This morning I went to a breakfast to talk about politics, development projects and our kids. Since it was a light summer day I threw on a sleeveless sundress and sandals. On the way home I decided to pick up a few things in my usual grocery store.

A few aisles into the store, [...]]]>

This morning I went to a breakfast to talk about politics, development projects and our kids. Since it was a light summer day I threw on a sleeveless sundress and sandals. On the way home I decided to pick up a few things in my usual grocery store.

A few aisles into the store, a man stood, stared and said “You are sexy” in a perverted way. I ignored him. As I walked along I started to feel weak in my dress and sandals. Since I started kickboxing there have been a couple of occasions where I felt threatened and a solid, powerful confidence gave me determination. When I work out, sometimes it’s just exercise and sometimes I’m really beating on the bag. There is a difference. If something bad happened, I always believed in the strong version of myself.

As I walked down the next aisle, I felt vulnerable. I felt girlish and silly in a dress and sandals and completely unable to defend myself. The only strong thought I had was of Byron, my favorite instructor, showing us three ways to elbow strike during the previous night’s training. Then he was in my face again “Will you make me breakfast.” The pervert.

I’ve always found ignoring works best. Although he didn’t say anything, he kept going back and forth past me in every aisle with one thing in his hands.

When I checked out, I did the only smart thing in this entire episode. I told the cashier a man had been bothering me and making comments so that I felt uncomfortable. She asked me if I saw him and I didn’t’. While she was checking me out, I did see him leave the store but didn’t say anything. If something happened to me, hopefully they would recognize me and check the store video cameras for the guy who was bothering me.

I was glad he was outside because I could be in control. Since he should have been long gone and I didn’t see him, I went to load my car. Sure enough, he drove past me toward the store, away from the exits. I quickly finished putting my bags in the car then started to drive.

Here’s where I made another big mistake. I did not pay enough attention to his vehicle and did not get his license plate. All I could thing about was escape. When I started to drive and had to wait for a light, I looked around making sure he wasn’t following me.

This could be serious. You can find someone by looking up their plates. He could find me but I couldn’t find him.

Now I was really upset with myself. Not only had I failed dismally to have the confidence to physically defend myself, I had also failed to get good evidence to identify him.

In a few short minutes this absolute pervert had torn me down. I spent my whole time driving home making sure no car even slightly resembling his car was anywhere near me.

I was sick and disgusted. And finally angry. By the time I changed into casual clothes, I could have beat him badly. I don’t care what you think of me for wanting to defend myself. This was not the usual staring and gawking. He was a predator.

I’m so sick of men doing this to women, degrading them. I’m sick of the defenseless feeling. This man is exhibiting behavior which could become worse and worse until he does rape a woman.

I would gladly kick his ass even if I am crying and degraded.

A few months ago I started to feel sick at work with a headache. Convinced I was catching my son’s cold, I decided to go out for a run anyway. Miraculously, I felt better.

On a few other occasions this winter I’ve felt terrible. Convinced I’d be sick in [...]]]>

Watch out when the stress blows in

A few months ago I started to feel sick at work with a headache. Convinced I was catching my son’s cold, I decided to go out for a run anyway. Miraculously, I felt better.

On a few other occasions this winter I’ve felt terrible. Convinced I’d be sick in bed within hours, I dragged myself out for my late-night kickboxing class then recovered. I’ve been telling everyone how my exercise must be boosting my immune system because I never wind up getting sick.

With the blizzards, I couldn’t travel to the gym. For six days my stomach was upset. I enjoyed my time with my family while trying to keep the ball rolling for a major fundraiser. With Washington DC snowed in for a full week, the hours were dwindling before the big event. Even though I had been ill for several days, I forced myself to an early-morning kickboxing class as soon as the roads were clear. When I came home I started to research my symptoms in fear of cancer. A short time later I was completely better.

When I was reading the medical book, the first cause of my symptoms was typed in bold letters: stress.

I had spent a week feeling sick because of stress. I still can’t believe I didn’t recognize it. My suffering had me worrying about a major disease. With my conscious effort to stay healthy, I can’t believe I didn’t know what was happening to me.

The realization that I was suffering from stress every time I thought I was sick floored me.

When I interviewed for my nonprofit job, I was asked how I handle stress. Fundraising under tight schedules with part-time hours and a strong desire to succeed is recognized for the stress it creates. Yoga and running on a daily basis had been a strong foundation to staying healthy but with work taking up additional hours, late-night kickboxing had to be added. Apparently, I can’t live without all these stress reducers.

But not all stress is bad. The American Institute of Stress describes it this way:

Increased stress increases productivity – up to a point, after which things rapidly deteriorate, and that level also differs for each of us. It’s much like the stress or tension on a violin string. Not enough produces a dull raspy sound and too much an irritating screech or snaps the string – but just the correct degree of stress creates a beautiful tone.

There are many signs of stress.  HelpGuide.org lists the physical ones as aches and pains, diarrhea or constipation, nausea, dizziness, and loss of sex drive. Keep a look out for these in your daily life.

Without intervention, my situation is making me physically ill. With this awareness, I need to make sure I find the ways to keep a good balance and stay healthy. Hopefully the weather or injuries won’t prevent me again.

I’m feeling a need to run right now.

California Teacher Gets Creative “The budget is so tight in the suburbs of San Diego that at Rancho Bernardo High School calculus teacher Tom Farber didn’t have enough paper to give practice tests. Then a bus advertisement sparked an idea.

“I said, you know, in the face [...]]]> ABC News Reports the following and my mouth is hanging open:

California Teacher Gets Creative

“The budget is so tight in the suburbs of San Diego that at Rancho Bernardo High School calculus teacher Tom Farber didn’t have enough paper to give practice tests. Then a bus advertisement sparked an idea.

“I said, you know, in the face of tough times, maybe I could do something similar in my classroom and advertise on my test,” Farber said.

The bottom of each of Farber’s calculus quizzes features an inspirational message paid for by parents or local businesses. He’s not happy about taking such desperate measures, but the average public school teacher already spends around $430 of their own money on supplies, according to the National Education Association.”

Has it really come to this? I was appalled when technology would allow advertisers to flash messages in the night sky from satelites. Thank goodness no one has pursued this method, but advertising on the bottom of tests is just as invasive.

I choose to use gmail and view the advertisements down the right-side column. While on Facebook, I fight the urge everyday to type in “sex toy” just to see if they have ads on this subject. I know the price and attempt to find humor as I trudge along in cyberspace.

In these situations I’ve chosen to use a service for free with the understanding that I will be subjected to advertising. We’re the t.v. generation so we know that we need to pay the price with advertising or subscribe. But students don’t have a choice and I don’t want my night sky blocked by advertising.

The sad part is that teachers are so poorly paid that they must resort to such measures. In our community, the last two affordable housing proposals have been met with resistance. Expenses are up and we’ve all lost more than 30% on our investments. Times are tough.

I applaud ingenuity by our teachers, but advertising on tests, even if the message motivates, seems out of place.

Lets not miss the big point here, our school budgets should include enough funding for paper so that teachers can give tests.

Our PTA reimburses teachers for some of their out-of-pocket expenses. At the last meeting, we asked the teachers to tell us what we could purchase to make their jobs easier, especially since they were voting to forgo their salary increases. Perhaps the parents in San Diego could start a fund instead of paying for advertising.

Sometimes it’s all about morale.

They both have a disability, special needs. When they were young, he went to her family and [...]]]> Tears keep welling up in my eyes. The same tears you find dripping down your cheeks at a sad movie. On occasion, I’ve had these tears for a couple at my church. Today the tears were at her funeral.

They both have a disability, special needs. When they were young, he went to her family and convinced them that he could take care of her. Together they could have a life. He would work, pay rent, get food, buy clothes, and have medical care. At first they wouldn’t let him marry her but they finally agreed.

For 22 years he has been completely and totally devoted to her. He often would do the speaking but her eyes were always bright and she would say a few words. After awhile, she would seek me out and have a good conversational question, one woman to another. She seemed proud to be able to do that and she would surprise me. They always made a fuss over our boys and would carefully remember and repeat their names. We heard stories of how it was when they were young. You could tell how much their parents meant to them.

He would always explain how they were taking care of all the details in their lives and even going out for entertainment, a full life. He lived to take care of her, just as he promised he would do.

When he mentioned her cancer, my first thought was that God couldn’t possibly take her from him. I couldn’t get past how absolutely cruel it would be for her to die. He would recount all the details from the doctor. He always knew exactly when the next appointment would be. Upon questioning, the facts didn’t sound good. It seemed serious but he convinced us that she would be fine. As he put his arm around her, you could tell that she believed him, so I did too. She went into remission.

The cancer came back. She wasn’t able to work and he had retired to take care of her. On one of my runs through the neighborhood, they were coming out of the church. I stopped briefly as she waited with a walker. I didn’t understand exactly what was happening to her, but thought it must be something else.

On Sunday we learned she was gone. Today he was so deeply sad, so slumped. Perhaps this is a breaking point for me. Another long-time couple ripped apart.

After my father died I thought I would be stronger in hospitals, as if I had built up immunity to the sadness. Shortly thereafter I went to visit my boyfriend’s grandmother in the hospital. Luckily she decided that she didn’t want to meet me in her condition because I was down at the end of a hallway by a window unable to handle the situation. I never met her.

About ten pages into a philosophy paper in college, I realized I had picked the wrong premise. I couldn’t crank out a paper supporting the statement “It is better to have loved and lost.”

On days like today, I still don’t know if I could.

Boy oh boy, a happy age in a happy year! Things were [...]]]> Last week I turned 44 years old. My good friend, Amy, a statistician, decided that she would mathematically prove that being 44 was happy because somehow it all came down to the number 1. Then she proved 2008 was also a happy number 1.

Boy oh boy, a happy age in a happy year! Things were looking up.

Then she sadly had to admit to the entire email list that she had made a mathematical error. All my friends then knew I was in for an unhappy year because both were 2′s instead, and 2 is apparently a very, very bad number.

BUT, two is my lucky number! When I was a little kid I won a prize at the Sportsman show in the Catskills, NY with the number 2! The first time I had ever won anything. It was immediately my lucky number. Several years later at a carnival I had the overwhelming feeling that the number 2 was going to win on the spin wheel. I ran with all my might across the fairgrounds and threw my quarter on the board landing squarely in the number 2 space. Sure enough, the wheel spun and I won a big stuffed animal. I know 2 is lucky for me and I know when it is lucky for me.

I put the whole thing out of my mind. Then my friend, Trish, emails me that she just heard on the radio that people are the most unhappy when they are 44. After 44 is over, then they are fine again. Contrary to this report she said I seemed really happy lately. There must be something wrong with me.

Has everyone gone insane? I tried to google “radio unhappy 44″ but couldn’t find a written report. Is EVERYONE determined to convince me that I am going to be unhappy this year. I refuse. I hate when anyone tells me what to do.

But finally she sent me the link: http://abcnews.go.com/Health/Depression/story?id=4208216&page=1 I always thought it was in your 50′s but apparently my recent observations of everyone in their 40′s going off the deep end is correct. They surveyed 2 million people to discover that the midlife crisis occurs in your 40′s and people are at their most depressed when 44 years old.

I don’t like the number 3. I’m glad to be the Double Four. I’ve even got this great “Double Four” nickname for this year. I’m going to have an even better year than usual just to prove everyone wrong. Then maybe I’ll be depressed.

It’s only four days now. What’s so difficult? [...]]]> Oh boy, there’s no camp for one of the kids this week. I’m having flashbacks to three years ago when there was no school and the kid was always home with me. Immediately, I’m thinking of food to pass the time. I was 50 pounds heavier then.

It’s only four days now. What’s so difficult? It was seven years the last time a kid was home with me. It’s sweltering here and there’s not much to do. The pool is getting old for everybody.

How much money and gas am I willing to throw at this problem? I did so well a month ago. Quality time for an entire week. Love all around, but I’m empty now. I’m feeling selfish or broken or stimied. There’s still a few more weeks of summer.

My son announced at dinner that I was grouchy and I apologized because I knew he was correct. What’s a girl to do?