2009

Worry, ME News, Vol. 2, Issue 36

I keep a little rant file on my thumb drive. Most of the time something has sparked me, and most of the time it’s in a fairly negative way. Going back to my rant journal usually ends up in a GOD –smacking experience. For example, on August 19th I wrote:

“So, I wasted three days and a lot of energy on what turned out to be a misplaced decimal point. Actually, there were two of us involved in this fiasco. Besides three days it took two muddled brains, phone calls to four different departments, and over a dozen attempts to repair the data per the error message. The error message wasn’t all that clear to begin with. Perhaps if it had been, we’d have solved our dilemma more quickly. Or perhaps not.

But, isn't that a lot like our lives sometimes, hours and hours devoted to worry? Does GOD really want us to worry that much about every thing?”

The hours I spent worrying about the implications of the mistake, were indeed, a waste of time. Once the error was identified, once the problem was solved, there were no implications, no repercussions. All that was left was the memory of how I had squandered breezy evenings and dewy sunrises, brows furrowed in “what-ifs.”

Last weekend, I found myself in a conversation with an extended family member who I also consider a friend. We were discussing the fact that I wouldn’t be getting a real raise this year, just a small lump sum taxed at a ridiculous rate. It wouldn’t have seemed so bad, except that it is the second time it has happened to me in this particular position. So, I’m two years behind in raises, in terms of money upon money. I’m two years behind in the savings plan, in terms of money upon money. I’m also facing higher electric, natural gas, gasoline, and water bills. My budget is teetering at the breaking point. But I blithely insist that I do try not to think or worry too much about all that. I recite by rote my earliest memory of surrender expression courtesy of Doris Day: “Que sera, sera. Whatever will be, will be; the future’s not ours to see.”

That’s when my friend took me over to her refrigerator and pointed to a very small, almost fortune cookie sized slip of faded, yellow paper. “This has been on my fridge for so many years, I’ve lost count. I’ve moved it from my old home to new my home.” What did this cherished slip of weathered wisdom say?

“Worrying is carrying a burden that GOD never intended us to bear.”

In this issue: Stop Worrying, Marcus Aurelius, Doris Day, and Caramelized Onion and Blueberry Salsa Pie recipe.

Now posted: The Pie Experiment, Faith, Current

Posted by jaselin at 02:34 PM | Comments (0)

September 01, 2009

Pie-Eyed, ME News Vol. 2, Issue 35

The Boulevard Market, 102 East Chicago Boulevard in Tecumseh is holding a Pie Social Thursday, September 3rd. 6:30-7:30. http://www.boulevardmarket.com/

I’m submitting my caramelized onion and blueberry salsa pie. There are prizes… but based on the opinions of my last few taste testers, I’m not likely to win anything other than most unusual. And, you know, that’ll be fine by me. Just to make sure I’d be a shoe-in for that category, though, I searched the web.

Cooks.com showed these results:
1220 entries for blueberry pie
1160 entries for vegetable pie
163 entries for onion pie
176 entries for salsa pie, but these were more like recipes that used salsa in their pies – such as beef taco pie or enchilada chicken pie, etc.
When I entered blueberry salsa pie it came up with 212 recipes that might fit. None of them did. Ha! I win!
Well, maybe not in anyone else’s opinion but mine – still, that’s all right with me.

Why? Because I take pride in food innovation.

At 6 years old, I was eating chocolate ice cream with crunched up potato chip as a topping. Chocolate covered potato chips aren’t such a rarity these days.
In college, I matured to peanut butter swirl ice cream with crushed pretzels. Hmm. Sounds a bit like Ben & Jerry’s adorably named flavor “Chubby Hubby,” no?
Then a few years ago, there were the Michigan Hot Sauce Club HOT chocolates – habanero, cayenne, jalapeno filled dark, milk and white chocolate delicacies I hand crafted from the finest ingredients. Check out the on-line availability of spicy chocolate and candy offerings. You’ll be amazed.

So, don’t scoff at my caramelized onion and blueberry salsa pie.

I know I can’t please everyone – no matter what the flavor of my life is.
But the ones I find I can please, those are the connections worth pursuing.

PS. Just because your palette can’t adjust to it now, doesn’t mean it won’t be on the shelves of gourmet shops and supermarkets in the very near future.

In this issue: Health Benefits of Blueberries, The Dangers of People Pleasing, Salsa, The Definition of Pie.
Now posted: My Monumental Effort, Poetry 2009

Posted by jaselin at 07:36 AM | Comments (0)

August 25, 2009

Blue Grass Testimony, ME News, Vol 2, Issue 34

The appropriate level of Vitamin D has indeed changed some things.
A lot of people have noticed the difference in me. I notice the difference in me.

I’ve been told I’m more animated, glowing. I know I look healthier. I know I feel more alert. My attitude has rather positively been adjusted. It’s still a little strange to feel general euphoria for no real reason. Nothing has changed, except that my physically being well has given my brain the chance to regroup.

I see vibrant colors. Not that I didn’t see colors before, but there’s an eerie comparative line that can be drawn to allergy medication commercials where the dull film is peeled away, and the life-scene comes in to sharper focus. I’ve driven through Kentucky and Tennessee four times in the last three years, and although I appreciated the beauty of the landscape then, I was completely overwhelmed this time. Awed. And humbled, and scared of where I had been: disturbed that I had been so unaware that I wasn’t seeing things correctly.

I’ve moved beyond the tunnel vision of survival, merely moving one foot in front of the other, purposefully not looking back. Now that I have also regained my peripheral vision, I have found that there are people there -- ones who have been waiting with extraordinary patience. I’m astounded by the three-dimensional colors of love. Not the flowery romantic kind, but the unconditional acceptance kind.

So, what does all this have to do with Bluegrass Music?
From the notes of Marc Pruett’s band at the Fiddlin’ Pig in Asheville, NC to The Holy Mountain Boys gospel quartet at Cole UMC, Yale, MI, I traversed one week and one day, and 692 miles, to receive one repetitive message:
Share your testimony, and pray that it is received with joy.

How can I ensure that when I do share, it is observed as testimony and not as preaching?
I am not equipped to preach, because I cannot teach what I do not know.
My desire is to spark interest, cause investigation, allow self-discovery, and offer support.
Many times, although it may seem like I am writing specifically for you, I am merely offering an experience, seeking feedback, and in a way, very much self-testifying.

So, I hope you understand how important you are to me.
How grateful I am that you allow me to pass on my experiential thoughts, testifying on behalf of GOD’s works, pulling them into focus, and bringing us all together.

Blessings.

In this issue: Testimony, Peripheral Vision, Bluegrass, Religious Experiences & Yoga Breathing.
Now posted: I Cry, Poetry 2009

Posted by jaselin at 12:54 PM | Comments (0)

August 18, 2009

Along for the Ride, ME News, Vol. 2, Issue 33

Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways acknowledge him, and he will make your paths straight. Proverbs 3:5-6 (NIV)

Back, way back, in junior high school, I listened to Casey Kasem every Sunday afternoon on WINE radio in Connecticut. I kept a groovy pink, purple and yellow flowered notebook recording chart positions of songs I thought deserved to be recognized for their greatness – rejoicing happily when they rose in popularity, and becoming dejected if they fell out of favor.

It wasn’t until the late 80’s that I learned people actually got paid to do that exact same thing! In the meantime, though, I tried to cultivate my own musical talents. I wanted to play the flute, but needed braces. I tried to play the sax, but didn’t have enough air in me. I won a Yamaha electric folk guitar from WINE, but, alas, I sliced three consecutive fingertips with a v-shaped linoleum cutter in art class leaving numbed pads. I joined chorus, but was asked to leave because I kept throwing everyone else off key. I did get a part in GODSPELL, though – as a silent mime. I wouldn’t give up despite all those glaring signals. Nope, I would wear headphones and listen to music for hours. One day, I’d been at it a while and my parents reluctantly asked me to stop singing along. I complied, in my own way. Later, my dad asked me to stop humming, as well.

My first official music playing device was a red circle Panasonic tape recorder. I was allowed to tape my records on the stereo, and then was free to play them, over and over and over and over and over, locked in my room. I memorized lyrics, picked out bass patterns, read liner notes, and dreamed of finding my place in the music industry. In high school, my revolutionary dream idea was to invent a machine that would allow people to purchase just the songs they liked, and have them recorded on one cassette tape. So close, and yet so far.

I am writing this nostalgic little piece while burning 20+ hours of music loaded into my home computer onto CD’s for a road trip to North Carolina. If you want to come along for the ride, you can visit: http://mblog.lib.umich.edu/~jaselin/archives/2009/08/road_sic.html#more for the complete play list.

In this issue: Steve Gillman - Music Entrainment, itunes, Road Food
Now posted: Poetry for Motion, Poetry, 2009

Posted by jaselin at 12:41 PM | Comments (0)

August 11, 2009

The Right To Laugh, ME News, Vol. 2, Issue 32

I joke about my downfalls a lot, but I do take them seriously too.

Knowing your own quirks is a GOOD thing.
Having a strong inner compass is a GOD thing.

It’s very hard sometimes to not let tangled, disappointed roots sprout into full grown mangled bushes.
It’s that much harder to cut them down in maturity, even knowing that the far stretching, familiarly comforting arms of shading leaves will only produce more bitter fruit.
The best way to dismantle a thicket of thorns is to grasp them firmly, wearing steel mesh gloves of humor.

Losing someone you love does not mean you lose the right to laugh. Some of you who have been on this journey with me for the past few years, understand where this is leading. I hope the memories and humorous revelations have helped you to realize how important it is to hold on to the good stuff; to look for the moments that may only be memories in your future.

I hope I’ve helped you handle the loss, as well.

Because as you've come to know, I’m all for the gravitational pull of laughter, strong inner compasses, and the chance to stand on soap boxes.

In this issue: Federal Law, Finding Your Inner Compass, Soap Boxing, and chainmaille.

Now posted: Fall Out Girl, Faith, Current & truth serum, Humor, That's Random

Posted by jaselin at 04:31 PM | Comments (0)

August 05, 2009

Karaoke, ME News, Vol. 2, Issue 31

It isn’t often I get to show my silly side at work. It isn't often that I want to, either. Too much of the time, I submit to strained niceties, even when they are especially not warranted.

So, the 100th year Anniversary Celebration Picnic wasn’t something I was looking forward to, in general. I was especially not looking forward to it this week, with so many recent serious office conflicts circulating through our ranks. It only made the dreading worse when I received the notice of “forced fun.” Truthfully, the notice didn’t really say “forced fun.” It really said “Karaoke.”

Luckily, I was reminded of an incident where my parents and my brother’s in-laws got around the mandatory sing-for-fun problem by choosing a minimally lyric-ed little ditty. Following in their footsteps, I brilliantly checked to see if perhaps this karaoke company had “Tequila!” The song, that is. The liquid would have been very helpful, but quite frowned upon, for sure. Sadly, they didn’t have it.

I tried to convince my closest co-worker to just pick something from the book with me. She wasn’t cooperating, and her reasons were understandable. However, realizing that at some point everyone would be probably be severely pressured into warbling, I came up with a contingent plan. I decided to prepare for disaster rather than allow myself to be blindsided by it. I got together with a buddy from another department, and here is how we decided to play it.

Perusing the huge and intimidating list of potential ways to embarrass ourselves, we found ourselves faced with about a fifteen-year age-gap problem. Finally, we briefly settled on Johnny Cash’s Folsom Prison Blues, but kept looking just in case we found something way better. A few pages later, we found our true songbird calling under Children’s Tunes, and locked it down with a knuckle tap.

The forced-to-be-silly-in-front-of-your-co-workers side of me was temporarily placated with the absolute ease of the lyrics. Then the regular semi-evil side took over.

I tracked down the Karaoke Maven, and shared with her this plan:
Before our song began, I wanted to have ample time to ask everyone to please stand, remove their hats, and raise their right hand. The intention was to make it appear as if we were going to sing the National Anthem or recite the Pledge of Allegiance. My cohort would stand there with his hand over his heart, appropriately looking nervous.

Then, we’d cued the songstress to hit it. Seriously, how can you not do the Hokey Pokey if you’re already standing?
Hey, if I’m gonna be forced to have fun, I’m gonna do my best to take everyone else along on that joy ride with me!

To our credit, we also scoped out the lyrics for Folsom Prison Blues, changing the part where Johnny laments, “I’m stuck in Folsom Prison,” to the name of our division. It’s always good to have a back-up plan… for an encore, of course.

Post scripts:
Two more brave people join our hokey little hoaxy group at the last minute.
Most everyone stood up; a good number sat down when they realized what our gig was.
To sum it up, about 50% of our coworkers ended up compellingly engaged, putting their whole self in – and wasn’t that what it was all about, anyway?

In this issue: Karaoke, Portmanteau, Viewing the World Through Another's Eyes.
Now Posted: Quiet, and Quietly, Faith, Current & value, Poetry 2009.

Posted by jaselin at 03:07 PM | Comments (0)

July 27, 2009

Birthday, ME News, Vol. 2, Issue 30

Well, I survived the 7th anniversary of my 39th birthday. Yeah, I'm gonna make you do the math!

Lots of people wished me a happy b’day. Isn’t that some kind of geyser toilet? Not very nice, if you ask me.

Also, an interesting turn – I was called to retrieve, from the front desk, a package that had been hand delivered, marked “Confidential.” It weighed more than paperwork and obviously had an enclosure I was going to have to deal with. Turns out it was a birthday card, and a paper wrapped block decorated with smiley faces and stars in blue highlighter. Felt like a short brick, to me. So, I’m thinking, hey this must be sort of along the same lines as getting charcoal at Christmas – bricks on your birthday, right? Happily, it turned out to be a sweet surprise - a hefty stack of gourmet chocolate bars from some sweet coworkers.

Between the toilet and brick, it wasn’t at all that bad, though.
In fact, it was rather mellow. I borrowed my neighbor’s two dogs – a puggle and a mini boxer-pug (I think.) That was almost like having a party. We sat on the deck and did my toenails. Well, the pups didn’t actually help with that. They kept wanting to lick the polish off.

Instead of Pin-the-Tail-on-the-Donkey, my party guests played Plaster-Your-Nose-to-the-Cat. It mainly consisted of some snout-to-snout communing with Fred. Of course, she was on one side of the glass slider, and they were on the other. There was a little whining on the puppy side. Those doggie girls really wanted to “play” with Miss Fred.

I did let the dogs in to have some well needed water. Fred wasn’t even fazed. She just sat there squinting warily – I thought I caught her rolling her eyes as we walked past her. By the time I managed a second glance though, she had returned to her normal I’m-too-cute-to-have-evil-thoughts condescending blinking. Considered letting the dogs off the leashes, but decided I wasn’t in the mood for that sort of party.

So the doggy divas and I went back out onto the porch to enjoy the breeze, and apply some more hot pink polish, plus a few rhinestones, to my one-birthday-older toes. Then we all just sat for a bit, watching the peppers grow in the early evening sun fade.

In this issue: Hybrid Dogs, Nail Polish, Origins of the Happy Birthday Song, Finding Meaning in Life, and absolutely nothing about Pin-the-Tail-on-the-Donkey.
Now posted: Recipe for a Happy Life, Faith, Current

Posted by jaselin at 01:09 PM | Comments (0)

July 21, 2009

Mobile, ME News, Vol. 2, Issue 29

I’ve always been in love with him.

Since the day I first discovered, floating above me, huge chunks of steel that I instinctively knew should not be gliding gracefully, I was hooked.

Then, I discovered there was more. I embraced the wire shapes, in their strong complicated simplicity. I adored the pop of colors, always the same colors, and broad strokes of black. The hasty sketches of monumental pieces called to me, impossibly transforming ideas from the depths of possibility within an artists’ mind.

Until recently, I did not know that Alexander Calder was considered to be the inventor of mobiles.
Actually, I didn’t know that until last Sunday, when I purposefully found myself at Meijer Gardens to view a collection of Calder’s work in the outdoor sculpture garden. I started calculating how long it had been since I’d found my younger self mesmerized by a Calder mobile at a NYC museum. I can’t recall if it was the Museum of Modern Art or the Guggenheim. I bought a postcard at the gift shop, and although I no longer know if I even own that postcard anymore, I’d studied it so well, and so long, I can still envision the turnings above me now - red drifitng over grey on currents I could not feel, but knew without a doubt were there.

To some extent all artists are engineers, and all engineers are artists. While some follow a precise prescribed path to a vision, some have a vision of a precise path un-prescribed. When we consider all that is open to interpretation, it is a wonder anyone gets along at all. Yet, there in Calder’s work is preciseness, whimsy, previously un-followed paths, and an exactness of vision. All intertwined – all in harmonious balance.

And isn’t that the way we are – somewhere between vague sketches and monumental pieces?
Evolving, revolving every minute, never to be caught in exactly the same place again – moving with the currents, among the winds, never stagnant but precisely balanced in our own space, in our own way, connected to each other, independently mobile, yet exactly moved?

And isn’t that the way GOD works - in ways unknown, with whimsy and preciseness?

In this issue: Frederik Meijer, Meijer Gardens, Alexander Calder, GITC
Now posted: Scheduling Conflicts, Humor, That's Random

Posted by jaselin at 04:07 PM | Comments (0)

July 14, 2009

Diametrically Opposed, ME News, Vol. 2, Issue 28

I don’t know why I ever bother saying, “No.”

Especially, when it comes to my usual emphatic impartation, because it seems those situations I am diametrically opposed to are the ones I always surrender to. Well, not exactly surrender… maybe more like end up being funneled into a narrowing space, and then finally GOD-pushed directly into my refusal.

It is entirely possible, as I’ve mentioned before, that I am interpreting strong feelings as negatives instead of positives. Maybe the racing heart jaw clenching is merely anticipation of change, and not a herald of fear. Perhaps just the strength of my reaction confuses me.

There are two things I have repeatedly said “no” to. One of which, most of you are aware, and one I’ve barely shared with my own soul. I’m not ready to talk about the second one yet, but the first needs immediate address.

I acknowledge unashamedly that I have absolutely and repeatedly said I’d never allow myself to be put into a position of leading a mission team to New Orleans, or anywhere else for that matter. And when it comes right down to it, I haven’t – allowed myself – that is. It simply isn’t a question of “allowing” anything when you find yourself railroaded into what seems like your perfect objection.

Still protesting, even after I have uttered “yes,” I write a note I never intended to really send, until now:

“I know that you think you are pulling me in for my own good.
But that is not my calling – to be in the thick of it.

I’m more comfortable as a peripheral presence. There, I find myself more focused on support - on a more personal level. What I learn from you is more important than what could ever be learned from me. Because I can turn that around, and make you face it. Sort of like a mirror bouncing the truth back at you, showing you yourself in a way you cannot dodge - without judgment, without repair, and probably not without tears.

To stand with you in the center of the storm, means neither one of us has a clue where it might be going. Since this isn’t my storm, I will step back. I can’t hope to change its magnitude; I will pray to influence its path. Steering with these words and others, I continually ask GOD to raise you up so that you know you are worthy.”

Perhaps my lesson in this is to stop saying “no,” and say something more like “not just yet, or “maybe.”

In this issue: Diametrically Opposed aka Antipodal, Turning Someday Into Today, GITC 8 October 2009.

Posted by jaselin at 09:58 PM | Comments (0)

July 07, 2009

Growing Down, ME News, Vol. 2, Issue 27

Relationships can be hard. Oh, ok..let’s be real. Relationships are always hard!

Take for example a recent exchange between a friend and her beau. He was reacting to a serious situation in what she felt was a foolishly lighthearted way. She retaliated with an angry demand, “Would you please just grow up!”

A little while later, the tables were turned. She reacted to a not-so-serious situation in a much too serious way, to which her beau exasperatedly responded, “Would you please just grow down!”

I know a few people with the gift of a fascinating child-like mentality. I’ve often wondered where the joy comes from; the happy, bubbly, today-is-a-gift-made-especially-for-me radiating attitude. In the past I have been sad and jealous that I was not made that same way. I’ve tried to achieve this on my own, and have not been successful. In my eyes it equates to having to “act” happy all the time, which for me is stressful and a bit deceptive.

I enjoy the loud happy of others, I just can’t seem to bring myself to shout along.
I love the evident joy some folks shine out like a hot summer day; I just tend to shine in a warmly diffused winter-through-the-window sort of way.
I am happy, just not a jump-up-and-down happy.
I’m a quiet happy: a calm happy, a pleased to have made it this far happy.

I’ve grown down quite a bit, from over-serious to sort-of-more-relaxed.
I'm willing to grow down more. But I still don’t know if it will ever show on my outside.

In this issue: Vitamin D, Garden, Upside Down Gardening, Hydroponics, Ammachi & thoughts on growing down.

Nothing posted: This weekend I begin a new adventure… New Orleans, again. In a very different way.

Posted by jaselin at 08:31 PM | Comments (0)

June 30, 2009

Up, ME News, Vol. 2, Issue 26

I went to see the children's movie, Up. It was highly entertaining, and somewhat like watching a parallel life.

Without giving the plot away, (yeah, I know it's a simple children's movie, but still... there is a plot) there comes a point when the main character must make a choice. You know how I've been about making choices lately.

Anyway, when the grumpy hero started throwing things out of his house to lighten up the load and achieve buoyancy, I leaned over and whispered to my movie-going friend, "Hey! I just did that!"

Emblematic, the house represents the sometimes immense baggage we carry around, and the legitimacy or illegitimacy of that carriage.

This includes the physical aspect of ownership: of things. As I mentioned last week, having less has given me an interesting sense of freedom. I’ve read that clutter can increase stress, and I now believe that it’s true.
Having more than you need is not going to make you happier… it just means more dusting.

I have also come to the conclusion that I do not really want to own anything.
At least not anything large and permanent, like a house.

What else do I not want to own?

I don’t want to own false grief.
I’m not happy about losing Jeff. I’m not angry, either.
I’m not questioning “why?”, because I know why, and I’m thankful.
I’m just lonely, and that’s where the present sadness comes from.

I don’t want to own false hope.
I want to have faith that where I am headed will someday make sense to me, and maybe to some others.

I don’t want to own the responsibility of false vision, knowing all that lies ahead.
I want to affirm that life’s adventure is a gift, gladly opening each day as such, marking the most memorable moments, good and bad, with rainbow hued ribbons.

I don’t want to own a false sense of security.
I want to believe with my whole soul that as paths change, they will continue to be clearly marked in my rearview mirror - under the direction of the only GPS necessary - GOD’s positioning system.

Ephesians 2:8:
For it is by grace you have been saved, through faith – and this is not from yourselves, it is the gift of God – (NIV)

In this issue: Balloons, Boy Scouts of America, Talking Dog Collars, Paradise Falls.
Now posted: Arrested, Humor, That's Random

Posted by jaselin at 01:18 PM | Comments (0)

June 24, 2009

Less, ME News, Vol. 2, Issue 25

When is less more?

I’ve done this before. But this is the first time it’s ever been like this.

Throughout major turning points in my life I have experienced many frequent overwhelming irrational desires to sell everything, free myself, and move on. My last relocation was from Nashville to Michigan. Before that I fled from New York City to Nashville, before that I was driven to NYC from Massachusetts.

All this moving about concerned my parents and confused my friends. I could never truly justify my actions. I just knew I had to go, and I just knew when it was time.

I’ve been excruciatingly restless. It hasn’t been so much about not being able to pick a direction, as much as being well aware that there just wasn’t one. Still, I’ve so badly been wanting to break away, leave everything behind. Because that’s what I have always done. I’ve just been miserably waiting for that last little piece to fall into place – to show me clearly where I need to be.

Standing still for far too long, frustrated, I thought I’d get a jump on prepping for my next exodus. Last week’s moving sale encompassed everything I envisioned I would not be taking with me.

A full size freezer, 4 piece bedroom suite, baker’s rack, fire pit, meat smoker, computer desk, an extra tv, an extra stereo, an extra dvd player, an extra recliner, 1 bathroom cabinet fixture, 2 extra chairs, 3 extra lamps, 4 dozen cookbooks, and way too many chickens to ever fit into a smaller kitchen – because no matter where I might be headed, I doubt I’ll ever find a kitchen even close to the size of the one I have now.

Strangely, one week later, I’m already feeling… better - less restless.
Having less has become something more because it changed something.

There isn’t a single room in my home that hasn’t been altered by the sale of some item. I’ve restructured my living room, redesigned the den, opened up space in the master bedroom, uncluttered the home office, deleted an extra bathroom cabinet, and made the guest room more guest receptive.

It seems now that I have had a chance to review all this, that I may have been anticipating feeling one way which lead to misinterpreting the true message.

Even though I was sure it was what I wanted, I just didn’t feel the usual drive to leave. It turns out that what had been coiling within me had been a rather strong push to change. I can’t run off and pursue my heart, because it’s achingly anchored to staying here. I’m still not sure what or who I am waiting for, but I know that I really shouldn't leave, just yet.

There’s nothing less personal about the space Jeff and I shared. The memories didn’t walk out the door with the things I sold. The changes don’t diminish anything – but they’ve changed everything – my past, my present, and reassuringly, the way I feel about my future.

Proverbs 19:21
Many are the plans in a man's heart, but it is the LORD's purpose that prevails.

In this issue: Scroll Saws, Mezuzah Scrolls, Cultural Yard Sales, Culling Clutter, www.flamingoworld.com/retail
Now posted: Sacred Scroll

Posted by jaselin at 11:10 PM | Comments (0)

June 16, 2009

For The Birds, ME News, Vol. 2, Issue 24

So, maybe you’ve noticed, but maybe you haven’t.

In my own weird little way I usually find a theme for each newsletter.
Sometimes the way I connect things can seem like a stretch, but that’s half the fun.
I like to pick out a key word or feeling then challenge myself by drawing unusual parallels.

I don’t have a huge storehouse of theme ideas.
And, it’s probably more accurate to say that the themes usually find me, anyway.

Like this week, nothing much was going on. Then I received an email about the Odwalla Tree Project, followed by an email about the Pathology Department Birdhouse fundraising auction, followed by another email alert about cell phone numbers going public, which is completely for the birds, and finally all of that reminded me about a fellow van-pooler’s near birdie incident.

So, that’s what you’re getting this week: sort of a "fly by the seat of the pants kinda thing."

In this issue: Pathology Department's Bird House Auction, Cell Phone National Do Not Call List, Odwalla Click to Plant a Tree in Michigan Program, Flying By The Seat of One's Pant.
Now posted: Flocking Reflux, Humor, That's Random.

Posted by jaselin at 07:24 PM | Comments (0)

June 03, 2009

Lightening, ME News, Vol. 2, Issue 22

Remember when we were young, and being sent to bed while it was still light out was a crime our parents committed against nearly every 9:00 pm summer night? How could we possibly sleep when there was still good daylight left after dinner– to ride bikes, or sit on the porch, or play hopscotch in the street?

Funny how is gets to be. Climbing into bed onto an early-summer evening’s subdued light is now luxurious. Stretching out like a cat in the orange glow, feels more like a forbidden, indulgent nap than an imposed sentence of wasted time.

Lullabies wash over the window sill: the swing-tat of breezed blinds taps along to the beat of subtle neighborhood noise - a slow car rolling by, an echoing bark from a few streets over, a childish butterfly-flitting laugh, bright songbird whistles and cheerful chirping crickets.

No blanket required. Warm soft breaths of air, slightly damp with sheer humidity are nature’s spa treatment for wintery elbows and dry sunlight starved legs. Evenings like this are lovingly designed to hydrate skin, stir up memories, and recapture long scattered pieces of faded summer souls.
All while lightening up bedtime, as well.

In this issue: More Methods to Lighten up, Gelotology, Laughter Yoga, and Hair color.

Now posted: Suite Life, KY, Slidell, LA, October 2008 & Why Ballet is Important to Working Women, Humor, That's Random

Posted by jaselin at 01:08 PM | Comments (0)

May 26, 2009

Pressure, ME News, Vol. 2, Issue 21

Memorial Day Memories and Moments

The last minute invitation to join a GITC cook team headed for southern Illinois fell through.
Trying economic times, holiday weekend plans, graduations, the list of reasons were all legitimate.
Still, I suffered the self-imposed disappointment-pressure that comes with the territory.

So, I accepted another invitation. I was in the mood to work, and the invitation promised that I could.
I missed the lawn mowing, edging, and weed whacking fun, but the promise of using the power washer helped me decide. There was also shed clearing, grocery shopping, inside and outside window washing, bench refurbishing & repainting, flower boxes, and a fence to be clear coat stained.

Why was I looking forward to all this? To distract me from the pressure.

It’s not the uncertainty of my job, or that the 5-year lease on my home is up. It's not that scheduled surgery was canceled for the third time, or the eight pounds the doctor’s scale says I’ve gained in a year.
It’s something else. Not directly related to these circumstances.
It’s the stress on my heart.

The only way to ease the pain is to release all the pressure of built up love that has not yet been given away.

It needs to go somewhere. I come back empty from mission trips.
Sometimes empty is good, especially if I can empty my heart through giving, while at the same time, releasing toxins thru tears and sweat.

In this issue: Pressure, Finding the Deep River Within. Part 2 AARP Walking Guide
Now posted: Mirroring, Slidell, LA, October 2008

Posted by jaselin at 08:40 PM | Comments (0)

May 19, 2009

Walking, ME News, Vol. 2, Issue 20

Walking

I’ve been walking alone for quite some time now; since January 2006. And although that path had led me to some great accomplishments, it is only recently that I found an error in my route.

I noticed the mistake, or was more accurately God-smacked by it, last Saturday, May 16th, when I took part in the 5th annual Herrick Hospital Diabetes Education 5K Walk and Run. It took a very special invitation to get me there. I am blessed to have one particularly relentless friend who over the past two years has allowed me alone time, wide berths of space, and tolerated many logical-to-me sorry-I’m-not-going-to-show excuses. Even so, she has never stopped asking me to participate in her life.

Over 3 years, I have built up my daily walk to 1.5 to 2 miles per day, and average about 32 minutes/mile. The 5k or 3.1 mile fund-raiser walk was scheduled from 9:00 – 10:30. I wasn’t absolutely sure I could make it within that time frame, but with reasonable effort I was sure I could come close, and maybe end up being just few minutes late.

I didn’t count on some things. The uphill climb to the start line wasn’t something the treadmill prepared me for. Although I’ve often adjusted the incline, I’d never set it that steep! The off-road muddy wooded path around the lake was a little slippery and a lot hilly, also.

I also didn’t count on the outcome. I don’t wear a watch, and didn’t bother to pull out my phone to see how our timing was. I was too busy walking and talking, catching up, and finding parallels in our lives. Our sub-team of 4 had started out together. Soon, 2 of our 4-woman walking group were far ahead. We slower gals kept a steady pace. We were passed by two or three other walkers on the off-road uphill part of the path. I had expected to have been passed a lot sooner than that.

Coming around the lake into the open, seeing the welcoming finish-liners was a great feeling. As we joined others in the pavilion, I asked about the time. It was 10:10 am! How had it happened that I was not late, but 20 minutes early?

There have been a few people lately who have been reminding me that we as people are not meant to be alone in life. I’ve done a lot on my own. But I’ve been limited by my belief that I could go it entirely by myself. I recognize a real need for others now: to encourage me, challenge me, walk with me through and then out of this valley in my life.

It doesn’t necessarily mean I’ll suddenly be easier to get along with, or that I’ll attend every function I’m invited to. I’m like an early spring tulip – I need to be careful not to open up too fast, not to over-bloom. I need a little more time to build up the strength needed to stretch my arms wide, find surer footing, and anchor myself with deeper roots, so I cannot easily be blown over or blown apart as winds of change storm by.

On the Road to Emmaus Luke 24: 13-17
13Now that same day two of them were going to a village called Emmaus, about seven miles from Jerusalem. 14They were talking with each other about everything that had happened. 15As they talked and discussed these things with each other, Jesus himself came up and walked along with them; 16but they were kept from recognizing him.
17He asked them, "What are you discussing together as you walk along?"

In this issue: AARP Walking Guide, STEM International, I Walk The Line & Artists' Walk.
Now published: Cajun Frog legs, Slidell, LA October 2008, Faith & perpetual curiosity, poetry 2009

Posted by jaselin at 08:08 PM | Comments (0)

May 12, 2009

Open Ended, ME News, Vol. 2, Issue 19

"Wouldn’t it be great if GOD left this one open-ended?”
I actually uttered this phrase once.

I was thinking in terms of yet another rebuilding project that the GITC team would not get to complete. We’d have to walk away without finishing another home. I was thinking that for some of our newer team members, there was a driving need for more work, and of course, more work to be done.

I really do need to learn to be more specific when speaking with GOD, because seven months later, I have found myself in the here and now at a very open-ended phase in my life: lots of variables, no real solutions.
Nothing is finished. Nothing is settled.
Nothing is completely clear, and I am certainly not complete.
That’s not at all what I had in mind.

I received an email with an interesting foot note:
Don’t ask the Lord to guide your footsteps if you are not willing to move your feet.

In this issue: Housetrology, Homing Pigeons, How to Relax at Home
Now posted:
Open Ended, Slidell, Louisiana, October 2008
Compliments, Straight Up, Humor, That's Random

Posted by jaselin at 08:47 PM | Comments (0)

May 05, 2009

Staged, ME News, Vol. 2 Issue 18

Last week’s Thursday evening Adrian Symphony Orchestra rehearsal provided an extraordinary opportunity. Introduced to American composer Ken Fuchs, under the kind guidance of conductor John Thomas Dodson, attendees found themselves in the unusual position of co-observance alongside Mr. Fuchs, who would be hearing his work performed by ASO for the first time.

As with any art, created and then given away - handed over, it becomes open to interpretation. Unasked questions titter for answers. Do you see what I see? Do you hear what I hear? Can you carry my inner, intimate inspiration into your orchestral life, make it yours, yet have it remain wholly mine? Like building a remarkable one of a kind instrument and then giving it away; the machine remains intact, but user inflection may vary. Like when I give away words with one specific meaning, and somehow they come back to me as something completely different; interpreted in a way I did not intend, nor could have imagined.

A commanding chain: Composer – Conductor – Orchestra.

Eyes, ears, skin exposed to tactile vibrations, immersed in the drama, I want to be everywhere at once: with the composer, with the conductor, with the orchestra, with the audience. I visualize notes as drifting smoke: swirling charcoal yellows, brighter windy spring greens, wistful streaking skylight blues. An occasional brown bubble, bursting like fireworks, expands in a higher space floating down as muddy tendrils - like muting waves over scrolls of chiseled sound.

In the midst of all this, I sometimes forget to breathe. A gasp and a yawn are not indicative of errors or boredom. I’ve just been biologically forced to find my way back to the present, having been so keenly lost in the concentration of observing and deciphering individuals and individual sounds in the swell.

Deeper into practice, the instant an orchestra is in accord, it is evident that this was the plan all along; perfunctorily preceded by a little pacing, scouting tilts of the head, eyes closed, eyes open, marking notes, turning back, rising to the balls of the feet, and finally, finally, a nod.

Seen in another light: Creator – Conduit – Congregation

The hope is that we as a congregation, acknowledge each others’ rhythms, meld into them, play off them, and perhaps necessarily find ourselves to be in complete contrast to them, and yet we are still gifted beyond what we can afford to repay; competency in combining to create harmonious globes of sound and light.

Assemblage, grouping, gathering, purposefully putting people together, whether as an orchestra or an audience, invites community; creates congregations. Common people, creative people, talented or merely appreciative, we’ve been found; identified. Staged.

Behold, how good and how pleasant it is for brethren to dwell together in unity! ~Psalms 133:1

In this issue: Home Staging, Orchestral Staging, Stage Coaches

Posted by jaselin at 05:05 PM | Comments (0)

April 28, 2009

Bruised, ME News, Vol. 2, Issue 17

Bruises are interesting.
They may not hurt much at first; we might not even be aware that one is coming.
But the longer we have them and the more we revisit them by accidental bumping or rubbing, the more we become aware of them.

In their natural way, bruises bloom, move to the surface, show true colors, and serve a distinctive ache.

The good news is that bruises are very rarely permanent. They fade over time, and slip from our memory. Unless of course we repeat the injury, or keep doing the same thing - hoping for different results.

The same is true for emotional bruises. If we keep doing the same thing, we're going to find ourselves with the same results. Those bruises will keep finding their way through our egos to our skin, exposing us as perpetual victims.

Yes, victims. It's not a pleasant word, and we don't like to describe ourselves that way, do we? But allowing ourselves to be vulnerable to recurrent bruises places us in an unpleasant orb of repetitive mistakes.

Grudges are very much like bruises when someone owes us, hurts us, refuses to communicate, won't try to work it out. Holding tightly to a grudge only makes the bruising worse. Repeated bruising causes biological and emotional nerve damage. The colors of the injury may fade, but the pain may not. Ever.

I've held on to a lot of bruises for a very long time. The damage is deep.
I've decided to stop the cycle. Let it go. I'll probably be sad for an equally long time that I wasn't able to find a way to let those bruises work themselves out. Only I won't have to hope for something different now. I can expect it.

Colossians 3:13
Bear with each other and forgive whatever grievances you may have against one another. Forgive as the Lord forgave you.

In this issue: Bruises, How not to bruise an ego, Statistics That Hurt.
Now posted: Bruised?, Slidell, LA 2008
Worth visiting: http://www.foodbankofscm.org/Food%20Bank%20Network.html

Posted by jaselin at 05:06 PM | Comments (0)

April 21, 2009

Fang-shui, ME News, Vol. 2, Issue 16

To those of you who may not have heard from me in a while, there are reasons. Consider yourself among the luckier.

For those I have spoken to more recently, just in case you weren’t sure, I admit I've been a little snarly lately.

Yeah, snarly is one of my words. Happened on a day when I was feeling surly and starting to snarl.

I really do try not to let my emotional fangs show. They can be quite a reflection of my viciousness. Usually showing up as nipping comments, snits of growling, or just hateful lip curling, I do occasionally get the urge to bite someone’s head off.

I was at this point the other day when someone commented to me that it seemed like I was getting ready to rip off heads and spit in necks.

For your protection, I’ve dubbed this condition my personal fang-shui;
the art of arranging my lips over my un-retracted fangs in just the right way to make a delicious snarl.

It’s just my little harmless, yet the conveniently nicest, way of alerting you that you are treading on dangerous ground.

Having warned you, I now offer you up this personal self-defense: Counter-fang-shui:
the art of arranging yourself so my fangs aren't anywhere near your arteries when you finally come to the realization that you’ve superbly and supremely ticked me off.

I will not be held responsible, and reject all and any liability for my actions, if you ever-so-simply fail to notice my always undoubtably obvious fang-shui.

In this issue: Fangs, Feng-Shui, The Power of Positive Thinking.
Now posted: Unusual Missionary Style
Worth visiting: http://www.ehow.com/how_3776_feng-shui.html

Posted by jaselin at 09:41 PM | Comments (0)

April 14, 2009

Switch, ME News, Vol. 2, Issue 15

Wouldn’t it be great if the way to solve all problems was to simply find the right switch to flip?

University of Michigan recently came up with an interesting engagement program called “Power Down.” The theory behind the initiative was to remind people and have them commit to powering down all electrical appliances during non-work hours. Computers, monitors, faxes, printers are all good candidates for this. A pledge form was included in the information received to encourage employees to actively commit to helping the U spend less.

What sort of benefits would this simple act achieve? Well, less electrical use to start. That saves money. Long term, there’s wear and tear usage savings – prolonging the life of appliances and reducing replacement costs. Perhaps a few jobs could be saved as well, or maybe some of our increased benefit costs could be offset?

Although a great idea, my division ran into a small problem. Updates, fixes, and many reports are run in the evenings. A later email advised us not to turn off our computers, but agreed that we could still turn off our monitors, printers, etc. Something is better than nothing, right?

The point is, finding that one big switch is a utopian goal. It isn’t realistic to expect that one thing will change everything. What is realistic is making changes where possible.

Here’s another thought. While we’re powering down appliances, let’s power up our spirituality. Let’s connect to the real power source. Turn off your monitors; fire up prayers. Unplug your power strip, plug into the bible.

In this issue: Switches, Inner Light, Yoga
Now posted: Meeting GOD in the Street, and A Slidell Life Story
Worth visiting: http://yoga.about.com/od/beginningyoga/Beginning_Yoga_Practice.html

Posted by jaselin at 08:05 PM | Comments (0)

April 07, 2009

Sunrise, ME News, Vol. 2, Issue 14

“Watch the sun come up.”
Just another one of those silly tinfoil chocolate advisories.

Obviously, the sun comes up while I’ve got my eyes on the road and off the road watching for traffic and wayward critters. Once in a while, I notice some pretty hues.

A friend told me about a little girl with cancer who’s dream of going to Disney World was granted by the Make-A-Wish Foundation. Despite that generosity, it does not appear that she will be making that trip. As of last week, she had been placed on hospice. Talk got around to how we could make Disney come to her; perhaps a visit from Cinderella? A local costume company said, “Yes,” they had a princess costume, but “No” they would not donate its use.

Maybe in this economic climate they felt they could not afford to do so. Maybe they had been taken advantage of before. Maybe it wasn’t made clear enough that tomorrow one less little pair of eyes might not see the sun rise.
I know I’m sounding way too judgmental for a woman who has been lax about even paying attention to sunrises for quite some time now.

I also know that I am blessed to have the sweetest memory of Jeff’s voice every morning declaring, “The sun’s comin’ up on another beautiful day!” It didn’t really matter what the weather was, and it certainly didn’t matter what his pain level was. He truly found joy in just being able to see the sun rise up for one more day.

Tomorrow may never come again for this child, whose family will go on without her; saddened and changed, treasuring little gifts stored away as memories – which are the most precious things.

I pray that they will end up understanding, and end up as I am: peaceful that the suffering is over, not happy about the way things are, but ever more so able to appreciate the sunrise – knowing what it is really worth – and taking the time to do so.

The steadfast love of the LORD never ceases; his mercies never come to an end;
they are new every morning; Lamentations 3:22-23

In this issue: Make-A-Wish Foundation, Igloo Coolers, Life is Hard Work
Now posted: Shiny Yellow Locks, & Coolers; Slidell, LA, October 2008

Posted by jaselin at 08:06 PM | Comments (0)

March 31, 2009

Newspaper, ME News, Vol. 2, Issue 13

How do you get your news?

I don’t regularly watch general TV news. I’m only half awake in the morning while dressing to the local radio news. I only pick up newspapers once or twice a week, so the uproar over the latest reduction in home newspaper delivery doesn’t really affect my knowledge curve.

I read the newspapers because they are there at my convenience. I can pick one up at any time. I almost have to make an appointment with myself to get my news technologically – aka braving the internet. Unfortunately, once I’m on there, I tend to stray. I end up checking email, visiting Facebook friends, clicking through MyPoints, logging my Sparks info, viewing my bank balance, and checking if Sprint has credited me the $317.00 they owe me, yet. What was once 30 minutes of newspaper reading is now 2 hours of computer bogged time. Provided I don’t get sucked into challenging my computer to a game (or 2 or 3) of Scrabble while listening to my itunes collection in random shuffle…

Life really does come down to how we spend our time. And having some modicum of disciplined self-restraint, I suppose.

I Corinthians 7:29-31:
I do want to point out, friends that time is of the essence. There is no time to waste, so don't complicate your lives unnecessarily. Keep it simple - in marriage, grief, joy, whatever. Even in ordinary things- your daily routines of shopping, and so on. Deal as sparingly as possible with the things the world thrusts on you. This world as you see it is on its way out. (The Message Version.)

PS. I’m sure so many of the reason I love newspapers are obsolete anyway:
I’m really gonna miss making balloon piñatas, covering my art work space, Girl Scout sit-upons and campfire starters.

Check with your local animal shelter. Besides hamster habitats, birdie boudoirs and rabbit retreats, if they’ve been using donated newspapers to line puppy and kitten cages, they might be running short. Consider donating rather than recycling.

In this issue: Media impact on Newspapers, Washington Post Mensa Invitational,alternative news sources.

Now posted: Loaves, Fishes & Holy Water and Ruling/Leadership; Slidell, LA, October 2008

Worth visiting: http://www.newseum.org/todaysfrontpages/flash

Posted by jaselin at 10:19 PM | Comments (0)

March 24, 2009

Equinox, ME News, Vol. 2, Issue 12

ME Newsletter, Volume 2, Issue 12

Happy First Wednesday in Spring! (It officially began on 3/20 in case you're wondering.)

I remember the first time I heard the someone refer to something difficult as being "like trying to nail jello to a tree."

Seems that's the way everything's been going. Not only for me, but for the shop that replaced my windshield, the CT Scan tech who'd already had a tough morning by the time she saw me, and the overseer at last week's audit who agreed that we "have a huge problem."

Sticking to a plan and making things work has been just a bit more challenging than even I like, lately. I could use some good old-fashioned Knox gelatin to hold my life together. Or maybe some really good peanut butter….

Even in all the equinox chaos, I met another angel. This one's a long story, so I blogged it. Follow this link: http://mblog.lib.umich.edu/~jaselin/archives/2009/03/wrong_place.html#more

In this issue: Rose Markwood Knox, March is National Peanut Month, Equinox & UM research with "jello".
Now posted: Half Day & Third Round Tour, Slidell, LA, October 2008
Worth visiting: www.ilovepeanutbutter.com

Posted by jaselin at 04:43 PM | Comments (0)

March 17, 2009

Gems, ME News, Vol. 2, Issue 11

I’ve met a few angels recently, although your definition of angel may be different from mine.

For me, an angel is anyone I can get excited for, someone who inspires me, someone whose path I may cross for an instant, a short time, or sometimes repeatedly until I finally figure it out.

An angel is someone who leaves me feeling like I have just seen GOD in action; sometimes, easily recognized as warmth shared from the depths of radiant eyes and a true, open smile; sometimes, not immediately recognized as true, repetitive care.

Last year I was introduced to, and fell in love with, green amethysts. I really liked the cool feel and the weight of the stone, as well as the watery, light, and slightly-off green color. I already owned some antique and some newer traditional purple amethyst jewelry; some passed down from my grandmother and some purchased by me. So, the contrast intrigued me.

Angels and gems, how are they connected?
Both are rare, holding high value in such different ways.
Both change in appearance depending on how they are treated.
And, both showed up at the Southfield International Gem and Jewelry Show.
It’s been an enlightening, and colorful week.

"Do not forget to entertain strangers, for by so doing some people have entertained angels without knowing it." Hebrews 13:2

Now posted:
Semi, and Accomplishments, Slidell, LA, October 2008
Green Amethyst Angels, Faith, Current

Posted by jaselin at 08:56 PM | Comments (0)

March 11, 2009

Peeps, ME News, Vol. 2, Issue 10

Hey! It's been raining for 4 days here in Michigan, which means it is now officially Peeps season.
While it true that normally there is absolutely no correlation between the two, for me there is an exception:
Both, Peeps and too much rain, make me loopy.

Just in case you're not too sure what you're looking at, there is a simple, yet brilliant, explantion for the photos taken with my cell phone at my desk at work:

I made an exciting discovery!
Both, fresh and slightly stale Peeps, will float in warm cinnamon orange tea, thereby accomplishing two things at once -
cute and sweetened tea.

Perhaps now would be a good time to confess to caffeine and sugar overload?

PS. The cup has a sweet message, too. "Live Boldy, Take Risks, Make someone say what the heck was THAT all about?"
Thanks for being my “peeps”!

In this issue: History of the marshmallow, Peeps, Just Born Candy Company, Peeps on a Mission

Now published: Job Data, Monday Night Devotion, True Love & Peeps

worth checking into:
http://www.cookingforengineers.com - totally techie food stuffs
http://www.marshmallowpeeps.com - the official Just Born Peeps Site
http://www.peepresearch.org/surgery.html - surgical details of separating typically conjoined Peeps quintuplets

Posted by jaselin at 08:21 PM | Comments (0)

March 03, 2009

Tea & Translucency, ME News, Vol. 2, Issue 9

I had the blessed opportunity to share the pomp and circumstance of loose leaf tea and fine china with dear friends last weekend. Cinnamon Orange, of course, but decaf due to the company I knew I would be keeping. As it turned out, by the time the evening’s activities ended, tea hour settled upon us around 10:00 pm.

The fine china wasn’t my idea, but that of an enthusiastic parent. Still, passing dainty cups perched on seemingly delicate saucers to young ladies, ages 11, 13 and 16, made me nervous. I often forgo the fine china in favor of a standard variety household mug. Yes, out of fear of damage or spillage, and a bit out of laziness, not wanting to refill a smaller cup more often.

These cups, florals reflecting brightly in the translucent amber tea, changed the mood. Hurried, became settled. Fidgety became still – it’s hard to balance a tea cup and fidget! Pinkies were extended, styles compared.

Alice Walker said, “Tea to the English is really a picnic indoors.”

I’d liken our event to more of a campfire gathering. No TV, no Ipods, no cell phones, nothing other than a family circled in conversation and questions. “Are they really that old?” “Is that real gold on the rim?” When the tea was finished, the bottoms of saucers and cups were inspected for clues to their origin. Just as the spiced tea warmed our limbs, discussions and learning warmed our hearts.

What is the good of having beautiful things if we will not use them in comfort and often? What is the worse that could happen? A broken cup, a shattered saucer, would simply present a learning opportunity; about the strength of china, the fragility of life, the necessity of friendships, and the importance of pomp and circumstance.

"... I was thirsty and you gave me drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me..." Matthew 25: 35-45

In this issue: Achieving Goals, Strength and Translucency, Bone China vs. Porcelain
Now published: Presence of a Cook, Slidell, LA October 2008

Posted by jaselin at 04:29 PM | Comments (0)

February 24, 2009

Veiled, ME News, Vol. 2, Issue 8

2/23/09 TUMC Lay Reader Doug Ketchum started out with: “It’s not just winter out there! It’s the season of epiphany!”
And ended with: “I ask you now, are you living in the Glory of GOD? Unveil your face.”

I have been living veiled. In fact, I have made an extreme effort to do so.
Withdrawal has been my temporary bandage; a small short bit of protection.
However, like any bandage left on too long, the fix becomes something different - a liability. It becomes part of the wound; impossible to remove without breaking open the skin it has so firmly attached itself to.

It’s debatable whether it is better to remove the bandage slowly to minimize damage, or quickly to minimize pain.
A few weeks ago, I let a few trusted friends peek under the flapping edges of my bandage – my personal veil.
I unveiled my true tear-stained face, previously reserved from everyone.
I asked for prayers, but not for help. I claimed no need for intervention.
And then I asked them to help me hold my veil in place. No need to share what you have seen or heard, I advised.
I don’t know if they obliged me or not, and I don’t really want to know either.

Because now, in this season of epiphany, I have realized that not only have I not been living in the Glory of GOD, I have not been living, at all. When I am asked how I am doing, I have prepared stock answers:
“I’m doing what I’m supposed to be doing.” “Oh, you know… good days and bad days, just like everyone else.” “Just fine. How are you?"

Every once in a while, I let the day’s emotions overrule my need to veil. A little something sarcastic pops out, which usually draws a laugh.

But for me, those answers dangle on the edge of unveiling, as I’m silently asking, “Do you really want to know?”

jak

In this issue: Band Aids, Jewish Tradition of Unveiling, Achieving Goals by Conquering Fears.
Worth watching: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=42E2fAWM6rA
Worth listening to: Leonard Bernstein's Symphony No. 3, Kaddish, for Orchestra, 1963

Posted by jaselin at 01:06 PM | Comments (0)

February 18, 2009

Fogged, ME News, Vol. 2, Issue 7

When you’ve been on the same road for so long, you sort of expect that you know what to expect. You get used to feeling the dips and turns in the road. You know where to anticipate ice and blowing snow. You notice when someone plants a tree or adds a fence.

After 9 years of driving the same road, mostly 5 days a week, I expected to know where I was going. So, Wednesday morning’s fog was annoying, but I felt competent . Until, I had to pass up a usual turn. That’s when I ran into trouble. I wasn’t going too fast, it was just that I had a tailgater. Rather than be rear-ended by the short-sighted follower, I passed the turn and started looking for some place to turn around.

The fog got thicker. I wasn’t at all familiar the roads or the driveways past that turn. I couldn’t see them until I was right up on them. Again, because of the tailgater, I kept having to pass up opportunities. I decided to out smart the problem. I flipped on my blinker, and slowed to 5 mph. When I saw an opportunity to pull into a well-marked drive I took it. Yeah, it was about 3 minutes after I engaged the signal. Probably really annoyed the bumper hugger behind me, but at least we weren’t in danger.

Heading back was just as scary. Still not sure where I was, I woke up my copilot to ask for help. We both saw the four letter street sign at the same time. Still didn’t feel quite right, but I had already stopped expecting things to look the same in the cloud soup. We were back on track; at least I thought we were.

At a surprising stop sign, we found ourselves perpendicular to Moon Road. Ok, the good news was, we were back at Moon. The bad news was that by this time, I was completely disoriented. Left or Right? Left or Right? Finally, I took a van poll. Left.

Left turned out to be the right choice. Would I have sat there all day if I hadn’t asked for help? If I were alone, perhaps, I’d have sat a bit longer. But others were with me. Eventually, someone would have demanded that I pick a direction.

Pick a direction; pick a direction. Ok, ok. I get it. I’m supposed to pick a direction. I’m just not ready, yet. Suppose the one I choose is worse than where I’ve been standing still? Things can get worse, and it seems they have been, anyway. So, I know standing isn’t the right answer, either. It’d be ok with me if my life’s fog just rolled away leaving me a clear familiar path. But, I know that’s not likely, either.

"Look here, you people who say, 'Today or tomorrow we are going to such and such a town, stay there a year, and open up a profitable business.' How do you know what is going to happen tomorrow? For the length of your lives is as uncertain as the morning fog—now you see it; soon it is gone. What you ought to say is, 'If the Lord wants us to, we shall live and do this or that.' James 4:13-16, TLB

In this issue: Fog, Vision Loss, Achieving Goals, Books to Read
Now published: Lugging It, Slidell, LA, October 2008 & Valentine's Day, Humor, That's Random.

Posted by jaselin at 10:04 AM | Comments (0)

February 09, 2009

Full Circle, ME News, Vol. 2, Issue 6

Full Circle

So, it’s Monday morning, and I’m on the back-roads commute.
Not a full van this morning, only 5 of out 7, and 4 out of those 5 are asleep.
I’m not one of them. I’m driving and thinking and worrying and wondering.
Passing the first open farm field on Ridge something bright catches me off guard.
It’s a crisp full white moon floating in between darkly ghost-grey clouds.
I can’t see a single star, but there’s that moon clear as anything;
circled by a rainbow frame of the palest of red, orange, yellow,
and the subtlest greens and blues.
And, I realize, I’ve seen this before. But, never recognized it for what it was.
Full circle moon rainbows.
Now, I wonder what else I might have missed in my full circle spinning,
Knowing I need to take a step; any step, in any direction,
If I am going to move from this grey space
To a better heart place, and back amongst life’s circles
Continually reminded of the straightforward truth:
“I have set my rainbow in the cloud,
and it shall be a sign of the covenant
between Me and earth.”
Genesis 9:13

In this issue: Biblical Rainbows, Prisms
Now Published: Slidell, LA October 2008, You're IT & Humor, That's Rando, Social Toileting

Posted by jaselin at 08:24 AM | Comments (0)

February 03, 2009

Snow Rainbow, ME News, Vol. 2, Issue 5

I saw my very first snow rainbow! Sometimes, it pays to have to wait.
At first it was barely visible, peeking between clouds, the edge just inside the window frame of my dentist’s office chair.
I scooted down chair for a longer, better view and was treated to bigger, brightening hues.
Eventually, the clouds moved on and took my rainbow with them.

Yeah, it crossed my mind… you know, that saying? “It takes both the sun and the clouds to make a beautiful rainbow.”

Lately, I feel a bit like bad luck Schleprock, with clouds always following me around, right?

In any case, even if it seems that all I ever bring to the party is clouds, there is still a chance that someday, given the right circumstances, I’ll run into a bit of sun, and make a rainbow, too.

It’s always about the chemistry, isn’t it?

In this issue: Reducing Stress by Recording and Rewarding, Calcium & Vitamin D, Now Posted: Aldersgate Consecration & Toothsome

Posted by jaselin at 08:00 PM | Comments (0)

January 27, 2009

Comfort Food, ME News, Vol. 2, Issue 4

Comfort Food Season – anytime the temperature gets below 60 degrees, I believe comfort foods are in order. It’s been as low as 13 below this month, so I’m seeking comfort. Pizza is one of my favorites, but it’s not so nutritionally sound. I recently came up with another way to enjoy the taste of sausage and peppers that is a whole lot healthier. Derived from the wonderful Selin Cabbage Casserole I was served last weekend, I altered the recipe a bit to get my comfort cravings in there. The fresh vegetables let the missing winter nutrients sunshine in, too.

"Sausage" Cabbage Casserole
1 large head of cabbage, chopped into bite size pieces
1 large green pepper, seeded, diced
1/2 small bag of mini carrots, sliced
1/2 package Morningstar Farms Meal Starters “Sausage” Crumblers
2 ten ounce cans Campbell's Tomato Soup, straight from the can as is – do not add water

Crock Pot low, 3.5 - 4.0 hours, or oven 350 degrees, covered, one hour.

Estimated nutritional content per 1 cup serving: remember I’m not a scientist, just want to be one…
100 Calories, 7 grams of protein, 2 grams of fat, plus a decent amount of fiber, vitamins c, k, and a.

PS: Feel free to add an onion or two, and some diced tomatoes, if the mood hits you.
PSS: Just for the record, I also believe comfort foods are in order any time the temperature gets above 60 degrees.

Posted by jaselin at 10:42 PM | Comments (0)

January 16, 2009

Thawing, ME News, Vol. 2, Issue 3

I call it “thawing,” and it has nothing to do with winter.

It's the best term I could think of for my situation after reading an interesting, but not totally applicable, article titled, “Young, Fabulous, and Widowed.” Although it dealt mainly with young widows with young children, there were some interesting points made. The most important of which was this:

“Grief is like being frozen. You’re numb. The longer you’re numb, the more painful it will be when you start to defrost. [You] can’t stay frozen forever.”

So, in case you’re wondering what the changes are you’re seeing in me, I’m thawing.

I managed to stay frozen 2.3 years. I turned into what was referred to in the article as “a super widow.” I volunteered a lot, kept busy with classes, exercise, studies, symphonies, making cards and making garbage.

I think the thaw started, or the deep freeze ended, last October. I slowed down enough to look around, and I’m not too happy about where I’m at. Yeah, some things are different, and a little bit better. Minus 115 pounds, A1C of 6.1, no longer anemic, my hair is growing back. Losing another 40 pounds will complete that part of my lengthy list of physical goals.

I believe I’m making progress regarding what I have heard referred to as “widow’s mouth.” Apparently, it’s not that uncommon among long term caregivers of the seriously ill. Something has to give, and for most it seems to be taking care of ourselves. In my case, there was also anticipatory grief. I obviously succumbed to both, because by the time Jeff died, I had gained 150 pounds, become a septic diabetic, developed severe anemia, and was suffering from malnutrition. After a day of commuting 3 hours, working at my full time real job, trying to keep our retail store alive, and taking care of my husband, I would exhaustedly fall into bed without so much as brushing, never mind not flossing.

Working to restore my oral health is kind of like the final frontier of physical things that can be repaired.
Maybe, once that I’m over that hurdle, I can make some progress on feeling better emotionally.
I don’t know how long it will take me to completely thaw.
I'm just letting you know that the process has begun.
And it is painful.

jak

reference: Health4Women, December 2008/ January February 2009

Posted by jaselin at 12:47 PM | Comments (0)

January 14, 2009

Buckshot Boots, ME News, Vol. 2, Issue 2

It could only happen to me. I bought a pair of Sporto winter boots – the practical side of me finally admitting that I live in Michigan. Waterproof and lined, but also really sporty – printed in a delightful and very me pink, yellow and pea green paisley. I’ve been wearing them with thick socks - because I live in Michigan. Duh.

Well, we ventured out of our non-daylight work habitat today and actually went to a real sit down restaurant for soup and salad. Because it was above 30 degrees, I decided to be brave (aka lazy) and forgo the socks and just insert my stocking feet into my groovy boots. So, I’m walking along and I feel a weird lumpy sensation under my right foot. I'm thinking it must be the DSW red-sticker label that I never took out of the boot. Ok, that’s what laziness will get you. Whatever.

Back at the office, it’s off with the boots, on with the dress shoes. I decided to take out the offending sticker, and ended up with something I’ve never seen before. As I pealed the purposefully very sticky sticker off in tiny pieces, I piled them up on my desk. It took me until about the 3rd piece to understand what I was really looking at. I very much doubt this is the newest technology in theft reduction.

Here’s the thing. Someone had stuffed lead shot under the red-sticker label. Seriously, I recovered about 15 of the little bb’s, in all. Wow. I suspect that someone who thought they very clever wanted these boots, bad. I’m theorizing they either couldn’t afford them or they just wanted to wait for the 60% off reduction. I paid for them at 40% off, plus I had a ten dollar coupon. They were mine for $12.50.Yes, I’m proud of that. Not so proud of the 10 wearings before I noticed the inventive discouragement attempt, though. I think someone normal might have noticed that a little earlier. I guess it really doesn’t matter if you’re a shoe coveting genius, there’s always some dingbat out there who can mess with your good plan. So, the next time you try on a lumpy shoe at DSW, check for buckshot. You just might end up getting a dreamy pair of shoes, and thwarting a weird buckshot sticker stuffer.

The evidence is on my desk in a forensic envelope.
Feel free to come by and observe.
For those of you not lucky enough to be a local and enjoying the 20 inches of boot worthy accumulated snow this week, the photos will be posted on myspace shortly.

Posted by jaselin at 12:54 AM | Comments (0)

January 07, 2009

Healthy Economics, ME News, Vol. 2, Issue 1

Well, I did it. I jumped on the health-wagon full speed ahead. It's not easy, and not always enjoyable.

Take January 29th for example. That's the day I am scheduled for both a mammogram and a dentist appointment. Why both on that same day? Economics. Keeping appointments usually requires me to drive myself from Adrian to Ann Arbor, instead of taking the MichiVan. That means having to buy gasoline. It also means time away from work, which translates into having to use vacation time. And then, there's the fun-factor. Might as well cram as much "pleasure" into one day as possible, right?

In the meantime, while I'm waiting for my super-fun-day, I re-created and revised my 2008 life-style tracking spreadsheet. (Also attached.) I recommitted to working out 35 minutes a day, 6 times a week. I redesigned my www.sparkpeople.com goals, and logged those in.

I also signed up for my MHealthy Assessment on February 25th. University of Michigan will add $100.00 to my paycheck for having a healthy check-up. Economics, again. I could drive myself into work, drive to the MD, wait forever which means taking vacation time, and pay a $15.00 co-pay fee, OR I could take the van into work, run across the street to the Briarwood Mall complex during lunch, and get paid $100.00. If you're a UM employee, you should sign up, too. www.MHealthy.umich.edu .

jak

Posted by jaselin at 07:21 AM | Comments (0)

December 31, 2008

Formats, ME News, Vol. 1, Issue 44

Happy New Year, a little early.

Last year at this time, I hadn’t even had the first thought about a newsletter format.

I had just begun my blog adventure, timidly, I might add. Last week I decided to print out a table of blog contents just to see what I had already covered. I guess I wasn’t paying too much attention, because I was surprised to see over 210 posts. I had forgotten some of the topics I wrote about, but then again I was a little alarmed at the ones I kept repeating.

Ok, so I have some serious commuter issues where other drivers are concerned.
Ok, so I still don’t have a clue what GOD’s plan is for me
Ok, so my poetry can be a bit morose. However, in my defense, it’s been that way since I learned how to write. That’s just how those thoughts come out.

Formats are interesting. Take this note for example. My computer is going berserk as I’m trying to write tonight. Every three or four words, the new words are showing up in between the old words. I must have hit some hot key I’m not aware of. If I didn’t correct it, this sentence would look like this: Anyone have any clue how to fix this? “ If I didn’t corretencect it, this sentewould look more like this. Ho?to fic thisw sa cyone have ane ha vfix th”

Maybe it’s my computer’s new year’s resolution to try something new.

Which leads me to this:
Newer isn’t always better, especially when old was working just fine.
So here’s to the old things about all of us that we love about each other.
And here’s to a new year of learning new things and learning new things about each other, too.

Blessings, jak

Posted by jaselin at 07:33 AM | Comments (0)

December 24, 2008

Pre-New Year, ME News, Vol. 1, Issue 43

Isn’t it interesting how there is always one week between Christmas and New Years where we are given the opportunity to recognize our second chance given by GOD and to create a list of ways we can better honor and serve HIM?

New Year’s Resolutions may seem to be mostly about us, but the underlying roots of our desires all lead back to being better people. Being a better person means mostly focusing outside ourselves, but first we need to take care of ourselves. Is it any wonder that most resolutions center around health issues, financial issues, family issues?

Enjoy your families and friends this week and next week as we celebrate new beginnings. Think about those you love and how you can best serve them. Then try to figure out how you can improve yourself in order to improve their lives. That’s the trick to building resolutions you can keep; higher goals.

Love, jak.

Posted by jaselin at 07:33 AM | Comments (0)

December 16, 2008

Done & Not, ME News, Vol. 1, Issue 42

Snow. Yeah, I said it again. I’m not going through this alone. If I’m gonna be weighted down with white stuff, you’re comin’ on that trip with me.

Now, on to lighter subjects….
Holiday shopping – done!
Snow boots – bought!
Holiday cards – started, but not done!
Baking – not even started!
Snow brush – not located. Dustpan brush works fine for now.
Car windows – repaired. Thanks to my brother and nephew, the driver’s side window no longer rolls down every time I start the car up, and the passenger side which had been repeatedly drowned with Mt. Dew by a husband-passenger prone to falling asleep with beverages in his hand, now also rolls back up instead of always being stuck down.
Proof of insurance certificate – in car. Thanks again to my familial mechanics for pointing out that little error on my part.
Garage – next home, for sure.
Customer Service Training – begun. Although, I already know exactly what not to do having recently had almost 6 hours experience on the phone with Sprint. Take my advice on this, upgrade your phone in person at a store – not online, not over the phone, never after midnight.
Cranky-meter – kinda high, but I’m about to work that out on the treadmill with Nickleback on my belligerent side.
Night – night. Love y’all.

Posted by jaselin at 09:12 PM | Comments (0)

December 09, 2008

Crock Pot Wine, ME News, Vol. 1, Issue 41

It's 1/2 way between Thanksgiving and Christmas, I'm looking for one of those grow-lights for humans. It's supposed to give us extra energy and relieve darkness-syndrome. Understand that it won't alter my dark-side sense of humor, but I might feel less like a nocturnal creature always coming and going in the dark. Plus, I might not look so pale-ghostly-goth-without-really-trying, either.

Speaking of energy, I've stuck a few ideas about how to conserve energy and increase energy in this week's newsletter. If you have any exciting or obvious ways that you use to make it through holiday season, please share.

I stopped at Pentamere Winery in Tecumseh last week, and picked up a few holiday presents. I also sampled a delightfully spice-mulled Michigan cherry crock-pot-warmed wine. Alas, I have no good reason to warm an entire crock-pot of wine... Well, on second thought, I'm pretty sure I do have plenty of good reasons to keep a crock-pot full of warm wine on my counter top. However, I'm trying not to confuse my priorities. It's either treadmill or warm wine, but definitely not both!

In the in between spirit! jak

Posted by jaselin at 03:04 PM | Comments (0)

December 03, 2008

Leftovers, ME News, Vol. 1, Issue 40

Well, thanks to my sister-in-law, I’m still celebrating Thanksgiving 2008. I got off way easy this year. My assignments were devilled eggs and fruit salad. The whole meal included turkey breast, smoked turkey breast, stuffing/dressing (depends on who you ask what it’s actually called), mashed potatoes, cranberries, devilled eggs, fruit salad, pumpkin pie, and oriental cabbage salad. (Hey, we’re not all traditionalists!)

Here’s the best leftover turkey recipe ever:

Amy’s Turkey Casserole
One large casserole dish layered with:
½ of the leftover mashed potatoes, turkey, gravy, stuffing, cranberry sauce, green bean casserole, rest of the leftover potatoes.
Cover with foil. Refrigerate until needed. Reheat in 350 degree oven until hot (about ½ hour). Maybe add some shredded cheese on top (that’s my idea!)

Make this casserole right at the table before you put anything away. Cuts way down on searching for storage containers, trying to jam them all into the fridge, and then having to clean them all out later. Best of all you get to re-live your complete Thanksgiving dinner a day later, with only one dish to clean up!

Or, in my case, you may still be enjoying it almost a week later. I think tomorrow night I might see the last of the turkey casserole that came home with me on turkey day. Such sadness.

jak

Posted by jaselin at 08:30 PM | Comments (0)

November 26, 2008

Thanksgiving, ME News, Vol. 1, Issue 39

There just isn’t enough space in the world to hold the list of all that I am thankful for.

It’s built up over the years, and is bigger than even I ever imagined it would be.

Of course you’ve got a place on that list! You’ve inspired me to keep sharing.

So thank you, for all you’ve ever done for me, or for anyone else.

Have you heard about Kindness Tokens? These metal tokens each contain a unique serial number and a history. Here’s how it works. You thank someone who has done you a kindness by giving them an imprinted coin and a business card that explains the project. You can then go on line and follow it’s trail – hopefully as it makes its way around the world!

I currently have a stash of 25 coins in my possession. If you would like a coin sent to you so that you can participate in the project, please email me your street or PO Box address, and I’ll send it on its way to you.

Thanks – and I mean that!

jak

Posted by jaselin at 04:10 PM | Comments (0)

November 19, 2008

Snow, ME News, Vol. 1, Issue 38

Snow. Well, I guess it’s gonna be a long winter if I don’t give up complaining about the stuff. But, buck-up and bear with me one more time, please. (Ooo! 2 winter nuisance animals in one sentence.)

It was beautiful coming down on Sunday morning; a bit like driving around inside a snow globe. It was even more beautiful when it stopped snowing, and the white stuff melted. The sun came out, and it was all gone by noon. That’s my kinda snow. Alas, residue!

This morning’s commute took two icy, unsalted, road hours. We went 30 miles an hour for 36 miles, not including long periods of stopping to accommodate tow trucks or Michiganders unfamiliar with the term “zipper merge.‿ Apologies if I’ve gone here before. I’m thinking I may have, but it’s really such a simple concept that it’s worth repeating.

All merge situations should be handled like a zipper. Go ahead, check out your zipper in action. I’ll wait.

See, it was worth it wasn’t it? If everyone alternates, there’s no confusion about who should go next, and things run more smoothly. Educate your family, friends, coworkers, club members, everyone. Save yourself some frustration, and maybe a life or two.

I only say these thing because I love you, and believe you have the power to change the world.

Blessings, jak

Posted by jaselin at 04:15 PM | Comments (0)

November 12, 2008

Don't Veer, ME News, Vol. 1, Issue 37

Well, friends, here we are two weeks from Thanksgiving, and one week past national and local elections.

Gas prices have dropped from $4.98 a gallon a few weeks ago to just $1.91 a gallon at Murphy Gas in Adrian tonight.

Food prices are taking a little longer to drop back down to what I consider reasonable. Being able to eat a healthy diet should not be a luxury in America.

It’s been my month for wildlife. Not only did a butt-shot raccoon chose my front yard to try lay himself to rest, but my neighborhood’s been skunked almost every night, sometimes twice a night. My van pool encountered our first unfortunate deer accident early Monday morning. Someone else took the hit, but we still had to maneuver around him as he flew toward us. Because you know me, and hopefully love me, you will understand this: As the van pool driver, I was watching him fly toward me in slow motion, legs kicking in mid-air, his buck-eyes eyes wide open. The deer actually “flew‿ about 150 feet . All I could think as he air- paddled toward me was, “Rudolph!‿ He landed pretty hard, took a few tumbles, and then got up and left the scene. The driver of the car was ok; windshield was totaled, though.

Be alert, and remember Michigan’s other state motto: “Don’t veer for deer.‿

Posted by jaselin at 04:13 PM | Comments (0)

November 05, 2008

Election, ME News, Vol. 1, Issue 36

Evenin’. Hope everyone made it to the polls today. I’m about to tune in and see where we’re at as far as our new leadership. What a history making election year. So many issues, and so many opinions. I heard a radio announcer say the other day that we’re officially in a “recession.‿ I wonder what makes it official? The percentage of folks without jobs, the number of home foreclosures, the price of gas dropping over $2.00 per gallon in less than a month?

Jeff just wouldn’t get too excited about politics. He was, however, a careful voter, doing his best to be informed about each national, state, and local candidate. Even so, I learned very early in our dating how he felt about the whole thing. “You know,‿ he said to me once. “It doesn’t really matter too much who wins the election tonight. The cows still gotta be milked in the morning.‿ You can pretty much apply that philosophy to anything: a football game, a dip in the stock market, or an argument. No matter what, for most of us, our day-to-day responsibilities will remain the same Wednesday morning. Still, it’s a remarkable privilege to be able to vote, and influence the state of our nation.

May our leadership be blessed with wisdom and true care for the people of this nation and the world, and may God bless us all.

jak

Posted by jaselin at 04:16 PM | Comments (0)

October 29, 2008

Spittle, ME News, Vol. 1, Issue 35

Spittle.

That’s what I call that stuff that was pelting me tonight, floating merrily around announcing that winter is coming, like it or not. A mixture of sleet, whitish snowy sort of stuff, and mini-mini pin size hail droppings, it’s not even really sure what it is. And it always seems to show up around the same time as that daylight savings time thing, which turns most of us into hibernating mushroom-people, coming and going in the dark, prepared not to see our neighbors for a few months. Or at least not recognize them when we do, for all the down-filled bundling, hats and ear muffs, gloves, scarves, and turtlenecks. You know, maybe next spring I’ll start studying my neighbors’ noses, so I won’t be left completely in the dark this time next year.

Yeah, I plead ignorance: I never realized there was actually a rule for when DST would occur. As far as I could tell, it changed every year and always seemed to surprise me. Although, I was aware that the official begin and end time of the DST season was changed a few years ago.

“Fall Back‿, everyone. Fondly,

jak

Posted by jaselin at 04:18 PM | Comments (0)

October 22, 2008

Heat, ME News, Vol. 1, Issue 34

Well, I flicked on the heat for the first time this year. It was ceremoniously sad, but my toes appreciated it. So did my fingers. I am no longer making it home with enough time to sit out on the porch in what’s left of daylight. I realize I live in Michigan, and should expect this sort of thing, but I don’t actually have to like it, do I?

Here’s another seemingly disconnected newsletter. Kermit, albuterol inhalers, using palm pilots to order hospital food, rhubarb cream pie, and ecologically & environmentally sound cleaner ideas. I challenge you to figure out the connection!

May you be blessed with as much sunshine as possible this week!

jak

Posted by jaselin at 04:20 PM | Comments (0)

October 15, 2008

Indian Summer, ME News, Vol. 1, Issue 33

Good morning!

It was nice to come home to a surprisingly warm Michigan Indian Summer. I was lovin’ Louisiana though, warm, breezy, a bit humid, but delightful. Nine days seemed like a long time to be away, until I found myself back in my real life. I could have used a few more days of ugly, sweaty, unfashionable clothing, and hard physical work. That stuff’s addictive. As is the joy of serving the LORD, watching scenarios unfold, and thanking HIM over and over for letting me be there.

Enjoy your week. Blessings.

jak

Posted by jaselin at 04:21 PM | Comments (0)

October 08, 2008

From Slidell, ME News Vol 1, Issue 32

Ha! I’ve made some technological advances of which I am extremely proud. I connected to a WI-FI something or other to bring you this pretty tech-laden newsletter.

There are approximately 35 volunteers in our group/housing location this week, and about 150 volunteers in all in Slidell. It’s a slow time of year for volunteers: jobs, school, economics are all playing parts in that. Still, after three years of recovery work, the fact that 150 people showed up is pretty amazing. Within our group we have two teams: Get In The Car and STEM. (More about STEM next newsletter.) Within those two teams are representatives from California, Connecticut, Ohio, Michigan, Minnesota, New York, and Wisconsin.

Please check the website for updates: www.getinthecar.org

Love you!

jak

REDUX: Yup, midnight madness again… Here is the actual newsletter. Hope you found the info about Aldersgate interesting, too…

Good night, or good morning…

jak

Posted by jaselin at 04:23 PM | Comments (0)

October 01, 2008

2 years, ME News, Vol. 1, Issue 31

Evenin’.

Is it just me or do Wednesdays seem to come around faster now?

I’m off again at the end of the week for Louisiana. We’ll be returning to Slidell, where there is still work to be done. Can you believe it is three years after Hurricane Katrina and there are still roofs that need repair? Homes that need drywall? People who need help and healing?

Can you believe that tomorrow will be two years since Jeff has been gone? As many of you know, I am not happy about the situation. But I am peaceful now, in ways that cannot readily be described in a few words or a million words. I know how he suffered, I know how he loved, and I know that he did not want any of us to see him weaken. He wanted us all to have the brilliant memory of his laugh, his quick and frequent smile, and the knowledge that his heart was big enough to hold everyone, and still does.

Much love.

PS. You might get a newsletter next week from Louisiana, but then again you might not…. Guess we’ll both be surprised to see how that turns out.

jak

Posted by jaselin at 04:27 PM | Comments (0)

September 24, 2008

Carrots, ME News, Vol. 1, Issue 30

I was drinking my strawberry Dannon Activa, and belatedly decided to look over the ingredient list. Of course with my food allergies, I should always read the ingredients first, but never mind that. Although not a problem, I did find an interesting thing listed on there: black carrot juice.

So, my little finger tips went off on one of their keyboard Google treks, and the results are to be found within this month’s ME Newsletter.

PS. If Bugs Bunny had known about this, his famous tag–line might have ended up being, “What’s up with that, Doc?"

jak

Posted by jaselin at 04:29 PM | Comments (0)

September 23, 2008

Skow's, ME News, Vol. 1, Issue 29

Picked up 6 quarts of raspberries from Skow’s Organic Farm today. I order every year, and freeze then for enjoyment later, while eating the ones that get away of course. Skow’s on Ogden Highway in Adrian is an awesome place. Completely organic and yummy, and often huge produce. They pick or your pick..

Mr. Skow helped us out a lot when we opened up the Michigan Hot Sauce Club. Jeff would run by there in the evenings and he would sell us all his leftovers from the day. Tomatoes, onions, peppers, corn, fresh garlic, honey. We made some pretty awesome salsa and pickled green beans with dill and garlic, which he of course got to share in. Once we shucked, de-cobbed and canned over 82 ears of corn in one day. Some with peppers, some without. It was a very Green-Acres-eque experience for me. Didn’t know too much about shuckin’ or cannin’ corn when I started, but I’m a semi-pro at it now. That was one of those nights when our neighbors just shook their heads at what those wacky Kortes were up to sittin’ in the driveway shuckin’ corn by the moonlight. Most of them appreciated the fresh canned corn in the winter, though.

If you’re wanting raspberries, call Mr. Skow this week. The season is pretty short. 517-263-5579 9:00 am – 5:00 pm only please. Anyway, I expect my fingers will be raspberry red for a few more days. Buy from your local farmer, and enjoy the harvest!

jak

Posted by jaselin at 08:26 PM | Comments (0)

September 17, 2008

DRTs, ME News, Vol. 1, Issue 28

Evenin’, everyone.

Another interesting week in our world, huh? I didn’t catch the name as I drove by this evening , but another PFC, this time from Battle Creek, made the DOT board this morning. Prayers for the family of this soldier, please.

What about Galveston? No doubt Galveston is in need. And there are people there helping. The American Red Cross mobilized volunteers to be in place before Ike hit . One of my co-workers received an email from another coworker deployed last week by the Red Cross first to Orlando, and then moved along to Texas. She said it’s not so bad sleeping with 150 other volunteers, and that they’re going through a lot of hand sanitizer. Prayers for these volunteers too, please.

Disaster Response teams are different from long term recovery teams. They are also referred to as “First Responders." These are trained specialists: fire fighters, social workers, nurses, clergy, electricians, doctors, loggers, heavy equipment operators. The first jobs involve restoring power and water, making sure buildings are safe, and moving large debris so other repair work can begin. Maybe someday I’ll have enough experience and bravery to join that elite group, but for now I’m secured to my role in long term recovery. Heart and soul.

Love ya. Be safe. jak.

Posted by jaselin at 09:05 PM | Comments (0)

September 10, 2008

With Sprinkles, ME News, Vol. 1, Issue 27

The breezes are a little brisker; the waters a little choppier; the apples just a little bit sweeter.
I’m thinking a fall festival tour is in order. Too early for leaves, yet, but that’s ok.
I vote for chore procrastination, and wanderlust indulgence.
And maybe one more summer ice cream cone, with sprinkles.

jak

Posted by jaselin at 09:00 PM | Comments (0)

August 27, 2008

Diaper Bobbing, ME News, Vol. 1, Issue 26

Who knew? End of summer fever is a real thing.

So there I was, on Lake Geneva, drifting around in a pontoon boat with family and friends. The water looked so inviting, but I had forgotten my bathing suit back in Lansing. I’d been introduced to “Diaper Bobbing" over the 4th of July weekend, but wasn’t quite sure about it at the time. Another opportunity arose. No bathing suit, probably the last weekend of lake time for me, and encouragement from an 8 year old made for a dilemma. Ok, then. Empty pockets, take off shoes, put on life jacket…. jump in. Fully clothed. Bob around, do water-somersaults, and show my nephew that I really can do a flip-dive. Afterwards, run through Meijer’s semi-dry, in search of new underwear, shirt and shorts. Laugh at myself, and know that we made some good memories. Can’t wait to see those pictures!

jak

Posted by jaselin at 08:20 PM | Comments (0)

August 20, 2008

Seasons, ME News, Vol. 1, Issue 25

I noticed this morning that it was still dark outside as I left for the commute to work. Uh, oh. It’s almost fall in Michigan.

Ok, that’s a bit exaggerated. Still the early morning darkness makes me wonder where my favorite season has gone. We’ve just a few more lake days, a few more barbeques, and a couple more weeks of porch dwelling to enjoy. The peaches are perfect right off the tree, and almost daily new zucchini seem to multiply on the kitchen counter at work. I’m enjoying the sunny, breezy early evenings, and know I’ll miss them in a few weeks. So, I’ll enjoy them now, savor the winding down, and move peacefully into my second favorite season.

Enjoy the seasons of life, as they are the seasonings that bless us with variety and hope.

jak

Posted by jaselin at 08:19 PM | Comments (0)

August 13, 2008

Still Wednesday, ME News, Vol. 1, Issue 24

How about that? Technically, it’s still Wednesday, folks ….

Even so, that’s hard for me to believe. When moving across time zones, and moving across life patterns, spatial reality isn’t always in my grasp.
Neither is a good night’s sleep, usually. But last night was an exception I am happy for. Eight hours of uninterrupted sleep is delightfully at fault for the delay in this week’s newsletter. It’s already too late to repeat that scenario tonight. I’m thinkin’ I might be able to log in about 7 hours of sleep tonight, if I log off right now. So good night. Happy Wednesday!

jak

Posted by jaselin at 08:13 PM | Comments (0)

August 06, 2008

Flood Water, ME News, Vol. 1, Issue 23

Dear Friends,

Wednesday’s come around again, and here it is:

So, I’m feeling a bit like a hummingbird these days.
Backwards, forwards, going in circles; and now I’ve added flitting about, swooping in, and not really catching my own reflection as I fly by.

On rather short notice (for me) I’m off to Fond-Du-Lac, Wisconsin tomorrow morning with a Get In The Car team to aid in flood recovery. At approximately 7 driving hours from my pick-up point, depending on road-breaks, etc., our group of 10 emergency response and long-term recovery volunteers should arrive at our destination by early evening.

From August 6 through August 10, I may or may or may not have access to email. However, my cell phone will be on from 6:00 am - 11:00 pm every day.

Of course, if I am standing ankle deep in Wisconsin water, wearing respirator head gear, goggles, blue mucking boots, and have neoprene gloves duct-taped to the arms of my full-body, protective suit, I may not be able to answer your call right away!

Please leave a voice mail or text message for me or the entire team. Prayers welcome, too.
(517) 442-8899

jak

Posted by jaselin at 08:09 PM | Comments (0)

July 30, 2008

Answers, ME News, Vol. 1, Issue 22

Good Wednesday Morning, all!

I’ve been raising questions lately that I would like answered:
How do I find more time?
Move or stay put?
Should I work for love of a job or for money?
Is our economy ever going to recover?

The more time I spend looking for answers, the further away I get from finding them. I’ve laid out all the research for myself, and stored up some suggestions to try. I like to have the facts so I can recognize GOD’s plan when it is revealed. Surely, somewhere in all this data, there is a message trying to get through. I do believe it will be revealed, and even as I reluctantly wait. In the meantime, I’m open to suggestions and ideas. How are you keeping yourself in the light and inspired?

If we will wait on our rewards with diligence and strength, and they will be that much sweeter when they arrive. Blessings.

jak

Posted by jaselin at 08:05 PM | Comments (0)

July 23, 2008

Over Mailed, ME News, Vol. 1, Issue 21+

Hey, folks.

Apparently 4:30 am isn’t the best time to send large emails. Something went awry at the internet provider level. I think the technical terminology used when I inquired was that “the system burped.��?

Most folks reported getting somewhere between 24-29 copies. The winner of the most copies received was… JB in Florida. She received 55 copies.

I promise, next time around there will be more content, and less repetition.

jak

Posted by jaselin at 08:03 PM | Comments (0)

Not, ME News, Vol. 1, Issue21

“Sorry. Not this week.��?

That was the email notice I was tempted to send you all this time around.

However, my commitment-minded conscience wouldn’t let me rest on that idea. So, I mustered up enough brain power to see what tidbits I might have stored up in my “ideas to be used someday��? file. I came across an inspirational I received by email not long ago, and it changed my downward perspective a bit.

It’s simple enough and strong enough to stand on its own.
They’re not my ideas or words. I’m just passing them along to you.
I hope you follow the thread, and then follow through.

Love, peace and blessings.

jak

Posted by jaselin at 08:01 PM | Comments (0)

July 16, 2008

Something Good, ME News, Vol. 1, Issue 20

Good Day!

I’m predicting today will be a great day because something good happens every day… we just have to be sure we notice it.

And then, we should write it down somewhere, so we can pull it back out when we’re having one of those “just can’t find something good about today" days. Whether it’s wearing a favorite shirt, the price of gas going down a nickel, or the birth of a baby, we can build a personal book of joy.

If it made you happy, keep that memory safe. Make note of the good things. You’re all on my list of great things today.

Peace and blessings.

jak

Posted by jaselin at 07:59 PM | Comments (0)

July 09, 2008

Packing Peanuts, ME News, Vol. 1, Issue 19

Good morning, and Happy Mid-Week! Hope you had a wonderful holiday weekend. Michigan had great weather, lots of fun, and lots of snack foods. Luckily there was also swimming, hiking, and the Michigan State University Club to work all those yummy treats off….

Besides your ME Newsletter this week, I’ve attached a fun, easy and inexpensive summer science project. It’s a recipe for making your own biodegradable packing peanuts from corn. I found it on a kid’s classroom science site. They’re better for the environment than Styrofoam because they quickly dissolve in water, and create less landfill. They also have no static cling, which means they are safe to use for shipping electronics. Isn’t technology grand?

Have a safe and blessed week.

jak

Posted by jaselin at 07:56 PM | Comments (0)

July 02, 2008

Fireworks, ME News, Vol. 1, Issue 18

Good evening!

It’s 10:00 pm on the 1st of July. Already the fireworks are starting to show up in the Adrian air. I look forward to the 4th of July for many reasons. It was always a family holiday. Sometimes we were camping, other times we were at home with sparklers and friends. Fireworks are a complicated art. The medium (firecrackers) have to be just right. As does the wind, the humidity, cloud height, and bird flight patterns.

Some of the best fireworks I’ve ever seen were from the roof of Lenox Hill Hospital in my New York City neighborhood. As we stood gazing toward South Street Seaport, my mother narrated each burst with delightful information. “Blue is the hardest color to sustain in fireworks. Chrysanthemum formations are different from Cascades.��? But what really sparked my mom was that she had learned that these fireworks were going to hold something special that had never been done before. Sure enough, there it was right before the finale: A double, red, intertwined, sustained heart lit the night sky above the river in an awesome glow. I think this was also the year they managed a blue five point star within a white circle.

One of the silliest, and most fun, fireworks events I’ve enjoyed occurred at the Wilson County Fairgrounds in Tennessee. My friend humorously referred to this location as the “scene of the shrapnel fall-out.��? Things were going along fine until the clouds came down low, and the projected winds reversed themselves. Ooos and aaahh quickly turned to Ohs! and Ows! as we were unexpectedly pelted with burnt ashes and bits of firework remnants. I now know first-hand what a deployed fireworks smells, looks and feels like as it floats, or in this case, plummets to the ground, into your hair, onto your vehicle, or just completely dusts your clothes with ashes.

Hope your Fourth of July is thoroughly enjoyed as you pursue your own independent happiness-es.

jak

Posted by jaselin at 07:54 PM | Comments (0)

June 25, 2008

SparksPeople, ME News, Vol. 1, Issue 17

We’re winding down June, and here comes July!

Hope you had the chance to check out www.sparkspeople.com . The year is only half over, so there is still time for that healthy or thrifty New Year’s Resolution to become a reality.

Here’s a tip to help out on both: Flavored water is expensive, and I don't care for plain water. My solution? Add 1/4 to 1/2 cup diet juice to your water bottle before you fill it up. I like Ocean Spray Diet White Cranberry Peach or Cran-Raspberry. It adds just a little flavor, plus you get the benefit of cranberry juice, as well as some Vitamin C, too. Don't forget to enter the juice on your SparksPeople Nutrition Tracker. Enjoy!

jak

Posted by jaselin at 07:53 PM | Comments (0)

June 18, 2008

Purpose of Lightening, Vol. 1, Issue 16

Congratulations to all 58 ME Members!
You’ve made it to another mid-week Wednesday, and therefore will be treated to more knowledge and love: from me to you.

I’ve found an exciting new way for us to communicate, support, motivate and share knowledge as a team on-line. Hope you’ll check that out and let me know what you think of the idea.

Most forces of nature have a purpose. Rain waters crops, winds pollinate plants… does anyone know what the purpose of lightening is?

Have a sparky and blessed week.

jak

Posted by jaselin at 03:45 PM | Comments (0)

June 11, 2008

Scientist, ME News, Vol. 1, Issue 15

Good morning!

I finally figured out that if I attach the newsletter before writing the “howdy" note to y’all, there’d be a better chance of me not having to send 2 emails every week. Sometimes I do believe I should have been a rocket scientist.

Actually, I did want to be a scientist of sorts. While most of my friends were busy dreaming of being actresses or veterinarians, I wanted to be a scientific journalist. That’s someone who translates scientific data into understandable everyday language for magazines such as Scientific American and Discovery. Two decades ago that was a very small, very specific field. Now there are so many more publications dedicated to sciences, and even some great ones for kids. I love that scientific knowledge is so easily accessible to all!

Have a great week, and may GOD bless you with knowledge!

jak

Posted by jaselin at 03:41 PM | Comments (0)

June 04, 2008

Landlocked, ME News, Vol. 1, Issue 14

Evenin’.

I love the sound of distant thundershowers in Michigan. They remind me of the way the Atlantic Ocean sounds on summer nights. I know Michiganders don’t consider themselves landlocked, but I do. There are lots of pretty, placid lakes, and of course the Great Lakes, but I still miss the sea.

Anyway, it’s a nice night tonight; cool breezes are blowing softly, rain pitter patters and thunder rolls. I’ve noticed Michigan also has a lot of geese. It’s the “perfect weather" state for ducks, and waterproof tape....

jak

Posted by jaselin at 03:36 PM | Comments (0)

May 28, 2008

Piles, ME News, Vol. 1, Issue 13

Good morning! (again.. forgot to attach the newsletter.)

My Memorial Day Weekend ended up consisting of three piles. Garbage, Goodwill, and Resale.

A friend helped me weed through the closet full of clothes in the bedroom. We started out focusing on Jeff’s side, and then ended up moving over to my side. I tried on nearly every piece of clothing I had, and most of them were just too big to keep. That’s one of those good news/bad news things. I did find 4 pairs of pants that are the next size down, so that’s my next goal.

I’m thinking I might try to organize every day of my life into something like those three piles.
Garbage – stuff I don’t need to keep with me for another day.
Goodwill – things I can do to make others happier.
Re-do – things that I can do better tomorrow.

Well, look at that. I’ve added another list to my life! Have a blessed and safe week.

jak

Posted by jaselin at 03:29 PM | Comments (0)

May 21, 2008

Faster, ME News, Vol.1 Issue 12

Greetings! Somehow, it’s Wednesday again. Growing up, my parents frequently mentioned that time went faster as you got older. Got it!

Another fallen Michigan soldier’s name showed up on the Adrian DOT signboard this week. They have my admiration and respect for doing that. It lets me know that someone out there needs a prayer now! It also reminds me that every day that I am given the chance to say a prayer for a soldier or their family, it is a blessing for me, as well.

As we head into Memorial Day weekend, please set aside a few moments to acknowledge the brave Americans who have kept us, and are still keeping us, free.

Blessings and continued freedom,

jak

(PS. Some of you were so “there��? for with me this week during the great Squeeze-Crisis of 2008: I thank you for the support. I am now safely out of crisis mode. I’m still standing on my soapbox, though. So, pardon the repetition, and just enjoy the ride, again.)

Posted by jaselin at 03:22 PM | Comments (0)

May 14, 2008

Adversity, ME News, Vol. 1. Issue 11

Welcome to this Wednesday’s ME Newsletter!

I’ve had a lot of people asking me how, why, and when I find the time to do this thing. So, I thought I’d address that this go-round. It makes the meat of the newsletter a little lean, but guess what? In doing so, I managed to get a new perspective on my current place, re-evaluate some of my feelings, and learn a little something about myself. Thanks again for somehow turning the tables on me!

Adversity is an interesting thing. I’d never really thought to define my life as one of adversity, but apparently it has been. Actually, all of our lives have been wrought with adversity, and will probably continue to be. From all the reading I’ve done on the phenomenon , it appears that without adversity none of us would have any character!

I also found a near unending supply of fascinating quotes on the subject. In addition to your ME Newsletter, I’m sending you my “Adversity" poster of quotes. I’ve got my personal copy pinned up at home. I might just plant one on my office door, as well.

Wishing you a week of blessings and sunshine!

Posted by jaselin at 03:26 PM | Comments (0)

May 07, 2008

Summer Hours, ME News, Vol. 1, Issue 10

Evenin’.

Boy, am I happy that summer hours are in affect on campus. It means getting up earlier, but it also means getting home earlier, less traffic, and more time to do stuff around the house. It’s amazing home much more I can get accomplished is just one extra ½ hour a day.

Even more amazing is the chance to enjoy dusk out on the porch. Makes me feel like I’ve taken a short vacation every evening.

Have a wonderfully blessed week.

jak

Posted by jaselin at 03:17 PM | Comments (0)

April 30, 2008

Greener, ME News, Vol. 1, Issue 9

Good morning, everyone.

Feels like we’re back to winter, but at least we’ve had some gorgeous sunshine. I guess, we’re all going to have to accept that it’s too early to wear our shorts and favorite sneakers outside on our mushy lawns, just yet. That just gives us a little more garden-planning time.

I know Earth Day and Earth Week were both last week, but we can still keep the eco-aware momentum going. As the earth in our area becomes greener and we’re gifted with the beautiful colors of spring, let’s remember to give our planet some respect and love, too. Recycling saves!

Have a wonderful week. Blessings always.

jak

Posted by jaselin at 03:13 PM | Comments (0)