Gimme Your Hands Cause You're Wonderful

Dear Readers,

Once, years and years ago in another lifetime, I worked at Moxie Java.  I had just finished a book on my shift, and after telling a regular customer of mine about the book, he asked if he could borrow it, and I let him.  You should know that I have a bad habit of writing in my books, one of the many reasons that I can't jump on the e-book train.  Poetry, journal entries, phone numbers, airline confirmation codes, the most important things all get written down in the book I'm reading at the time.  So, back to my story, I handed over my book to my customer, forgetting that I had written a poem on the back cover.  A couple weeks later, the customer approached the counter and when handing me my book, recited from memory my poem word for word.  I was shocked and embarrassed.  Not because the poem was very personal (because it was), but because he was intrigued by it and more than that he had mistaken me for a poet. 

Today, I sit at my desk where I should be working, and have "Rock and Roll Suicide" by David Bowie (a true poet) playing on repeat loud enough that I expect the new neighbors to complain at any moment.  Under the same impulse that I write in my books, I type away on my computer, putting my emotional dribble on the internet for everyone or none to read.  Although I appreciate those who take the time to read it, especially those who have no criticism to offer, I write my blog for myself.  It has always been an outlet for me, writing that is.  I have journals filled to the brim with my illegible hand writing, documenting even the most mundane days of my life starting at the age of 7.  It's important to me though, all of these words, every tattered notebook, even the 90 or so entries included in this blog's history.  A living history all my own, with all of it's ups and downs and circular thinking.

I've been contemplating writing a heavy handed blog entry on the most recent events of my life (which my last entry eluded to), but have decided against it.  At this point it's not about the tsunami anymore, but the beauty of rebuilding after the water has calmed down.  I've made some big discoveries about myself.  For instance, I am a valued and beautiful person.  And what's more, I genuinely like myself.  How strange!  33 years of displeasure and self-loathing, only to find at my absolute lowest point in life that I've been so much harder on myself than any one person ever should be.  That's not to say that I should earn your respect, Dear Reader.  Because I am human, and have made some major mistakes.  I am not immune from hurting others.  I fail and flail and fall.  Ye without sin, please feel free to strike the first letter key in response; I have a feeling though that we're all in this slowly sinking boat together, bright orange life vests made of broken promises and unspoken apologies.  I'll do my best to rescue myself though, and pull you up along side me.

Now that it's springtime and the daffodils are in bloom, my hope is renewed and my excitement for warmth and comfort grows.  There's not a better place to be than Boise in the spring and summer.  A couple of my dearly missed friends have made their way home.  There is an energy in the air that lifts my spirits and my heart, reminding me moment by moment that life is happening and I'm privileged to be a part of it.  A poet I am not.  But an active participant in life I am learning to be.  My heart breaks over and over for those that I've lost or hurt along the way, helping me get to this point, but it's a grateful heart that's breaking because those lessons were necessary for me to reach this new place.  I'm so grateful.  I'm so sorry.

And to you, Dear Reader, thank you for reading and giving life to my words.  I hope that one or two of them help you out once in a while.

Sincerely,
h.

In Progress: A Journey of One Million Apologies

Dear Readers,

Early last week, my car was filthy from the winter weather.  I had a few minutes before I had to be at an appointment, so I swung into the Metro Carwash.  The last few weeks have been rough, to say the least.  Day after day after day of contemplation, regret, confusion, long conversations, remorse, and more regret.  So sitting in that carwash, with the soap sliding down my windows and windshield, the thought came to me that I had control over this one thing: the cleanliness of my car.  The moment that thought finished, the carwash broke down.  Completely.  My car covered in suds.  I started laughing, really hard.  Hard enough that when the young carwash employee knocked on my window to give me a free coupon, I'm sure he thought I was a lunatic.  If he hadn't thought that yet, he must have for sure after saying to me, "You'll have to drive straight ahead.  It's going to be really bumpy, but you can't stop.  Just keep moving."  Because that sent me into a laughing frenzy.  "I give," I said to no one and everyone all at the same time.

So.  It ends up, that I am capable of making bad choices.  Not just bad.  Disastrous choices.  With huge ripple effects that don't seem to ever stop.  Did you know I could do that?  Me neither.  None-the-less, with my high and mighty moral self put to rest, I have reached  new levels of humility and sorrow.  I have damaged my little sturdy family, I have destroyed some friendships with people that I care for very much, and I have (as someone once promised me I would) evolved into the most open and honest version of myself.  Although that would seemingly be a good thing, and I think in the big picture it is, the truth can be an exfoliant to the soul.  There is nothing soft and smooth about it's surface.  However when it's done scouring your heart, you're left with something that's shiny, as if it's new.  I was never much of a liar to begin with, I value truth and integrity greatly.  I was an expert, however, at not seeing what I did not want to see, and it just so happens that there are worlds of ignored truth out there, just waiting for me to shine light on it.  It's not pretty.  It's very scary and intimidating.  In the end, it will be good to have waded through all of the muck, and put it all behind me.  I can't wait until it's all behind me.

Finally, I have learned one more lesson through this mess I've made.  I have one hell of a support group.  Doors have been opened and I've been invited in.  I've had love come at me from all directions, and in massive amounts.  I had, at the onset of this disaster, prepared myself to be alone.  Prepared myself for hatred and criticism.  Prepared myself for the repercussions  that I surely and without a doubt deserve(d).  It's been so humbling, so very heart warming, to find that I am not alone and am instead a part of a most gracious, loving, and forgiving community.

I feel like a new person.  I feel like a full fledged adult. There are huge changes to come, a whole new life in a way.  I have some big decisions to make, and some even bigger apologies to give.  I don't know if there are enough "I'm sorry's" in the world for me to give.  I have so many to give.  And I can't ask for forgiveness.  Not for me anyway.  I'm moving forward though, and I'm excited for the future, excited for my new life.  There is so much good out there, so much love, and I want nothing more than to contribute to it, to give back some of what I've received.

Sincerely,
h.

P.S.  I have gone on a sabbatical from Facebook.  If you feel so inclined, would you mind sharing a link to my blog on your page?  I sure would appreciate it.  xoxo

To My Heart, With Love

Dear Readers,

I have been accused all of my life of having a tender heart.  I say accused, because it hasn't always been observed in a kindly manner; it was just a nice way of calling me a cry baby.  People in my life have gone to great extent to not trigger the rush of tears that accompany something that touches my heart.  They have downplayed illness, "forgot" to tell me of the death of an old friend, forbidden me from watching emotional movies, and the list goes on.  It's understandable that for a long time, I too considered my extra sensitive nature to be a vice, not a virtue.  My heart was more of a stumbling block than a force for good.  Nothing but a trigger of embarrassment that my sister's would use against me in vulnerable times by reminding me that (spoiler alert!) Beth dies in "Little Women", because it was certain to make me cry on the spot.

Tender as it is, I find that I have little to no option to follow anything else in life besides my heart.  As I've grown older, I've recognized it's sensitivities to be intuition, compassion and empathy. Although I find these qualities to be important and necessary, they do not always lead me down the easiest path.  It's not rare for my heart and mind to battle; logic and being reasonable often lose to doing what feels right.  I sound like such a hippie saying that, but it's true none-the-less.  It's gotten me in trouble more than once.  I've even (though I hate to admit it) been wrong about what I thought was the right thing to do based on feeling.  More often than not though, I find myself in extraordinary situations that reaffirm my intuition and reward my heart beyond measure.  This past week I found myself in the midst of just such an experience.

I met my friend Caitlyn several years ago at a dinner party my friend Jenny was having.  I remember details about her clearly, though I don't remember much else from that night.  She approached me and introduced herself to me, although I don't know that she needed to because from the minute I laid eyes on her I felt I had known her for years.  Throughout the years of our friendship, we have shared a lot of good and bad times with each other, along with a select few other lovely ladies we are so lucky to know.  Even though we have the kind of friendship that is sturdy on it's own, not requiring daily nourishment or constant contact, we have floated and in and out as if we know exactly the right time to be there for each other.  As it happens, we had come together again early last spring when Caitlyn called me to tell me she was pregnant, and I thought that tender heart of mine my burst because of the thrill I felt for her.

For those of you who have never been pregnant, it is both an exhilarating and terrifying experience.  They are, without doubt, the best and worst of times.  Knowing what Caitlyn could be facing, I followed that tender little heart of mine straight into her life again, and what a blessing it has been.  Watching Caitlyn grow and prepare for her new role as a mother has been a beautiful and wonderful time.  It's not easy to do, you know, but she made the transition with a grace I've never seen before.  I was so excited for her when the labor she had so patiently waited for finally started on Monday.  She asked me to come to her apartment while she was in the early stages to hang out with her and her mom.  Upon arriving I sat on the floor next her and we talked and laughed and worked through her contractions when they appeared.  Juju, her sweet Great Dane, had hurt her back that day and couldn't get off her bed, so I sat and comforted her while we chatted.  Heidi, another dear friend of mine and Caitlyn's doula, came and we enjoyed this strange and exciting time together.  As things started to get moving though, the atmosphere changed and we prepared things for Caitlyn to make the move to the Boise Birthing Center.  My intentions were to go home and wait for the call, but I was asked to follow along.

I feel as though I would be overstepping my bounds to describe the rest of the night.  So I will skip to the next morning, when I got out of bed and processed the events from the night before.  I had slept very little, but I didn't care.  My heart was overflowing, and so were tears from my eyes.  I cried all morning.  It occurred to me that I had the extraordinary privilege to help one of my friends leave this life and to help another welcome a new life.  I am, indeed, very blessed to have done so.  Holding that sweet very new born baby is an experience that I will never, ever forget.  As my friend Brion put it, "You were there for your friend for the most important event of her life."

Which brings me back to my ridiculous heart.  I can't help it, my nature to nourish and smother.  There is nothing to be done about it.  I know I drive my friends and family crazy, that I often overstep my bounds with the intention of helping.  I care too damn much.  I owe a debt of gratitude to my tender heart though, because it has lead me into the depths of the richest experiences of my life.  What a humbling thing, to have such wonderful and amazing people invite me to share in their lives.  I very much look forward to continue on in my dear friendship with Caitlyn, and to holding and loving her new sweet baby girl.  Thank you, thank you, thank you for the rejuvenating and life changing experience of letting me be your friend.

Sincerely,
h.

Merry Christmas Blah, Blah, Blah

Dear Readers,

Here we are again, the shadow of Christmas looming over us like a big tacky giant, wanting to be friendly but accidentally squashing us in the process.  That's not to say, "Bah hum bug."  I'm not that much of a downer.  I am enough of a downer to wish Christmas a speedy hello and goodbye, and get back to life as normal though.

I wasn't always like this, you know.  My disdain for the season is a result of many years working behind retail or coffee counters, assisting frantic and grouchy customers as they spent their hard earned dollars on undeserving family and friends.  A few years working for the airlines and being yelled at by stressed passengers didn't help either.  Culminate that with the loss of significant loved ones, and you've got the perfect recipe for a spoiled holiday season.  I am remiss though, if I don't talk about the time in my life when it was a joy and delight, heart warming and much craved.

As a child growing up in Rupert, I was fortunate to live near both sets of my grandparents.  Grandpa Jack and Grandma Donna (the Badgers) lived about a mile from us down H Street.  Grandpa Cal and Grandma Hazel (the Braeggers) were just a hop skip and a jump past the sugar beet factory in a tiny town called Paul.  Our family had a very strict Christmas schedule: Christmas Eve in Paul with the Braegger clan, Christmas morning (directly after opening Santa's gifts) was spent at my Aunt Nan's house for brunch, and then over to Grandma and Grandpa Badger's for Christmas dinner.  Every turn was filled with food and family, so much love and joy (not to mention a good dose of fighting with my sisters).

Not to downplay the events of Christmas day, as they hold a very dear and special place in my memory, but my Christmas Eve's spent in Paul were by far my favorite.  You've read posts about the Braegger's before; I've written about our reunions at Banbury Hot Springs a few times before.  My mom is the baby sister of 5 kids: Jed, Nan, Ruth, Wally, and Kristie.  I am 2nd from the bottom in a pile of grandkids (not counting the great-grandkids, that is).  On Christmas Eve, we'd come from near and far to Grandpa's cinder block house, located right on the highway, the giant willow trees in front waving their welcome.  Through the office door and out of the cold, when you'd open the door into the house you'd be greeted by a wall of inviting heat, my grandpa insisting on keeping his coal fireplace at full roar so the little ones wouldn't get cold.  On the yellow kitchen table (which now resides at my mom and dad's house), food would be piled, my aunts and grandma laughing in the kitchen as they prepared the grandest of meals.  The men in the living room, with football or whatever on the television (was anyone even watching?), taking turns chatting and napping.  And the grandkids, running circles around the house, or doing cartwheels into the Christmas tree, or trying on our mom's old prom dresses and high heels, trying to see through the broken lenses of the discarded cat eye glasses.  Most likely you would find us by the old hi-fi, listening to the Chipmunks Christmas Album, singing at the top of our lungs.  When dinner was served, the young ones would shove their faces as quickly as possible (why didn't I savor those meals more?), anticipating the gift opening that would take place directly after pie was served.  Then my sweet grandpa, would start with the youngest grandchild and one by one we would open our gifts.  We never wanted to leave, even with the suspense of Santa coming. Those times were the best times, and even as small children we recognized it.

Look at me, wax nostalgic.  Once I get started it's hard to stop, so please forgive me.  Last year my parents started a new tradition where my sister's and I pack up our families and we drive to Tamarack to spend the weekend together in a beautiful cabin.  We just celebrated our Badger family Christmas last weekend, and it renews some of that same spirit I had as a child.  Warm and comfortable, with piles of food and a lot of laughter, it reminds me of what Christmas should be.  I'm stoked to share this time with Lucas and Shay, to give them a taste of what was and is so important to me.

Putting aside my disdain, I would like to wish you all the happiest of holidays.  I hope they are spent in the company of those you love, be it family or friends, and are full of food and laughter and whatever you need to get through the day. 

Sincerely,
h.

To My Tribe: A Belated Thank You

Dear Readers,

The term "Urban Tribe" was introduced to me by a friend at a baby shower we were having for our dear friend Caitlyn the other day.  We were discussing how we would all be battling for time with Caitlyn and her baby girl, already dreaming up schedules to be on-call for them.  I mentioned how lucky I am to be part of a group of friends and community that supports each other so much; that I rely heavily on for help with raising Lucas, as well as support for myself and Shay.  That's when Jen introduced the term to me, saying that people of our generation (although normally close and in good relations with their blood family) have learned to create and depend on bonds with their friends that have in the past been reserved for family.  How true that is.  I've said it before, and I'll say it many times again: my closest friends are family to me.  Good news, bad news, or any news at all, they are the first on my call list.

As we inch nearer to Thanksgiving, and we take time to reflect on what we are grateful for, my heart swells and overflows with affection for my tribe.  With that in mind, I would like to take this opportunity to say thank you for the support and love you offered with open arms and hearts during the worst of times.  It's taken me a long time to be able to issue this thanks with any sort of tangibility, but I'm happy to now be in a spot where it's both possible and necessary.  You see, when Loren was first sick, I reached out for your help, and you responded greatly.  My vision was to give Lojo a little inkling of the support and love that was behind him, and I was able to create a book for him that with each page reminded him that he was loved.  I was nervous when I gave him the book, not sure if it was the right thing to do after all.  He looked through it once.  And then again.  Then one more time.  He didn't say anything, just sat shaking his head in a yes fashion looking one page at a time.  This is what he saw:

Aaron

Jesse

Jason

Lucas

PL

Greg R.

Heidi

Matt

Chris

Courtney

Jennifer

Jenny

Michelle

Sarah

Addison

Alex

Beth

Mike

Becky and Catie

Rachel

Shay

Chris (again)

Drew, Lacey, Trace, Rhys

Heidi and Bubba

Sam

These two weirdos.

Erynn

Saratops

Marie

Arran

This Cat

Greg G.

Hott Scott

Davey

Brittany

All of Boise

As you can see, this is a pretty big tribe.  You might be surprised to learn that this doesn't even scratch the surface (I'm missing some of the pictures; I'm sorry if I missed anyone who contributed).  If I had a picture of everyone that offered their love and support, this blog would break records for it's length.  Loren was grateful for and touched by your expressions of love.  So was/am I.

Look around you, look at those who are close to you, family or not.  Identify the bonds that are the strongest.  When you think of strength, who's the first that comes to mind?  When you yearn for company, who do you wish it was with?  Find your tribe.  Add them to your grateful list.  Then call them, text them, whatever way you prefer to reach out, just do it.  Let them know how you feel.  It is so important.  It's so easy.

Hey, you!  Yeah you!  You know who you are, my nearest and dearest.  I love you!  SO MUCH.  Thank you, thank you, thank you, for the rest of my life thank you.  You have made all the difference.

Sincerely,
h.

My Kid

Dear Readers,

I don't do this often.  Brag in excess about my kid, that is.  Don't get me wrong, Lucas is without a doubt one of the finest humans beings to grace this planet.  I know that, his dad knows that, and most people that know him probably know that.  However, I also realize that every parent feels the same way, so the "my kid's the greatest" spiel is worn and redundant and not my sort of thing.

Except for today.  I happen to have gained tangible proof that my kid is indeed, the greatest.

Not even an hour ago I was sitting across the table from Mr. Steidel, Lucas' third grade teacher.  We went through the regular statistics, writing samples, etc.  He expressed enthusiasm for Lucas' drawing abilities, spoke about his better than average reading skills, and spoke to the slight frustration of trying to get Lucas to complete a task in a timely manner (I have dubbed him the captain of Team Molasses, so this complaint is a familiar one to me).  After all the official stuff was out of the way, Mr. Steidel told me about a couple things he noticed that he wanted me to share with me.

The first incident happened just yesterday, at their Halloween party.  The kids had made BINGO sheets earlier in the day, and when their party started and they were preparing to play, one of the girls realized that she had lost her sheet.  Lucas, worried that this girl would not be able to participate, without any sort of prompting, invited her to share his sheet even though it meant he would only get to play every other round.  Mr. Steidel said that the most impressing thing about it was that not only was he willing to sacrifice the chance to win the highly sought after prizes, but he went out of his way to make Anna Belle feel better.

The second apparently happens on a regular basis, this time involving a boy named Andrew.  I've heard of Andrew before; apparently he's pretty hyper and annoys the other kids.  Lucas himself has complained about the young lad, not sure how to handle him. I have some first hand experience with being picked on and made fun of by other kids, and am a bit sensitive to the issue. My advice to Lucas was to be patient with him, and to never-ever be mean or cruel to him.  I explained that there will be annoying people around for the rest of his life, so learning how to be okay with them is an important skill; that tolerance is a virtue.  I don't recall Lucas bringing Andrew up since my big ol' lecture, and had forgotten about it.  Mr. Steidel reminded me of him today though, when he mentioned him as a student that struggles greatly both socially and academically.  According to Mr. Steidel, Lucas (again, unsolicited) will quietly get up when they are working on their assignments and go over to Andrew to see if he needs help, and will then patiently go through whatever problem Andrew is having and will help him work through it.

"You have an exceptional young man for a son," said Mr. Steidel.

I've heard stories from Lucas' previous teachers similar to these.  After each one, I wonder if I could ever be more proud of him.  I learn over and over again that I can.  I am gushing with affection, appreciation, and admiration for the compassion that Lucas exemplifies.  I am proud of his grades, his progress, and his academic prowess.  His golden heart though, that's what makes me weep with gratitude and genuine joy.

I'm the luckiest mom in the world.

Sincerely,
h.

A Baker's Manifesto

Dear Readers,

Earlier today, I was sitting in a sunny spot at the Flying M Coffeehouse with my dear friends Caitlyn and Sarah.  I was describing to them my failed attempt at making pumpkin cinnamon rolls, and after getting frustrated at the thought of this miserable waste of ingredients I ended my rant with, "...but the maple cream cheese frosting was pretty great." To which they both groaned in that it-sounds-so-good sort of way.  "If you get tired of me talking about my baking, please feel free to tell me to shut up at any time," I said.  Caitlyn replied, "If there's one thing I can listen to all day, it's you describing your baking."  My heart swelled with appreciation, because it's one thing I can't seem to shut up about.  So let me tell you a little more about it.

I was 13 or 14 years old when I made my first batch of cookies by myself.  I was doing them for extra credit in my history class (Mr. Hale was unabashed about giving extra points for sucking up).  My mom, an excellent cook and baker in her own right, was never patient with other's in her kitchen (a trait I've inherited), so it was a big deal that I was allowed to tread on such hollowed ground.  I refused help of any sort, insisting that I do every step myself.  I'd watched my mom do it a million times, I was sure that it would be easy to do.  After following the recipe step by step, I pulled a beautiful batch of chocolate chip cookies from the oven.  Actually, they were more than beautiful, they looked amazing.  I eagerly took a bite of one, and was mortified to find that this golden, soft, perfect cookie tasted like a hot mess of chocolate and salt.  I put the next batch in the oven, thinking that it was a fluke that they tasted so bad.  The second batch came out just as lovely as the first, but that horrid taste of death was still found in each bite.  My mom went through the recipe step by step with me to see where I messed up, and to my horror and her delight we found where I went wrong: instead of a 1/2 teaspoon of baking soda, I used a half cup.  I was crestfallen, and earned no extra credit.

It was several years before I took a stab at baking again.  I made the occasional batch of cookies or a birthday cake, using mostly boxed mixes.  Like most domestic things, I shirked my cooking duties for other more important things, like staying out all night, spending my money on concert tickets instead of food, and considering a box of Rice-A-Roni eaten straight from the pan a satisfying and well-rounded meal.  But lurking in the shadows of my subconscience  was an apron clad version of myself, standing along side my mom, aunts, and grandma in one of their yellow kitchens watching pie crusts get rolled out, filled with fruit or custard and a healthy dose of love, and baked to perfection.  I was born into a fine line of bakers, and my genes anxiously awaited me to put my intuitive skills to use.  Thanks to my cousin Tori's sugar cookie recipe, I found my calling.  All it took was a batch of Halloween themed sugar cookies that I took to work with me one day on a whim, and ended up with orders to fill for some regular customers of mine at Starbucks.

That was several years ago now, and since there hasn't been a week that's gone by that I haven't made one sweet treat or another.  A few years ago, while living in the Idaho Building in downtown Boise, I decided to make brunch for a couple of our friends.  After a few mimosas and realizing that I had overestimated the amount of food to make (still a problem of mine), those couple of friends started yelling at other friends who were loitering on 8th Street, and before we knew it our apartment was filled with people.  All of them were kind, gracious, and extremely complimentary of my food.  So to help keep my self esteem high, I started having brunches on a regular basis.  The regular attendees have become accustomed to the Braegger-baker way of things, meaning that I am the only one allowed to cook in my kitchen (I don't mind visitors and conversation, but stay the hell away from my stove), and I will cook and bake and serve until my guests are nearing food comas, and then I'll sit down and partake.  Guests are encouraged to bring bacon (we typically go through 5-6 lbs a brunch) and/or beverages, and for the first time this year I allowed one guest in particular bring his extraordinary macaroni and cheese, the first dish served at a brunch I hosted that I didn't make.  Brunch days are by far my happiest days, when my house is filled with my closest friends and I get to feed and nourish and lavish them with attention.  Oh man, those days are the days I crave.

I have been fortunate enough to turn my passion into a micro-business, taking orders from friends and strangers alike.  I've sent cookies all over the country, I've been honored to make wedding cakes, and treats for everything from baby showers to corporate gifts.  It's funny how it works, because my life doesn't always lend itself to having the time or energy to take orders.  During those times, I won't receive any calls.  The moment that I think I'm ready to start up again, without solicitation, my phone will start ringing and the orders roll in.  I'm always so humbled that people want to pay me to do something that I love so much.  Even more fulfilling than taking orders is to surprise my loved ones with treats.  I have this terrible habit of showing up on doorsteps or in workplaces with a little packages filled with treats and love.  They always think I'm doing something nice for them, but the whole truth is that it's doing something for myself.  The days I struggle the most, those are the days I plan my surprise deliveries; I can't explain how or why, but knowing that I'm going to create something for someone I care about to enjoy, well that can get me through just about anything.

I am so grateful to the ladies in my life that have inspired and instructed me to find such joy in my kitchen.  I am so grateful for those who find pleasure in my talent, and hire me to bake on their behalf.  More than anything, I am grateful for my friends and family who are so patient with me while I shove confection after confection down their throats and never complaining about it.  What would I do without your ever expanding stomachs?  Rest assured that each calorie is matched with heartfelt love and affection.  It may not stop diabetes or heart failure, but it's nourishing none-the-less, I promise.

Sincerely,
h.