Lost Passion

For many years I have been passionate about cooking and the culinary world. I have written food blogs, created recipes from scratch and even began photographing the dishes I developed.  I also used to think of the kitchen as my sanctuary. It was a place where I could "escape" to, a place where my son and husband chose to avoid.  In my kitchen I could be creative, I could try new recipes and improve upon others. I could use my artistic talents and inspirations on a variety of levels.

I also really used to take pride in the dishes I created. I looked forward to preparing healthy meals for my family and discussing them while we sat around the dinner table. I often wondered how and why others didn't enjoy their time in the kitchen . I used to question why they would rather go out to dinner.

 Yet, ever since my mom passed away, I have lost my culinary passion.  Now, I too wish to avoid the kitchen. I don't find pleasure in cooking and I don't care too much about the food I am eating.  Where I used to think that healthy meals contributed to a healthy outlook, I now realize the two aren't necessarily connected. 

My husband and son have been asking me for close to a year now to please get back in the kitchen and try to enjoy myself.  I can honestly say that I have tried. I went to the spice shop and bought a bunch of fresh, new spices to try. I shopped at the farmer's market bringing home an armful of fresh produce, and I even scoured my cookbooks for new recipes. Yet, I still can't find the culinary joy within. 

Just recently, I was discussing this calamity with someone close to me and they made me realize that cooking was something I loved to share with my mom.  My mom and I used to discuss recipes, buy each other kitchen gadgets, utensils and special cookbooks. When we would visit each other, we would cook together and prepare meals for the family.  Mealtime and spending time around the table was an important activity for my family.

Today, I am still seeking out a way to bring back my passion and honor my mom in the process. Yet, in the meantime, I will just have to accept for myself that in my heart I am doing the best I can.

The Anger Continues

The silent treatment is a deadly game.... who is the giver and who is the seeker? Or who just doesn't want to play the game any longer... so tired of it all.   So very tired...
Isn't there a better way of arguing?  Why aren't we schooled in these things..
Thank goodness for friends and far away places...

Anger at its finest

Have you ever been so mad you can't see straight?  Have you ever known from your inner core that you were correct and yet, the other person kept blaming you and try to convince you something was all your fault?
Have you even just grown tired of the whole repetitive fiasco?  Well this is living testimony that so have I. Actually so am I, right here, right now... so very pissed off and whose fault is it anyway....

No Bad Race For me

A Reply from me to an email about someone in my running group having a "bad" race:

As far as I'm concerned,  I am happy to just be out there doing what I do. Then again, I am not the most competitive person on the planet, but each and every time I cross the finish line I am proud of myself.   Sure, it is obvious that I have better race days and times than others, but like Marc said, just use each race as a learning experience.  If you did great, what did you do? If you didn't do so hot, why not?  The worst thing to do is beat yourself up for completing something that many people only wish they could do.

One time I was having great difficulty completing a 9 mile run and it was thanks to Coach Judy (you are the best!!) that I was even able to finish.  I learned from that experience I was not eating a proper (for me) breakfast. After speaking with Judy and Halley on this topic I tweaked my pre-long run and pre-race meals and have been fine ever since. 

During that difficult day, Judy also made me realize again that I was in a very small percentage of people who woke up on Sunday morning and went running that distance--or went running, period.  That fact has stuck with me ever since.  

So, I know I am never going to win first place, but to me, winning is being able to run with great people, be physically active, and cross the finish line injury free and all in one piece.  :)

Why Can't I Protect Him Forever?

My son Grover is about to turn 18.  Even Grover, himself, thinks it's pretty surreal.  Just tonight he was saying that he can remember when he was 14 and how he thought 18 seemed so old and so far away. Now that he is just two weeks away from the big 1-8, he says he doesn't actually feel that old.  Yet, thinking back over almost two decades, all I can recall are all of the wonderful times Grover and I have shared together and how incredibly blessed I feel.

Now, I'm not just saying this because Grover is my son, but he truly is one of the most down to earth, intelligent teens I know. He makes relatively wise decisions and is very trustworthy.  He is also a straight-A student and he is about to attain the rank of Eagle Scout. Grover is also equipped with a super brain that aids him in the ability to fix or repair almost anything. There is not a day that goes by where I don't think about how lucky I am that Grover is so amazing--especially for a teenage boy about to reach adulthood.

Yet, even though Grover doesn't "feel old," he is dealing with many issues adults go through. For example, his decision not to immediately go away to college, but to attend the local junior college after he graduates high school (the program at the university he wants to attend is an intense 21 month straight program).  Or figuring out why he often has no money (he spends it all on Mexican food and movies). Or the pros and cons of dating a girl who is away at college.  (Although they have been friends for a couple of years and everyone is so happy they officially became a couple, there still seems to be some unavoidable dramas).

As a mother, I am always inclined to want to protect my "baby," but I don't think he always wants my protection.  I also believe that as a mom I won't be able to save him from all of the difficulties of life.
Yet, I have learned that the challenges of life are often what help us to grow. They are the things that, if we learn from them, we can use them to create an even better life for ourselves.  Therefore, maybe instead of trying to keep Grover in a protective bubble, I will instead aim to be there so that I may "soften the blows" and help him make sense of this complex life.  After all, the first phase of my active role as a mother is over and now I can sit back confident I have done the best I can  as Grover moves into adulthood and moves out on his own into the real world....

Some Gifts?

The phenonmenon of grief is one of the most difficult things a person may experience in his/her lifetime. And while grief tears you open,  rips you to shreds, and exposes your deepest inner core, it doesn't leave you in that state forever.

Eventually, the waves of emotion begin to feel more like ripples than the tsunamis they once were.  Oh those big waves don't ever totally go away, they just come to shore with less and less frequency, intensity and duration. And once the griever learns to ride the waves, new ways of navigation take them to unchartered territory.

Often, when a person recovers from the intense sadness and anger that grief is certain to create, they begin to put the broken pieces together and give life another try. At this point, if one is open, special "gifts" are revealed that were not present before. These are not always material items, they are often internal, highly personal and quite unique.

Still, in times of loss, being open to the "gifts of grief" is often a challenge, but once this is accomplished, embracing death becomes much easier and much more gentle on the soul.

Not This Life

     “It wasn’t supposed to happen this way,” Leila bawled into the empty room.  A chill shot down her spine and she fell to the living room floor as grief washed over her like a cold, heavy wave in the Pacific Ocean. It was a familiar sensation, one which she was actually starting to embrace.  And although she despised every single moment of it, the tears continued to flow without restraint.

    Between sobs, Leila thought about how she used to be a successful business woman, devoted wife, loving mother, and confident competitor; but nowadays, it seemed as though lamenting was all she could find the strength to do.  Her once passionate self was now listless and unmotivated.  The enthusiasm for hobbies and talents she so dearly loved, were now only fleeting memories of a lifetime which seemed so long ago.  She cried out, begging for things to be different, but knowing deep down there was not a damn thing she could do.

    Leila didn’t know how long she spent, yet again, curled up in the fetal position, but her swollen eyes and pounding head suggested it was longer than she would have liked.  She took a deep breath and tried to find some sort of self-control as she knew her beloved husband and teenage son were going to be home soon.

      Oh, the guilt Leila felt—the anger, the sorrow, and above all--the loss. She hated how it affected her life so intensely; her world would never be the same.   Deep down she still wanted to be a good mother and loving wife, but she couldn’t find it within herself to care any longer.  She scared herself with thoughts of wanting to end her life, but causing further pain to her very own family kept her hanging on by a bare thread.

Speaking of her family.. she heard the key in the lock, which meant they were home. On most days she greeted her husband and son with a smile; yet, nowadays it was all she could do to peel herself off the floor.  She lifted her head and watched as the people was trying to care about moved slowly toward her. She noticed the pained looks on their faces and she knew deep down that they too wished things were different.

     “Hi Honey, how are you doing today?” her husband asked with honest sincerity. 

     “How does it look like I’m doing?” Leila replied, trying to hide the anger in her voice. She knew none of this was her husband’s fault, but she couldn’t help wanting to blame him for not feeling the intense emotions of grief like she was.  She hated to admit that she secretly wished everyone she knew would experience some tragedy in their lives so they would understand why she was behaving this way.

     When she finally regained a tiny bit of composure and sat up to further concentrate on her family, Leila was yet again flooded with memories.  It seemed like the pattern was always the same: An intense reaction to the bitter, hard fact that her mother was dead--gone forever from her life--followed by an unstoppable recollection of the events leading to such an undesirable ending. Every single time these thoughts crossed her mind, she automatically grasped for breath, as her hands found their way to her heart. 

Leila’s heart… oh yes, that strong muscle of life, pumping freshly oxygenated blood through every inch of her sad body. The heart—modern symbol of ooey, gooey, sappy love, was now just a cavernous, cold black hole.