pain. suffering. grief. oh my.

I have been thinking about pain.  Suffering.  Grief.  And my heart has not known pain more severe than being torn from the love of my life, my husband, as a newlywed, when he deployed to a war zone.

We all experience pain throughout our lives, and there is a wide range of pain that we feel.  We can feel pain in the form of disappointment when we go to eat that last piece of cheesecake at 3:00 a.m. only to find that someone else has already done the job (yeah, you know what I'm talking about).  Then there's the pain of failing a test or totally dropping the ball on that big presentation at work (bottle of wine, please?).  Almost everyone can relate to the pain of being betrayed, lied to, or broken up with (a very big bottle of wine, please?).  And then, way on the far end of the spectrum, there's the pain of heart-wrenching grief:  A miscarriage.  The death of a loved one.  Being diagnosed with a life-threatening illness.  Life suddenly seems to be in slow-motion and the colors and smells and tastes that used to be so vibrant now turn into a murky conglomeration of lifeless clutter.  You catch your breath, and learn that you never knew you could cry so much.  You're confused, bewildered, angry.  You're trying to figure this out but you feel like you're stumbling in the dark, a sobbing mess.  No one can comprehend your suffering.  No heart can feel your grief.

And then you open your tired eyes to smiling faces telling you that "it could be worse!" and to "not wallow in self-pity."  They do this because they love you and don't want to see you hurting .... or is it because they don't want to take your burden on themselves?  It is much easier to pat someone on the back than it is to walk in their shoes, plain and simple.  But nothing nourishes a grieving heart more than someone willing to sacrifice their own comfort to feel another's pain and to cry some of their tears.  Grieving hearts are connected to ears that need to hear, "It's okay to grieve."

So here I am, to tell those of you who are suffering and are in pain so unbearable you literally feel your heart aching that it's okay to feel that pain.  It's okay to let yourself grieve.  What you're going through sucks.  But you will come out of it, and someday you'll be able to smile at the little things again.  Until then, it's okay to take it slow -- or fast, it's different for each person.  You have a wound, and healing time varies.  A doctor would not tell you to treat a broken leg as if it weren't broken, and you should not treat your broken heart as if it weren't broken.  You will come out of this, just give yourself some time, and when someone tells you that you should really be finding the joy in life because it's bad (and not to mention selfish) to focus on your suffering, you can politely tell them to go screw themselves . . . or you can at least think it.

do something different.

"Life isn't about finding yourself.  Life is about creating yourself."

George Bernard Shaw

After I got home today, I did what I almost always do when I walk in the door -- I turned on the TV.  Often I will turn it on and walk away, going about other business, leaving it on simply for the noise or the music.  Today, however, my cable wouldn't work.  I tried getting online, and the internet wouldn't work, either.  I called xfinity, and the computerized program let me know that they were having difficulties with the cable and internet in my area and that they would be up again by roughly 8:00 p.m.  I was a little irritated, and laughed at myself for being so accustomed to and dependent on technology.  So, instead, I lit candles all around my living room and dining room, put my iTunes on shuffle, and danced around while doing the dishes and cleaning up the apartment.  Not kidding.  Did I look ridiculous?  Probably.  Was it a refreshing change from having the TV on?  Definitely.

For some people, it's not TV.  It's Facebook.  Or Twitter.  Or their cell phones.  Something they instinctively turn on, check, or update because it provides a sense of security, comfort, or connection to other people that they feel they would not have otherwise.

I'm not gonna go all radical on you and vow to give up TV or internet for a week or even for a day.  For you who do that, all the power to ya.  My point is simply to convey the sense of happiness, energy, peace, and joy that an unexpected change of pace can bring.  I'm smiling as I write this . . . hell, I don't even care if the cable is working again, I don't want to turn it on.  (I obviously have the internet working . . . obviously.)  I want to enjoy this, right here, this change of pace, this break from something to which I am so accustomed.  It's refreshing.  It's switching up an otherwise normal pattern.  It's beautiful.

You should try it.  And by that I mean doing anything that changes up an otherwise normal pattern for you.  Take a different route home from work.  Try a new restaurant.  Instead of calling your woman "beautiful," tell her she's "breathtaking."  Send a sexy text to your man while he's at work.  (And be sure to follow through with it when he gets home ;)  )  Read that book you've been meaning to start.  It can be anything.  Anything to change life up a little.  Maybe it will seem pointless, maybe it will make you smile, but you won't know if you don't try.  Just live. Live, and do it on purpose.

cheesy chicken bacon avocado quesadillas

I made these last night.

Talk about YUM.  That is, after I baked the bacon for the right amount of time.  The first try, I put all 10 slices of bacon on a sheet pan and put it in the oven.  Following the recipe, 15 minutes per side at 400.  The first 15 minutes goes well.  I flip the bacon and reset the timer.  Several minutes later, I check the oven to find black strips of bacon.  Hurriedly I take them out and stand there looking at them debating whether to omit the bacon from the recipe, or to run to the store and buy more.  I decide to run to the store....right when the smoke alarm goes off due to the burnt bacon.  Oh boy.  Long story short, the alarm soon stopped, more bacon was bought, said bacon was baked seven minutes per side, and these yummy quesadillas were a success.

The recipe is located under the 'recipes' tab.

They're super yummy.  Super quick.  Super easy.

If you cook the bacon the right way, that is.

got tatted up.

Yesterday, I got a tattoo.

It says "beautiful ashes" in Hebrew.  I have been planning on getting this for awhile, before I decided to start this blog . . . so, now you know where the idea for my blog name came from.

It hurt more than I thought it would.  Took about 45 minutes.  Got it done by a guy named Finley at Mos Eisley's.  And I absolutely love it.

On another note, it is gorgeous outside!  Snow has been falling almost continuously since the night before last.  This doesn't mean that I like driving in this stuff or freezing my ass off whenever I have to go anywhere . . . but looking at this from the inside of my warm apartment?  Yes please.

This picture doesn't even do the beauty of it justice!

I visited my friend Stephanie, and her daughter, Mya, today.  I used to babysit Mya when she was a baby -- I helped her learn how to sit up, I read her books, I rocked her to sleep . . . and now she's walking and talking and all big-girl!  My how time flies!  It was so good to see them again.  Afterwards, I ran some errands as the roads continuously got worse, and now I am so content to be warm and snuggled on my couch watching the Food Network!  ;)

Here's to my 3-day weekend!

it was one of those days.

You know the kind I'm talking about.  After crying on my way home from work, I then proceeded to go back out and buy a half gallon of the most chocolatey ice cream I could find.

It was one of those days.

Sometimes life just downright sucks, and it's ok to have bad days.  Life has a funny way of going on with itself, and sometimes we just have to hunker down and get through the shit to get to the sunshine.

Chocolatey ice cream helps.

let people surprise you.

I am fortunate to have as neighbors a very sweet, lovely, elderly couple.  Cal & Lois.  Cal was a sailor during WWII; so, naturally, Lois knows what it's like to be a military wife on the homefront.  Every time I see them, they ask about Jonathan.  In Cal's own words, "How's that handsome husband of yours doing?"  They are blatant in their gratitude to both me and Jonathan for our service to this country.

Now, it should be noted that I have a bumper sticker on my car which reads, "Army Wife: You Try Doing This Shit."  I figured Cal & Lois probably didn't like the sticker due to the language, but I didn't think too much about it.  The other day, as I was leaving and they were coming in, Lois chuckled as she said to me, "I like the bumper sticker on your car.  Been there, done that."  This is not what I expected to hear from a woman in her late 80's!  It made me stop, and smile, and realize that people are not always what they seem.  They have ideas and thoughts and experiences under the surface that make up who they are.  We see but a snapshot.  May we never assume people are a certain way simply because that's how we've always thought of them.

Think differently.  Realize there's more to people than their words & actions and the assumptions you've made based on those words & actions.  Never stop learning about people.  Let them surprise you.

help them cry.

I read this story today :

          Author and lecturer Leo Buscaglia once talked about a contest he was

          asked to judge.  The purpose of the contest was to find the most

          caring child.  The winner was a four-year-old child whose next-door

          neighbor was an elderly gentleman who had recently lost his wife.

          Upon seeing the man cry, the little boy went into the old gentleman's

          yard, climbed onto his lap, and just sat there.  When his mother

          asked what he had said to the neighbor, the little boy said,

          "Nothing, I just helped him cry."

Pain is a funny thing.  It hits hard, it creeps up slowly, it cuts deep, it comes in waves, it makes us cry, it makes us crazy.  It's something we often hide and show only to a select few.  After all, the last thing we want at that point is for someone to be careless with our fragile heart and cause it even more damage.

So what do we do, when trusted with the precious tears of someone else?  Whether they blatantly reveal their pain to us, or we happen to catch a glimpse through the broken smiles and forced laughter they patch their wounds with.

We don't pat them on the back and tell them they'll be ok.  Chances are, they know they'll be ok.  We don't tell them to suck it up, or to look on the bright side, or that somebody else has it worse than they do.  We don't give them advice or tell them how they should be handling it.

We help them cry.

it's a new year.

Yeah, I know it's kind of cliché.  To start a blog at the beginning of a New Year.  But who cares?  I'm not doing it because it's cliché, but because there are a lot of feelings and thoughts in this little heart and mind that might benefit someone, somewhere.  Or maybe it'll just benefit me to get them out.  Either way, it's worth it.

This past year has had a lot of ups and downs.  I entered 2011 as a newly engaged woman, and my fiancé, a Cavalry Scout in the U.S. Army, was stationed in Germany, 4,000 miles away.  I didn't see him until a week before the wedding, in June of 2011.  So when I say I was responsible for all of the wedding planning, I mean I was responsible for all of the wedding planning!  Thank goodness I had my mom to help me.  (Okay, I'll be honest.  I think she did more of the work than I did!)  June comes.  I marry the love of my life.  He whisks me away to Germany, where we spend a month together.  And then, he is deployed to Afghanistan and I return to the States.  Some way to start a marriage, huh?

I have survived five months of deployment so far.  I keep busy by working full-time as an assistant teacher at a learning center.  It is fast-paced and stressful, but there is something so joyful and pure about being around children; they are genuine, spontaneous, curious, and carefree.  And it's infectious.  I am truly blessed to have a job that I enjoy and to be working with people who are not just coworkers, but friends.  So while 40 hours of my week are taken up by my job, the other 128 are consumed by:  investing in relationships with family & friends, Skyping my husband as much as I can, cooking, cleaning, grocery shopping, watching T.V., spending too much time online, spending not enough time reading, and sleeping.

It's unique, this life I live.  It's different than other people's.  But then, doesn't everyone feel as though their life is vastly different from everyone else's?  Others' lives, others' happiness, others' issues, become a mixed blur in contrast to the vivid colors of the pain we feel, the happiness we experience, the things we are dealing with.  Our hearts are woven from the fabric of our own deep emotions, while the emotions of others are simply paintings on a wall that we yearn to understand, all the while knowing there is so much meaning the artist longs to convey that slips past our clawing minds.  As I look over the course of 2011, I see changes, gains, and losses.  I withdrew from college, got married, visited Germany, moved into an apartment.  I was blessed with a loving husband, saw real castles & tasted strange food while overseas, and gained new friends.  But, I also said goodbye to my new husband as he was deployed to a war zone a month after we married, experienced the fading of friendships and relationships, and have dealt with the loneliness of being an Army wife during a deployment.  And this latter group are the ashes.  The ashes of things that were once beautiful and vibrant, but have lost their life in some way or another.  At first, I didn't know what to do with the ashes except to grieve them.  To kick, scream, cry, mourn, fight against the loss, be angry, and cry some more.  Eventually, though, I came to realize that things become ashes in our lives -- we experience loss and pain -- so new life can be ushered in.  So we can take that next step forward, inhale new smells, and see new colors.  The ashes we once mourned are given new life as they become something new, and something beautiful.  They are ugly to the present eye, and it is okay to let oneself feel the pain of that ugliness....but only for so long.  We must learn to see the beauty of the ashes in the midst of our grief.  Because while they may seem ugly now, they are beautiful....because they have the potential to become beautiful.