I can honestly say this year's reflections for 2015 and goals for 2016 have been the hardest I've ever had to sit down and think about.

See, my reflections and goals started years ago when I wanted to see how far I'd actually come through the year. I wanted to remember the lessons I had learned through out the year and write the memories one last time before I started fresh for the new year.

A few years back, Gina started doing the same thing. It still hurts to know she will never again write those goals, or write her accomplishments for the year.

Each year, I read the previous year's reflections and goals to see what I accomplished, right before I sit down and write the next year.

It's strange that in a year where I set no goals and said anything is possible, I became so lost and broken.

For 2015 I said I had achieved so many goals that I wanted to take a break from big goals.

It's probably a good thing, because with the losses I've endured, I don't think I would have acheived them.

Let's call 2015 the lost year. The hard year. The year of brokenness. The year I lost my uncle Ken, the year I lost my god brother, the year two of my sons are no longer home, the year I lost my dreams, the year I lost sanity.

My friends and those who love me have struggled this year to know what to say, to know what to do. None of them were ever used to me being the broken one but every one of them wanted to heal me.


I've gone on adventures to castles and horseback riding. I've traveled to Georgia. I've pushed myself and forced myself to go play laser tag with the family and to go camping and to concerts. I've made myself go on every adventure I was offered to try and hurt a little less. When you're busy you dont have time to think or feel.

I also lost something else this year. I lost my pride. It's hard to be prideful when you're not sure if you're going to get out of bed in the morning or just go back to sleep because when you sleep the pain doesn't exist. It's hard to be prideful when you don't sleep for days because the dreams don't come if you're awake.

It's hard to be prideful when you start drinking at 10 am on Thanksgiving because you can't handle the memories or the ache.

Actually, it's hard to be prideful when you tell the people that love you, that if you go to the hospital, please remember to........and for once, when you talk about psychiatric care and being pushed to your limits, you're not making jokes.

So yeah 2015 is the lost year.

This past weekend, Matt and I went to see Trans Siberian Orchestra.

Which, speaking of Matt, I'm sure he'd call this year the lost year too. He's probably lost more than me this year. and everyday I've wished I could heal him, I could make him better, I could make him know it will be okay and someday it wont hurt as bad, but it's hard to give him that when I didn't have it myself. 

We went to Dayton ,and went to Brandeberry  Winery (4 miles outside Yellow Springs and I recommend it) and ate too much food and probably drank too much wine and then went to the concert.

It was something we had both always wanted to do and for reasons that are not mine to share, we finally went.

We dressed up and both looked so nice. I had always wanted to go because of the lights and because of the idea of classic music (which I love) mixed with rock.

I had no idea it would be so emotional.

During the first half of the concert, they tell a story of a little girl who runs away from home. She is sad and broken and hurting and loses her dreams. Through the magic of Christmas and a little help,  they're found again.

I had no idea I would cry, but somethings, hit home. I felt like someone was giving me a gentle reminder. "Yes it hurts now, and no it's not easy but you can still find your dreams again."

Tomorrow, Zachary will be 18. This year he will graduate and leave home.

I always knew because I had kids so young, I'd be young when they were old enough to leave home. Somehow when I was exhausted from being a single mom and working and taking care of the house and going to school field trips and baking class cupcakes for three kids ...this day seemed so far away.

I'm not even 40 and my youngest son is 18.  I never really thought this day would come, but here it is.

At the same time that my heart breaks, it gives me a little pride back too.For all the people that trashed me as a teenage mom, I struggled every damn day, but I got here and I got here without any help.

When this weekend rolls around I'll be hosting a girls day for some of the women that have helped me make it through my year. We'll keep creating new memories.

I guess now that this is already this long, it's time to set goals for 2016.

Well, even though I had a setback in the writing department, I have a couple of opportunities coming my way in 2016.

Those opportunities will help me release my creative side and help me take large roles in guiding the future of some publications. I've got plenty of  ideas. and am hoping that in 2016 I will actually get to take an Adobe Indesign class for graphic layout and design.

It will be helpful with the magazines.

I've also started a novel this year. The subject touches close to my heart, as it's about heroin addiction and the impact it has on families. It's written from several points of view and I will finish that this year.

I'll start working out again and eating better again. (I stopped working out when Uncle Ken died).

In the spring, I'll start work on my yard. I'll trim the bushes and plant some flowers and tear out the wheelchair ramp and hopefully find spots in the barn for beer pong and air hockey. 

My biggest goal for 2016 is to know that its okay to have days where I'm incredibly sad and cry because of the memories. It's okay to have days where I'm happy and I'm laughing and even though my loved ones aren't here, it's okay for me to be happy, because my strength, tenacity, fiestiness and laughter are some of the things they loved about me.

I know the huge hole in my heart may never be completely filled. It will be one day at a time every single day.

Let's call 2016 a year to start healing.

If you look below, these are the pictures of the people I can say I wouldn't have made it through the year without. Each of these people is someone I owe my heart to, I owe my life and my sanity to. Without these people to take care of me this year, I would have never found ways to start to heal. With everything else, I know that I am incredibly blessed to be loved so much. I am aware that part of my pain has been that the more you love the harder it is to let go. I cant function from day to day without these people in my life. Each of these people love me a little differently and each one gives me something different in my life that I need. But these people are the people that keep me fighting every day. I love each of you. Thank you for being my friends and support system.

adventures and life lessons of a super-woman: Baby steps.

adventures and life lessons of a super-woman: Baby steps.: Progress means different things to different people. Some people mark their progress by setting goals for months ahead and achieving them. S...

Baby steps.

Progress means different things to different people. Some people mark their progress by setting goals for months ahead and achieving them. Some people mark their progress in pictures. I'm learning to measure my progress in how I feel today, and what made me smile today.

Today, I finally replaced the chain for a cross I've worn around my neck for probably the last five years. I broke the chain a month ago in a fit of range and anger and hurt. As you can imagine my tirade was against God and why he's letting these things happen in my life.

I guess putting the cross back around my neck is a sign of progress.

Last week, I had a ton of reasons to smile. I smiled because I was able to give Taylor a hug for the first time in months. I smiled because of the way he now says "yes ma'am" and "Yes sir." I smiled because I watched him at the National Infantry museum intently looking at the names of the soldiers who have made sacrifices for their country.

As I listened to Taylor talk, I realized also there will be moments of separation between us now. He will have experiences that I can never understand. He will have moments in the military that will be like things I have never gone through in my life.

For the first time in his life, I may be able to say I'm here, Mom will always be here, but there will be times when the person he needs to turn to for advice or a listening ear is not me, but one of the many veterans in our family.

His life will be his own now.

Even though he didn't say it, he enjoyed the museums and lunches that  I picked out. When he was told mom had a day planned full of museums and a special lunch place he said, "It's mom, of course she has it planned."

Maybe at the age of 18, and in the military, he is old enough to appreciate the organizational skills I've always pushed.

When Zachary and I came back from the trip, I spend my Saturday with some of my best girlfriends (and my niece and sister in law) baking cookies, drinking sangria and laughing.

The gathering was my first official gathering in Uncle Ken's house. It was the first time I hosted an event for myself and not hosted for him. It was the first time I gathered friends of my own and said, "Make yourselves at home."

Sometimes it's hard to be here without his presence. That's the type of gathering he would have loved. The laughter and football in the background, the drinks being passed around, the teasing, all of it. I think it will be the first of many gatherings.

I also smiled, even though I cried today. I got a reminder in my email that tomorrow is Gina's birthday. I also pulled from the closet one of Uncle Ken's jackets that I used to wear in the chilly weather.

I've debated to wear it to work. It was always too big for me and always one of those things he kept because he knew I would never have a jacket. 

The heartache is still there. Right now it's a dull roar instead of raging in my ear. I know that things will get worse, get harder before they get better.

For grief support group, every week I'm supposed to journal about a topic. This week's topic was. "where did i love to go with my loved one."

Maybe just for Gina's birthday I'll gather some friends, go to Olers and take a walk around Riverside Park.

I found my topic for National Novel Writing Month in November. It's a story that discusses heroin addiction and how it affects the people around us.

In the mean time, I meet with the editor of the magazine Thursday, so that I can start doing some freelance writing for next season. 

I don't know why I chose such a hard topic, except, I do. It's my way of purging my pain and anger.

Progress isn't always a giant leap. Sometimes progress is as simple as a baby learning to pull itself up. Right now, I'm still learning to stand again.

A journey of life

As people, we define adventure as something exciting that we can't wait to do. Often adventures are to places we've never been, are fun and involve things we've never done before.

I had always defined my life as an adventure, mostly because I never knew quite where the road would take me, but I always knew I'd have fun.

When we think of journey's, we think of Frodo on Lord of the Rings (yes I just outed my geekiness). On journeys there are challenges and things we must overcome to accomplish a goal.

In the movies, that journey leads to the hero saving the world from disaster. In life, it's not quite that simple.

In life, I think the journey is to figure out how to not just survive, but thrive. Figuring  out your emotions and ambitions and goals and what it really is you want from life is a journey. Part of the journey is figuring out what you don't want.

With that being said, as part of my journey I'm in a grief support group. Through there I am learning that my grief is my own, my grief is unique to what other people may be feeling because the relationship I had with each person, was my own. I'm learning that I'm not crazy when I wake up every day and obsessively clean or bake.

I'm learning that there is no time limit for how long I may grieve. I have to find my own path.

Some of what I'm grieving for, isn't just the people I lost, but lost dreams and opportunities. I'm grieving for what I knew and what I thought I knew.

During grief group, they told me that while my dreams of traveling are currently on hold, I still need to find a way to make that happen. That I have to remember that I had dreams too.

Next week, Taylor will graduate basic training. I'm traveling with Zachary and the boy's dad to attend that graduation in Georgia. After his graduation, Taylor will travel to his next duty station, where he will be for 19 weeks.

I already know it's going to be hard on me. Last week Taylor called home and I cried and cried. I cried when he asked who was coming to graduation, and it was me his dad and brother. See, at one time me and Uncle Ken had talked about taking the trip together. It will be a bitter sweet week.

This morning I talked to my grandpa. A man whose wisdom I normally trust. I told him the shortened version of the story of my life over the last couple of months. I told him about me taking over the house my uncle left and how I miss working for a paper and writing everyday. Grandpa said. "As long as it felt right at the time."

Grandpa tells me to trust my gut a lot, he doesn't say it in those words exactly, but  I know it's what he means. He also gives me directions. Which is grandpa's way of showing love.

Last weekend, I spent time with my brother and sis in law. As my baby brother asked me questions and remembered where the house is that he grew up in and remembered small details like us walking up an alley to a movie rental store, I smiled.

He had some good memories. That makes me feel better and lets me know I wasn't always a rotten big sis. He's just become such a big part of my life.

The  day after I get back from Georgia, I planned a girl's baking day for some of my best friends. I told them we need a day where we drink sangria and bake and listen to music and discuss everything in life. I have discovered over the last few months that I need them.

I'm trying to look at the positives these days. Not working at the paper and having a set schedule will allow me to take that graphic art and design class I've wanted to take for the last two years. It will offer me an opportunity to take some more adult education classes and continue learning new things.

I also plan to participate in National Novel Writing Month in November, although right now I'm still trying to figure out what I'll write about.  There's also the fact that magazine writing is and has been my favorite type of writing and I'll have more time to do that.

The next time I sit down at this blog, I'll have had an adventure along the journey that is my life. Maybe I'm not trying to save the world, but trying to save myself is just as important.

Someday.

People say you have to hit rock bottom before you can go up. They say the only place to go from the bottom is up. People say that god doesn't give you more than you can handle.

I don't know who started these sayings, it's just what I hear and I'm beginning to think that people make up sayings to make themselves feel better.

The last month of my life, has been the bottom. I've been through a lot of changes, some of them very fast paced. Those changes have brought me to my knees in tears more than once. I've dissapointed friends and loved ones. I've said things I didn't mean to people I loved.

It started when my uncle stopped breathing. When he stopped breathing for the last time. See, I stood at the hospital bed and was strong for the people I loved. I stood there and told him it was okay to let go. I told him that I would be okay, that we would all be okay.

At the funeral, I gave his eulogy without tears. I gave the eulogy of a man that was a surrogate dad to me.

Uncle Ken was a man that took me to lunch and opened doors for me and told me to never accept less than a man that opened the door for me. He was a man that read every article I ever wrote and told me how proud of me he was for my steely determination to make something of myself.

He made me promise once that I would never stop writing. This is the first thing I've written since he took that last breath.

I'm not getting paid to write anymore. During the chaos of the last month, I took over the house that he made a home. I have the dogs that he loved like children. I'm trying to take care of his legacy and that required a move and a job change.

In this house, he brought us together. We laughed and we cried and we yelled. In this house, He talked me out of the anger I had at my god brother, my son, my friend.

He talked me through the tears and told me it wasn't my fault, even if I didn't believe him, I knew he was trying.

I stood in that hospital room and lied when I told him I would be okay without him.

There was a night at a phone company two weeks ago, that caused my rock bottom. I stood there and watched my phone be factory reset (yeah I know, tell me now to make sure I physically back up my phone to the cloud when it was supposed to automatically do it.)

I lost photos, and text messages and voice mails.

Losing those things, something else I could never get back seemed to be more than I could take.

If you've never had a panic attack, let me tell you, people look at you like you're insane. They don't know how to help and when you can't explain what is wrong or why you're freaking out, well....When you can't explain that no, you really, literally can't breath and that each time you try to catch your breath, it's too deep and too fast, which makes it worse.

In this last year of my life, I've lost so much. I've lost faith in some people, I've lost people I loved, I've been hurting so much and losing the sound of his voice, or a text message telling me "thank you for showing me what a loving family I have" physically hurt me.

How do you explain to people that your life doesn't look anymore the way it once did. That you feel like the dreams you had, have been crushed. That you feel ashamed of the actions of people you love and there's a constant ache in your chest.

That next night, I drank way too much and said things to people I love that hurt them. I didnt' want to hurt them. I don't want to hurt them. I want myself to stop hurting. I want to be able to dream big and have faith and remember who I was a year ago.

I want to be the girl that was gonna conquer the world again. Right now she's just lost and I don't know how to help her find her way back.  (yes I just referred to myself in the third person) I want to hear the sound of my laughter and have it be real. I want to smile and light up a room. I want to write and inspire someone to do better and be stronger. I want to have wonderful adventures and share them.

My friend Matt says, that I'm still inside. He says that my dreams aren't gone, they're just going to take a little more time and patience. He's also probably the person I've hurt the most with my words, which makes me more ashamed than I ever thought possible.

There are times that I'm afraid he will never forget the things I said and how much those words hurt and that we will never be who we were before. I can't lose anyone else. Not right now.


Somewhere in all this, I forgot to say that Taylor left for basic training in the Army. So two of the boys I centered my world around for the last 22 years, are gone. Zachary is the only one left for me to take care of and I have a feeling that's only for about year.

At my new job, I realize I'm an oddball.

When people start griping about things I think are petty, things we can't control like (gasp) forced overtime, I say things like "Someday I'm going to walk the gardens at Versailles."

That's the only way I can get through it sometimes, because I know anger is a part of grief. I know it's a stage, but there are times I want to yell at people that if their life sucks so bad, then change it. Because there are so many more things in life that can break you than having a sucky job or having people say stupid shit about you. (FYI, I'm working at the same building as both of my ex-husbands. I make jokes about it because if I talk shit about myself, than other people won't have the opportunity to say hurtful things about me, and right now, there's enough hurt in my life).

I want to stop hurting. I've tried to make that decision, but then I open a drawer and find a box of granola bars that Uncle Ken hid just for me. I pull out a painting that Justin did and wish to god the lesson he learned wasn't such a hard one. I open an app on my phone and find a picture of Gina. I log onto Facebook and see someone post something about my godbrother. I wake up in the mornings and wonder when the other shoe is going to drop. I think about my grandpa's cancer, and how old and frail my granny is.

I worry whether I'm doing the right things by Zachary.

Vicki says my life has seen so many changes and so much loss in such a short period that I should go to grief counseling. I don't think she's wrong, but I don't know where I'd find the time right now and I don't know how I would begin to explain.

Even in writing, I'm having a hard time explaining.


My whole life I've been fighting to be better than who I was the day before. I've worked my butt off to graduate and went through struggles to prove myself as a writer. I've had sleepless nights and days to make sure I was always a mom that attended field trips or gave my kids homemade meals. I was strong. I was determined.

I know it's still there, I just have to find it again. I'm trying.

I stood in that hospital room and lied when I said I'd be okay without him. 

For now, I've already told an editor I will go back to freelancing for a local magazine, which is something I had to give up when I was working at the paper. I can't just stop writing. It's who I am.

Here's another interesting thing that grief has done to me. I want to be loved so bad, but when people try to get closer to me, I shut them down and shoo them away because ....I'm fucked up enough right now that I don't want to drag someone into my turmoil and anger and sadness. I'm afraid that anyone that came into my life, I would just drag them down instead of building them up. 

For now, I'll take care of the legacy. I'll come home from a job where I don't get to use my brain, and I'll play frisbee with the dogs and I'll make this house every bit the home that he made it. For now, I'll get through. For now, I'll smile and fake that I'm okay.

Because someday, I will be okay again. Someday, there will be a real laugh again. Someday, nutri grain bars won't make me cry.

Someday...........

adventures and life lessons of a super-woman: That's life in the city

adventures and life lessons of a super-woman: That's life in the city: My grandpa has a favorite saying, one that I'm not even actually sure he realizes he says a lot. When I am exasperated over traffic, o...

That's life in the city

My grandpa has a favorite saying, one that I'm not even actually sure he realizes he says a lot.

When I am exasperated over traffic, or people or frustrated with life, grandpa often says, "That's life in the city."

He's been saying it most of my life, and I assume it's his way of saying, life happens and the world moves on.

This week has been a drastic turn around from my last post. Much like Ohio weather, many mornings I tell myself, give it ten minutes and it could change.

After horseback riding Saturday, I woke up Sunday determined to have an adventure even if it meant going by myself. That led me to look up abandoned Ohio, and finding Squire Castle.

Squire Castle is in Willoughby Hills, Ohio, and it sits on more than 500 acres of wooded area, and walking, biking and riding trails.

The castle isn't actually a castle. It's the remains of a gatehouse to what would have been a castle, but the property owner died and his wife abandoned the project and sold the land to the Cleveland Metropolitan Parks.

I called my niece and kept my fingers crossed that she would go with me.

Though we got a late start, the adventure turned into a family event. Two car loads of people who I love raced to see the castle.

We got a little lost, but like I told Danny, getting lost is half the adventure sometimes. We also left the walking trail and climbed up a hill (me in flip flops of course).

It was the drive that started to heal me, more than the adventure. Drives with Danny are always filled with laughter, singing and silly skits that we do. That girl is part of my strength sometimes and a great reminder that I have people to be a role model for.

Monday was a rough start, I will admit. I was exhausted and tired, but had a Memorial Day service to cover.

That has a way of putting your life into perspective.  Things can get bad, but there are still people who gave their lives for us to be able to have free speech. I still have two good legs, I still have two good arms, I still am above the ground.

We owe those who have fallen, a great debt of gratitude.

Remember the person I love who stopped breathing? By Monday he was off the vent and breathing on his own and even able to say a few words to me.

The nurse said it was a complete turn around.

Thursday, I had the chance to go to Columbus and see a woman inducted into the Senior Citizens Hall of Fame. Okay, I didn't see her really. She was off to Ukraine on a mission trip to teach English for three weeks.

The woman was one of nine inductees each year, as each person's accomplishments was read I was exhausted by them.

These people were in their 80's, still in good health, still crazy active, still a huge part of their communities, still thriving and learning and teaching!

I hope I'm like that when I'm 86. \

Speaking of people in their 80's...it wouldn't be a trip to Columbus unless I had dinner with Grandpa.

Of course, he's still the master of directions. He gave me quick directions to the restaurant we normally meet at. It was a good dinner. Grandpa always makes me laugh, maybe it's because he's such a pull no punches type person.

Maybe it's cause he's actually wise and because nothing I do really seems to surprise him. Grandpa is one of those people that I'm honest with about things, because I know you can't bullshit him.

As we talked about the boys, I asked, "What am I going to do after they're gone, for real?"

Grandpa said, "Move to a bigger city." He also said that he knows that I will struggle with the decision because I have friends and family where I'm at and I love them.

"You'll have to weigh the decision of whether you want to leave them to grow your own way."

I'm still weighing that, Grandpa.
Three cities in one week, sometimes I do miss the sky scrapers and the 24 hour delivery service of any type of food imaginable. Once in awhile, I miss the lights. Time will tell.

He also joked with me (only half joking) that my FB looks like I drink a lot. I promise that at many of the events I'm at, I'm dead sober. I'm just a wild child sober.

"Grandpa, it's a good thing your generation didn't have social media. I have a feeling yours would have looked a lot like mine."

He actually said, probably.

Last night, I went with one of my best friends to fulfill an adolescent dream. I went to see Nelly, TLC and NKOTB.

We had nosebleed seats, I wanted to smack a couple of people with a cane and remind them their daddies weren't glassmakers, I got to see 30 some year old white woman take selfies through the entire concert....but the show itself was GREAT.

I cried when "T-Boz" and "Chili" said no one will ever take the place of left eye. I sang along to "Creep", "Redlight Special" and "Waterfalls."

When NKOTB came out, I screamed and cheered. When they pulled up a song from 1992, I wanted to go apologize to my adolescent self.

I wanted to go back and tell 13-year old Jennifer, this isn't the end of the world. No matter how dark it seems today, I promise someday you'll be a really cool adult.

I wanted to tell her, you're strong enough to get through life. You're going to have some challenges, you're going to have some struggles, you're going to have days everything goes wrong and days you feel like no one understands why you're angry, why you're hurting and what you're going through.

Maybe part of me went to the concert as I way of telling the little girl I was, hey...you'll find a way.

I wanted to tell her most of all, she's forgiven. 

Cari and I talked about a lot of things. I think one of the things she worries about with me is that I will get so lonely I will settle for the first jerk that comes along and pays me some attention.

No worries. Remember, I'm pretty sure that I've put up with so much crap in life that I'm unwilling to put up with more.

Remember, "I'm funny, smart and cute! Dangit!" I won't forget that.

I guess, I want to give advice to my future self.

I want to remind my future self, there are gonna be some bad days, but you have been through hell and back and still manage to smile.

I want to remind my future self, keep your sense of humor in every situation. Don't react for 24 hours, and if you get to a point in your life, where you find that guy, Don't take him for granted, don't be jealous, and don't get so involved in his life that you forget your girlfriends.

I want to tell my future self, yes things are sagging, you're going gray and sometimes things hurt. Dammit, get outta bed so you can have an adventure and don't forget to get lost once in awhile.

If you get into a situation where you're not sure what to do, ask yourself, "What would Uncle Ken do? What would Uncle Joe do? What would Grandpa do?"

Pick one of their reactions. It's either gonna lead to greatness, or one hell of a story.

Don't ever lose your ability to smile, don't ever lose your ability to laugh, don't ever lose your ability to get over the next hump and don't ever stop learning.

That ladies and gentlemen, is life in the city.

Just to smile.

The feel of a Harley between my legs, the power of a horse, the horsepower of a fast car and the quiet ripple of any body of water that can so easily turn a roar. All of these things are powerful things that I use for therapy. For a few minutes they offer me the illusion that I'm in control of something. All of those powerful things have the ability to offer you therapy, or hurt you.

Sometimes love is that way. You can love people, but you know that by loving them, you're also giving them power. Sometimes you will have the illusion that you have control,over things, but the only thing you can control is your reaction, sort of like all of the above things mentioned.

Let's talk about yesterday.

Yesterday, I got screamed at, finished off some five year business that needed completed, watched someone I love stop breathing, got yelled at for something to do with that and watched my son graduate. Three of those things happened before noon.  In between there, I worked.
 
So yesterday, I also did something I've never done before. I screamed at god.

Yep, I know. I didn't say it was right

I told him the truth. I can't take anymore. My bricks have finally gotten too heavy.

See, I wish I could tell you more about the person that I watched stop breathing that sent me into hysterics. But somehow, even though I'm not naming names, Id get yelled at again.

What I will tell you is that I've never had anyone be proud of me before. Not really.

My relationship with my mom is at best, complicated, and I'm sure she's proud, but I also think I've always been an alien to her. Other family members say they're proud, but they do it in the vague "wow, I'm surprised you actually did it." sorta way.

Not this person. This person tells people, "she graduated top of her class, while she was working and going to school and raising a family.  She took a jobwith less money to get more experience and to follow her dreams. Look at her, she's done well even though she was handed a lot of crap"

Now imagine that person stops breathing while you're holding their hand. Imagine how powerless you would feel. Imagine how scared and panicked and...you get the point. That person is ....better today. and I'll leave it at that.

This morning, after I got done working, I made a last minutes split decision to go horseback riding.

"This will heal me," I thought. "This will make things right with the world for awhile." It did, for a couple hours, while I was out of reach of everyone.
I don't know how to explain to people that although I'm at best a mediocre rider, (I'd improve with practice) when I was a little girl, our church youth group leader was an equestrian police officer. He used to take a couple of us kids to the stables to see the horses and ride.

I felt safe there. I felt safe and those giant horses seemed to know me. They would sniff my hair in a way that made me feel they were kissing the back of my head to tell me it would be okay.Horses just sense things.

Alas, I had to come back to the real world. The world where my oldest son is still in trouble, where money problems still abound, where someone i love is still in the hospital, where someone else i love is still pissed at me and where sometimes I feel like nothing I do at my job is correct.

I came back to the world where my two younger kids are fishing with their dad and  where all of my friends are off on adventures with significant others or kids.

I came back to the world where I'm completely alone at a time when all I really want to do is lay my head on someone's lap and be told it's okay, that I'm going to be okay.

I want someone to remind me that I'm strong enough, that I'm tough enough.

The last time I got like this, only one person seemed to be able to bring me out of it. I can't turn to him now because his new girlfriend might protest. (hah, see I've still got my sense of humor)

Before that, when I got to places where I was completely alone, I buried myself in the arms of someone totally inappropriate that I knew at the end of the day didn't really give a rat's ass about me enough to tell you my true eye color.

I'm learning. It's a process, but I'm growing. 

During some of the things I've written for work in the last couple days, I've been reminded that it could be worse. There are people who have lost so much more than me. Maybe I'm just sad because I've lost so much in such a short period of time.

There are people who struggle more.Those people get up every morning and fight to become better people. They fight to find a better place in the world, to make the world a better place for the person beside them.

In the back of my mind, there was this insane idea to run away today. Take a job elsewhere and let other people deal with the issues here.

It was a wonderful little fantasy while it lasted. 

See in my family, both my families actually, the women stay in one spot and put down roots, and the men run off and have adventures and come home when they need the roots.

I'm struggling because I've never felt like the rooted one, the grounding force. Is it selfish that I want to adventure too while someone else deals with the crap?

Really, aren't most human emotions selfish?

Let's talk about grief for a minute.

Grief is a completely selfish, although understandable human emotion. Grief isn't about the person that's gone. They don't feel pain. It's about what we feel, what we lost, what our lives will be like without them.

Grief is about feeling sorry for ourselves because we can't hear the voice or hug a person we loved.

So what is my answer? How do I cure myself when Ive sunk so low? How do I stand back up straight when I realized today I feel so weighted that I was slumped while walking, like the world almost literally placed a load of bricks on my shoulder.

When two people I loved overdosed on heroin and I raged and raged and raged about their selfish actions, my uncle quietly hugged me and told me he knew I was hurting, but none of us understand completely the battle that someone else is fighting.

When I see you tomorrow, or the next day, I promise I will smile. I won't tell you about my problems, I will ask how your day is going and listen to any story you may want to tell me.

Tomorrow, I will wake up and be ready to fight again. 

If my words make one person be a little kinder to someone, if my words make one person wake up tomorrow and say "I can fight today." Then I've done my job.

adventures and life lessons of a super-woman: It's a dog eat dog world.

adventures and life lessons of a super-woman: It's a dog eat dog world.: From the time I could pick up a pen, I knew that when I grew up I would be a writer. I would tell ghost stories to anyone who would listen...

It's a dog eat dog world.

From the time I could pick up a pen, I knew that when I grew up I would be a writer.

I would tell ghost stories to anyone who would listen, write the 12 page reports when an assignment only required three and kept a diary every day.

Now that may seem over exaggerated to some, but there are people who can tell ya, I was driving everyone nuts.Other kids wanted to grow up and be nurses, firemen, doctors, lawyers. Not me, I wanted to tell stories. I'd get that dreamy little look and say, I'm going to be a writer.

In third grade, we had to interview someone who did an interesting job for a paper. I interviewed my great-Uncle Jimmy, who was a judge.

As I sat there with my little pen and notebook, I found out the favorite part of his job, was marrying people. He liked to bring people together, he said.
Years later, I remembered that and asked him to officiate at a wedding.

It was then, I knew what I wanted to do. I knew I'd still tell ghost stories, love stories and write silly historical interest things.  In fact have a novel that I'm not brave enough to give to anyone sitting on a flash drive, begging the what ifs.

This is all pertinent to this week.

This week has been a rough one. I won't go into extreme details. My entire life goal has been to tell stories about people, interesting people, what do they do in their day to day? What makes people tick? Why do they have these strange little quirks? What are they learning?

After a couple of particularly rough days with little sleep,a lot of anger about the way something was handled, and frustrations about the casual callousness of the modern world,   I went to see Vicki.

As I sat with her, I cried..."Maybe I'm too soft to do my damn job the way the modern age thinks it should be done. Maybe the only way to be good at this job is to lose the compassion you have for people and not be trustworthy."

Vicki hugged me and said, "Your compassion and trustworthiness is what makes people open up to you. don't lose that."

For years I have managed to put on a good tough outer shell with people. I stand there and pretend that I don't care about what's happening, pretend it doesn't bother me. Then I go home and write.

I was told this week to remember I am an observer in the lives of these people, and I do remember that.

I know myself and know I will never be a cut throat type person.

I also remember that I'm a human being. I find myself cheering for people when they do well and crying for them when things are bad. I don't mean to, but aren't we all connected? When one person experiences happiness or tragedy, doesn't it have a ripple effect to the lives of other people?

In the modern age, we all rush to tell as many people as possible what is happening right now. Does that give us time to feel what is happening and truly experience the moment?

What's the line between having a story and still respecting the pain and tragedy people are going through?

Even as an observer, you feel the impact when you see a rescue team cry at something. You feel the emotion when you watch an EMT who talks to patients and their families with an incredible ability to keep everyone around them calm. You feel the impact when you observe these people and know who the knowledgeable person is, who the take charge person is, who the responsible person is.

Watching those teams work together, you can't help but gain an incredible amount of respect for each of them and the way they do their jobs

In that respect, there is trust. A rescue crews first priority is rescue and care. Their first priority is not to make sure the public has information. Which sometimes puts my job at odds with theirs.

What I think though is this, part of my job should be patience. Let them do their job and then I can do mine. I think patience is something that is often forgotten in this world of 24/7 everything.

I read once that reporters are something like 75% less likely than other people to have families, to be involved in communities, to have a regular church to attend.

Are we so busy being observers that we forget to live?

I have joked often that I am the Carrie Bradshaw of the Midwest, with my funky fashions, reflections on love and life and even my blog that has a readership of...oh about ten people. I don't feel so Carrie Bradshaw right now.

At the beginning of school, I had to take an ethics class. An ethics class I will admit to getting an A in, but only because numerous times I argued with the professor about the public's right to know against an individual's right to grieve privately and not have their pain splattered all over.

I always argued that compassion should be a part of our world. Unfortunately, not many felt that way. 

My favorite stories are the stories that tell about a persons life and how they overcame struggle. It always has been.

I think more and more about the Peace Corp, but am still not brave enough to start that application. I think I just keep waiting for someone or something to ground me to one place and make that place "home."

At the end of yesterday, I had someone actually tell me they felt I handled my week in a tasteful manner. Those words meant more to me than the person could ever know.

For the rescue crews, I want you to know that while I'm observing, I see you when you're hot and tired and sweaty and sunburnt. Someone sees how you guys keep pushing even though you're exhausted. Someone sees the tears you cry on a bad day and the triumph on a good day.

I was in a place this week where either way I went, something I did was going to make someone mad. The question was, who did I care more if I hurt? 

I hope Vicki is right. I hope that compassion and trustworthiness trump callousness.

A work in progress.

For two weeks I have been putting this blog post off because I seem to have had no idea where to begin with it. I've done some really cool stuff lately, but every beginning has seemed like the wrong way to begin it.

Now it's May though, and May is the month that traditionally brings the highest highs and the lowest lows for me. So, I need to catch my readers up somehow.

Yesterday, I met a really cool group of people. They ranged around my age, they're all professionals, and they have similar minds and senses of humors to mine. I sorta dug it. They invited me to join them for their meeting this month and "check it out an see if it's my type of thing."

They're a group that says things like "We want to put the fun in fundraising."

I think I'm going to take them up on that offer. One of the things I have said repeatedly lately is that I live and work in a community, where the only people I have met have been through work, people I've ended up writing about. But wait, why can't I make friends with these people?

Isn't that part of who I am? I make friends everywhere I go, (a trait that has been passed from dad, even though I would have denied it as a teenager). I have been struggling with an ability to maintain a professional distance, because are you supposed to become friends with the subjects you may interview for articles?

The answer to me, is yes. Besides, in the words of Uncle Joe, you can get a lot of places in life through hard work and networking.

Some of the stories I have written lately have been fascinating. Did you know, during World War II Pan America Airlines had crews of people building runways an airports? Not something that most people think about.

I found out because I attended a 100 year old man's birthday party. He was a member of that crew. He crossed the equator at midnight Jan. 1, 1941 and the whole crew received what's called a Jupiter Rex award for doing so.

During that birthday party, the man's nephew, a retired editor at a much bigger paper handed me a business card with the words "Pulitzer winner" on it. I'm sure I stood there with my mouth agape and said "I'm honored to be in the presence of greatness." What else could I say?

I've gotten to tag along with the fire department and watch how they train to knock out a structure fire and have had the opportunity learn about gardening methods, and meet everyday farmers who are trying new methods. I got to watch children release balloons in recognition of child abuse awareness and prevention and I've gotten to see the groundbreaking for an addition to a beautiful historic church.

I have made a friend. I walk over to her building every couple of days for a quick smoke break and we got to talking about museums. I think I found a kindred soul there.

I've been exhausted, but exhilarated.

In the coming weeks, I will meet the oldest mother in Wyandot County. I will meet a Christian motorcycle group that gives back to the community, will get to be a farmer for a day and see the everyday inner workings of farm life, and will cover a graduation that will make me cry for my own personal reasons, but also cry for a friend who lost so much.

See, Taylor graduates in 20 days. What happened to my precious little boy? That little boy was fearless from the first day I held him in my arms. From the times he would run around barefoot, to the time he jumped in the pool with no floaties and took off on a bike without me because "he couldnt wait for mom to learn" He told me a couple weeks ago, "I intend to live a life of no regrets." I stood there in awe and said, baby, I hope you do.

He will begin his own adventures, heading to the Army. He will begin his own life without me there to guide his every move or chastise him when he's wrong.

My head still spins with other news. When it came out about why my oldest son is in trouble, I was surprised at how many people supported me. I was surprised at the people that messaged me to let me know they were praying for me because they knew my heart was breaking and at the people who stood up for me and told people who were being judgmental to worry about their own skeletons. 


I want to thank those people, because of them I can keep my head up.

My best friend finally went for answers about her medical problems. I hope the days she is spending confined to a bed with wires taped to her head give her the answers and solutions she needs. I have always been in awe at how peaceful she looks with a camera in hand. This sickness has taken that peace away from her, but I'm hoping the answers are able to put the peace back.

Even if I don't call him every day, I think about my grandpa every day. I really need to make the drive to see him, even if it's just for dinner.

I told you my thoughts are all over the place? Here's an example.

Every May my life has been filled with adventure and sometimes loss. May of three years ago is the last time I hugged Uncle Dave and got to hear his voice. May of two years ago, I was coming back from my first adventure in Spain and getting ready to start my internship. May of last year, I buried my godmother and actually, May is the last time I've been home.

I guess I need to add that to my list of things I need to do. I need to go home and see my Aunt B. I need to hear her wisdom and sit at her kitchen table watching her cook. Maybe that will stop my spinning head.

I finally admitted to some of my friends, I have been dealing with a lot. When I found myself admitting to someone I barely know, "I live and work in a community where I havent really made friends and that's weird for me and lonely,"  I stopped afterwards and asked myself, where the hell did that honesty come from.

See, for years anyone that knows me knows, I try to play the hardass. I pretend I'm that girl that doesn't actually need anyone because I can create my own adventures.

When I am beginning to admit that yes, I can have my own adventures but those memories are much more fun to share with someone, I guess that means I'm a work in progress.

Though she be little.....

In my medicine cabinet, there is a prescription bottle of atavin. It's the lowest dose I could get and it has sat there for a long time, used once when I was at a point in my life similar to where I'm at now. It sucked, and I slept for 12 hours and never took another one, but could never bring myself to just flush them, because, what if I have another panic attack someday?

I hate using my blog to unburden my heavy heart. After all, when this started it was supposed to be about adventures. It was supposed to be about overcoming the challenges of single motherhood, working, being a college student, interning and figuring out who I was as a person, as well as showing everyone the cool stuff I sometimes get to do.

In the last few months, I've been dealing with....well just crap. Frustrating crap, hurtful crap, sad crap. For those that know me best, I will say, this ain't our first rodeo, yes I have heard you everytime you have said "I'm here for you." Stubborn me, sometimes it just takes awhile.

Every morning I wake up and I promise myself that if I can get through another ten minutes without tears, another day without tears, another week without tears, I will be okay. I promise myself that if I don't breakdown today, I will buy myself those new shoes, I will allow myself time to read a fluff book, anything it takes to get me through the day.

While I'm trying to get through all that crap, I somehow forgot that coming here, that writing is what heals me. I didn't want to load my readers with the anger, the sadness or  the frustration that I sometimes feel. I forgot my words are what gets me through the next day.

I guess writing for a newspaper isn't the same as writing to heal.

So where do I start? By now most of you know about Gina and the gambit of emotions that crushed me. That was Thanksgiving, and the year that started off with promise, well I'm still waiting for those promises to be fulfilled.
(For all of my friends, I'll say it now, if that douchebag husband ever texts you again, let me know. I think I fixed the issue with a couple of well-placed threats of harrassment and perhaps calling a spot a spot)

My son got into some trouble. I won't go into what type of trouble, just that it's life changing. I have asked myself and friends repeatedly what I did wrong as a mom. Did I not love him enough? Was I not hard enough on him? Was I too hard on him? Each time the answer comes back, "You can give them all the right values and send them out into the world and hope they will be the best they can."

Still at night, it's hard not to reflect on every thing I could have done differently as a parent. "Well maybe I shouldn't have worked so much." "Well if you hadn't worked that much, he wouldn't have had a roof over his head." The back and forth just goes on.

The thing is, I love him. Even with his mistakes, he's mine. I guess I just can't fix skinned knees anymore.

I don't know why it sunk in today, but today I had a friend say "Jen, you've been a good mom. You've done everything for those boys. He came from a good family, his choices are his own." It finally sunk in a little. 

Shortly before that, I watched a close friend bury his fiance and the same day, found out my grandpa's cancer is "aggressive" and need radiation and then lost my god-brother to a heroin overdose.Yeah, that was sort of a bad day.

Some people think my choice to not go to my god-brothers memorial service was selfish. Maybe it was. I chose to work that day. I made a conscious choice to cover an EMS training  and watch people  who try everyday to save lives.

Maybe it was selfish. Maybe it was wrong of me to not go home and say my final goodbye with family. Even now, I know at that moment, I was angry enough and sad enough nothing nice would have come out of my mouth. Even now, I say "WHY? Look how much you hurt the ones that loved you." Even now I know if I had gone home, I would have raged against the "friends" that were his fellow users. I want to say my own goodbye and honor the kid that I once shoved out of the way when he was gonna get a spanking and defiantly yelled at my god-mother, "He didn't do it! I did!" I want to privately say goodbye to the man I hugged who rushed to a gas station to see me when he heard I was in town. I want to honor that man who said he loved me and he knows I'm always a phone call away.

Please respect that choice. I've carried a heavy burden lately.

There's been other crap that has been just crap in between there.  Rushing to a hospital an hour and a half away at 1 a.m. to sit with someone I love to make sure she was okay. Family arguments, that leave me exasperated.Trying to be strong for best friends who have shit going on in their own lives and need me to be who I've always been, the strong one, the caretaker.   Knowing that in less than four months Taylor will head into the Army and watching Zachary fill out applications to become a foreign exchange student and fill out scholarship applications and college apps.

Don't get me wrong, I know it's time to let them do some flying of their own. I still wonder every night if I've prepared them. Have I given them enough love? Have I given them enough strength? Have I shown them the world can be beautiful, or the world can be painful and given them the tools to cope?
I laugh when I think how selfish it is that I question "When Taylor is gone, who's gonna get up with me in the mornings and start my car? Who's always gonna keep track of the first aid kit, since him and I are the ones that need it most? Who's gonna point out that with my hair in pigtails and him growing a beard, he looks more like my sibling than my son? Who's gonna exasperate me that much? Who's gonna reach the high shelves for me, even if he mocks me while he does it?"

Knowing that at this time next year, I'll be walking around what is essentially a big empty house without them, without their laughter, without their crazy conversations. And who needs a big empty house anyway?

I will admit that I've been low enough lately that I said to a friend, "Some days I wish I could just quit." I didn't mean it Vicki. Thank god for her, she says I give her strength, but without her, Cari, Matt, the whole damn bunch of them, sometimes I don't know how I'd put one foot in front of the other.

It seems like in moments when I've been lowest, some story comes along that makes me see some light at the end of the tunnel. It's hearing a superintendent talk about a story he read about a survivor, it's hearing a motivational speaker (and ex Navy Seal) talk about how he struggled with reading, but still succeeded. It's watching the fire department train and realizing they risk their lives every single day. It's getting an email that tells me someone is glad they told their story about their struggle with kidney disease and their transplant, because other people have approached her for support. It's watching a community come together to do good for other people. It's riding in a snowplow truck and realizing how much time they're away from their families to keep our roads safe.

And Yes, I've had adventures even with all of this. Between me and my niece, sometimes I don't know who's trying to keep up with who. Shopping, singing in the car, the casino, changing clothes in a parking lot, drinks, laughter, yelling, chasing after a toddler that has already learned the importance of a credit card..we manage to do it all.

Through all of this chaos...and I know everyone is tired of hearing this, I have missed my "Disneyland 990" crew.  I've missed waking up in the morning, knowing that no matter how much the job drove me nuts, there would be laughter, there would be jokes, there would be amazing conversation that sometimes left me blushing, sometimes left me speechless and sometimes left me yelling.

For 11 years, those guys were my other family. I miss that comraderie and knowing at the end of it, I was part of a team. We were sometimes dysfunctional, but knew when it came down to it, it was a group effort.

I miss the leadership of some of my coaches. One of who I still text for advice, only to have him remind me "you are a rockstar, and you can get through this."

The day he called me brave for leaving what I always knew, to chase a dream, I laughed at him and told him I'm either brave or incredibly stupid. That one is still undecided.

I wanted to inspire people to be better, to do better. Sometimes I wonder, am I inspiring anyone? Is something I am writing helping someone else to face their challenges and overcome?

My love life, in case you're wondering, still sucks. Although, I did recently give in and let someone take me on a date. Nope, not getting any details.I figured it was time to let someone buy me dinner when my oh so loving uncle told me he had a check for me and when I asked how much, he said "Well I tried to take up a collection from all the boyfriends you've had the last few years, but it didn't amount to a pack of cigarettes." At least he didn't ask me if  I'm a lesbian this time.

Sometimes, I just write myself motivational stickies. Sometimes, I remind myself to take my next breath. Sometimes, I remind myself to put the top down and feel the wind through my hair (on the car guys, on the CAR). Sometimes, I just have to remind myself to breathe.

I have no idea where my path is going these days. I have no idea what happens tomorrow. I just know, I'm tough enough to take that next breathe. I'm strong enough to keep taking steps. I can't just collapse and have to keep moving. I guess no matter how many plans I try to make, life still happens.

I leave myself and you with these words, the words of William Shakespeare as a reminder to myself and to anyone else who may need them, "Though she be little she is fierce." Maybe I out to tattoo that on me somewhere as a reminder.

Fake it til you make it

Fake it 'til you make it. I know my uncle once told me that. Fake confidence until you have it, fake a smile until you feel it, fake competency until you're a competent person. Try to blend in a little while making yourself memorable to stick out in a crowd. (OK, maybe some of that is ad libbed)

That's exactly how I feel sometimes when I walk into a room totally unprepared and unknowledgable. Today was one of those days. I had an event to cover, an event about changes to farm bill law that lasted more than two hours. We'll see when it's written if I asked the right questions to fake it well.

Things I covered this week included a World War II veteran receiving the French Legion of Honor(this is a huge deal FYI), county getting a new medical director to oversee county emergency medical services, and a basilica shrine (beautiful Romanesque architecture) that is trying to raise money to add an elevator.

That second one earned me a phone call from the county EMA director to tell me he appreciated the article and it was nicely written.(Ok, so normally I give him a hard time, but this time I actually said thank you.) (Oh, and yes I do have an area behind my desk where I pin various thank yous from people I've written stories about. A girl likes to be remembered that a journalist can impact a life.)

The French Legion of Honor, or Legion d'Honneur is a really big deal for a couple of reasons. It's the highest declaration a person can receive in France. It can only be presented by a person who has already received the declaration. It's the French governments way of saying, they've never forgotten or taken for granted the events of World War II. (Monday was when I covered it and that was obviously before the tragic events in Paris this week, but that's another fifty blog pages. Why can't people actually follow those books they claim to uphold and live peacefully?)

 So, this is the fifth World War II vet I've covered in six months. Each one has been for something different. One of them was because of a chime memorial he had installed into his church as a memorial for his late wife of more than 60 years.

I can't help but love every time I talk to these old gentlemen. That generation just has something other generations are lacking. I think it's called moxie. It was a generation that understood loss, loved deeply, and understood determination. We can learn a lot from them if we listen. There aren't many left to tell us their stories.

The gentleman with the chimes? I asked him his favorite memory of his wife, and he said "I just loved them all." Ladies and gentlemen, that sorta romance may be why I'm single.(Oh yeah, that date didn't work out for those left wondering, I got stood up sorta, he apologized, but we also never rescheduled.)

Oh yeah, on New Year's Eve, I didn't kiss anyone, I stayed sober and pulled a couple silly stunts (there was no alcohol involved in any pole dancing, yes I was fully dressed, and I don't care it was funny) (I refuse to be a boring adult), and hugged my brother and some friends at midnight. My night ended at like 5 a.m. with me and my brother watching a show that of course I had to netflix to watch the rest of (that's the third time he's got me hooked on a show).

I also started to figure out what 2015 is about. I think this year is about continuing to make improvements to myself and not turning down any chances. Improvements to my body, health and mind, the trinity of improvements.

Keep exercising to stay fit (I tried spin last week, and I sorta hate it, but will still go back I'm sure.), read books by very successful people and keep continually learning to do new things (some new classes are in order for this) , those are important. I think it's also important for me to stop saying no so much (this means if I get asked on a date, I'll say yes). Stop finding reasons to keep people out, stop finding reasons something won't work, it's time for some new adventures (Florida, I'm coming for you)

Speaking of adventures,  I've been gathering information about a potentially life changing adventure. I have approximately a year to make a decision and I've talked to the important people in my life about it. Let me start with, none of them are too happy cause it would mean I'd be gone awhile. At the same time, the ones that love me most all said, "Yeah, I can see why you'd want to." A lot can change in a year. Who knows, in 6 months it might be something that's completely off the table. See, life has a funny way of changing when you think you've got it figured out.

I don't remember if I mentioned that my middle son signed up to join the Army in July? I cried when he gave me his leave date, but I know he's doing the right thing for himself. Maybe that's where some of this adventure talk keeps coming from. I've seen like fifty college applications for my youngest son. They're all learning to live their lives, so I have to learn to live mine.

This past month I've tried to make it a point to have at least a couple hours with everyone I love the most, (including my friend Matt and his fiance Dawn, who I hadn't seen in forever but was dying to congratulate them in person)  except for a few  people who I can't seem to get our schedules together.  That's my favorite thing about the holidays, I get to see most of my crazies in a matter of days.

Well, this post wasn't as horribly exciting, but one of my promises to myself was to keep this dang thing updated.

So, cheers to a new year and new adventures.