Man At The Bar

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A wise old Indian named Grandpa Bob once told me this story. It is one that I cherish to this day and keeps his memory alive for me.

He said to me one day through his coke bottle glasses. “AmandaJean at the end of our lives we are all sitting at the bar drinking a beer.”

Some of us are sitting there crying in our beer because our lives are filled with regrets, with should of, would of, could of, regrets of chances not taken, and roads not traveled. Because they didn’t really live, they died while living.

Down at the Other end there is an old man with a group of people gathered around him, he is laughing and having a good time. Telling these people the stories of his life. Of his adventures, his love and the big fish that had gotten away. This man he had lived a full life and was ready to die.

In the end I want to be the old man laughing in his beer, the one with all of the tales. That is why I jump at every opportunity I get, because when the end is near you will never again have the chance to live, there are no do overs, just one road that we must all choose to walk on. An I choose the path of adventure that will lead to the stories at the bar.

18 Months

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It didn’t dawn on me what today was until I peeled off April 21 from my Wizard of Oz desk calendar. I stared at the number 22 for a moment, shrugged and grumbled to a coworker about needing more sleep. I knew it was Earth Day and that, thank God it was Friday. Then I received a text from a friend saying “Yay your almost half way to 2 yrs of survivorship.” Then it dawned on me. Today marks 18 months since my pulmonary embolism and minor stroke.

18 months have come and gone so quickly. Life has been a beautiful disaster. A disaster I am greatfull for. There have been blunders and rants, followed by joy and triumph. I never stopped to ask “why did this happen to me,” instead I chose to ask “Why not me.” I am a firm believer that God never puts more on our plates than we can handle.

I look forward to my 2 year pulmiversary with great excitment

Here’s to another awesome 6 months and counting

A Night at the MN Opera

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Wuthering Heights

Minnesota Opera presents “Wuthering Heights,” the opera based on Emily Brontë’s novel, is now showing at the Ordway through April 23rd (tomorrow).

Wuthering Heights did not disappoint. It is one of the few operas sung in english and the score invokes deep-rooted passion, misery, and the heart wrenching pang of lust. A lust that transcends class that is not weakened by separation. Lust that continues beyond the grave, as Heathclif asks Cathy to haunt him until his last dying day. An haunt him she does, her voice trails through the halls, as he demands her spirit to come into the walls of Wuthering Heights. Heathcliff is haunted, tormented, and driven mad by the woman he craves, by the lust he never quenched.

The back drop is a gloomy walled Wuthering heights, that opens to a lush green flower filled moor. The projections designed by Wendall K. Harrington create an effective visual representation of the music. The images transport you to the lush moors and grip the changing seasons at Wuthering heights. The visuals brought the stage to life and left me wondering what was next.

Conductor Michael Christie brought the Ordway to life. The opera really pops when textures and melodies intertwine. You feel the grip of emotion as the strings take you to a crescendo of devoted love and the pain felt at Wuthering Heights. The vocals filled with passion and pain, invoke the emotions of love lost.

It was beautiful, heart wrenching, and darn right amazing. It had been a while since I’d been to the opera. Oh an I must say I didn’t go alone. The Irs man came with and he liked it as well. I would highly recommend this opera to anyone. It’s a must see.

Disclaimer: I received free tickets from the Minnesota Opera. All views are my own.

The Three Fs

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The three Fs help me through every situation and make life worth living. What are they you ask? Its simple: Faith, Family and Friends.

FAITH

I was raised in a primarily Lutheran/Catholic town, with a sprinkle of Methodist. I was part of the sprinkles.

At a young age I learned what God was and how he could either save you or leave you. Mostly I learned that its mind of matter. At the tender age of 4 I understood God and was thankful to him because he, he had saved me so I could play with my Barbie’s.

My Father is the most religious man I know, he can quote the Bible like no buddies business. Yet he has rarely set foot in a church outside of weddings and funerals. He taught me that God Lives in our hearts, not in the brick and mortar that we flock to. That God is in the water, the air, the trees, he is in everything. I just had to open my eyes and listen. On the other hand my Mom made sure we went to church every Sunday, minus my Father, he was allowed to stay home and watch GI Joe. ( I was mad because I loved that cartoon and didn’t get to watch it) Instead I had to wear a stuffy itchy dress and sit in church, all while knowing GI Joe was on at home.

GI Joe would be the least of my worries in life. I have come to find my spiritual self. My faith is strong and its something I have mish mashed together. Combining the spiritual beliefs of my Ojibway side and mixing it with a sprinkle of Methodist. I just call my concoction Faith so strong it sets your heart on fire. Honestly, I know God exist, in those dark quite times, he’s there with us and when the sun shines he whispers in our ear “Go Ninja Go!”

FAMILY

What can I say I love my family through and through. They are my foundation, my base, an anchor to my soul. My Mama tells me “I didn’t raise you, you….you raised yourself. Your father and I were just lucky enough to be along for the ride.” Its true I did practically raise myself with their help of course. I listen to their advice, heed their warnings, and do what I want regardless. They pick me up when I fall and cheer me on as I rise.

My Mama is one of the most courageous women I know. She came from a poor farm family of 10 kids, they had nothing. Yet, she had a desire to create something better, to do better, and be better. My Mother she…she was one of the first women in Minnesota to hold a heavy equipment drivers license. Yup, she was! She was a first and she drove that dump truck better than a man ever could. She always told me that women can do what ever they want in life. An to never let a MAN tell you, you can’t. Because you can. My Mama has had many careers in her life which lead her from the coal yard, to health care and eventually the kitchen. She no longer drives a dump truck, hasn’t done it in years, today she’s wielding a tongs and shouting orders in the kitchen.

Now my Daddy he’s like a cat! The man has 9 lives, nothing can get him down. Its funny I don’t call my Father, Dad. I call him Pete. Pete isn’t even his real name, but to me he is and always will be Pete. My father is some what of a legend in Red Wing. I’m not sure if any of the old stories are true. However I am certain that he had to do something pretty good to earn the nick name “The Animal.” I’ve seen men quake in their boots at his meer presence in a grocery store, the gas pump and so on. If only they saw him today, he is a shadow of his former self. I got two things from Pete, My curly hair and my A.D.D “its a family tradition.”

When I was a little girl Pete would take me fishing, we never caught anything, yet I cherish those moments and memories that he gave me. I learned everything I know about trimming trees, growing plants, and orchards from my Father. Those are handy skills to have. Unlike most Fathers, Pete took an active role in raising my sister and I. He was a stay at home Dad. My mama she wore the pants, brought home the bacon and Pete, well he cooked it. Watered down Koolaide and steak were his dinner specialties. Winter was never his thing, spring and summer where the seasons he cherished. On cool summer nights he’d let us sit in the back of the old Ford pick up truck as he drove through the countryside, the breeze whipping my curls as I slurped my slushy. Nothing mattered, it was just me, Pete, and my dreams.

They say a parents success in life is judged by the success of their children. I’d say my parents are pretty darn succesful and I’ve got the ninja skills to prove it!

FRIENDS

Life is more fun when spent with friends. Friends come and go, but they always leave an impression on your soul. I have more BFFs than I can count and love every single one of my friends like family. They keep me sane, listen to me whine, and laugh when I fall. They only laugh because I probably tripped over a crack or something. We dry each others tears, live like were dying and laugh until our stomachs hurt. It’s nice to know that I’ve got friends all over the globe and that no matter where I go, I always have a place to stay. My BFF Joy said it best “Know that no matter where you go in this world, what happens, and what you do, you always have a home with me.”

I hope you have the three Fs in your life. Without the three Fs life isn’t a journey worth taking. If you lose faith, just remember that deep inside there is a ninja and when you don’t think you can go on. Slip on your suit, let that ninja take over, and let your kung fu fly. Lean on your family, if you don’t like your family make your own. I hope you have more friends than you will ever need in this world. Friends truly make this place brighter.

Infertility = A Broken Dream with Options

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Ever since I can remember I’ve always had this feeling that I would never have my own children. As a little girl I was obsessed with cabbage patch kids and pound puppies because you could adopt them.

After my miscarriage my cycle never returned to normal. In which the doctors told me that it was normal and would take sometime to balance out. In February I had a bunch of test done, an ultra sound, and some other things. The results came back a few weeks later, I never went in to find out. Part of me knew it wasn’t good. So I just put it off.

Put it off until last week, sitting in a waiting room full of new moms glowing with pride and some looked like they were going to burst. I felt a tug and some how knew, that this would never be in my cards. Is it just me or are exam rooms always freezing. The doctor he came in and looked at me with sadness. He said ” I’m Sorry that I have no good news for you today. ” Swallowing hard I looked at him and said “Give it to me straight, no sugar-coating please.” He did just that, he flat-out said “I’m sorry but you will never carry a child.” I could feel the tears welling in my eyes, it took everything in me not to let them fall. The explanations were given, the odds were not in my favor, and the only child I would ever carry is in heaven. I told the doctor “I feel cheated and like someone robbed me of my options.” He just put his hand on my knee and said “You can always adopt or have a surrogate carry for you.” Looking blankly out the window, I told him ” I know, I know.”

My appointment was over, in a matter of 45 minutes my dream was crushed, ripped in two, and stomped on. I felt like the wind was sucked out of me and that I was some how a terrible woman. As I put the prius into drive, the tears they finally came rolling down. All I could think of was running, running far away, that some how it was all a dream. It wasn’t a dream. I did what any woman would. I fixed my make up and went into work, I acted like nothing had changed, yet on the inside I was crushed.

Crushed that this was my new normal. A life without fertility. I mourned, got mad, and then realized there’s a whole world out there waiting. I am not yet at a place in my life where I am ready to adopt or interview surrogates. So I am going to take time for me and finally put myself first. Along with many dreams that I put on hold, a big dream was to join the peace corps. Someone said “your only running away from your infertility, spending 27 months abroad isn’t going to make the problem go away.’ I’m not looking to erase the problem, I have to live with a no good rejected uterus every day, I can’t escape it and it , it can’t escape me.

I let my mind wonder as I walked around Calhoun. Actually wonder to the hmm what would life be like without children place. I could 1. travel a ton, 2. go to law school, pass the bar and become one heck of a lawyer, 3. join the peace corps, 4. I could have a flexible schedule. Then I thought, hmm I am 28 and since my uterus is all ready broken, I have no biological clock to worry about. Maybe when I am 40 I will think about adoption, yup when I am 40 I will maybe adopt. Slowly I am allowing my mind to travel to the life without children place and at first it was scary, but now its a cooling calm.

A calm that I am ok with, truly and honestly I am ok with it. One friend said to me: “Um AmandaJean you’re not datable anymore.” looking puzzled I asked “how the heck is that.” Her response “men like women who can have their babies and well you can’t.” Umm I am pretty sure I can find someone who doesn’t wants kids, can’t have them, or thinks adoption is an option. I am not worried one bit, heck marriage is for the birds, I’ve been down that road once and it didn’t go well. Plus I don’t need a man or a child to define who I am, I am a woman, one heck of a woman and that comforts me.

Uncharted Plans

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Planning is one thing I am good at. I can plan my life out right down to the finest detail. Yet, nothing I do ever goes according to plan.

I’ve learned over the years that plans are meant to be broken. That if you plan out every detail of your life, you lose your sense of wonder, and never learn to veer.

It was always my plan to go to law school, never get married, and maybe one day I’d adopt. It’s funny how at 23 I took a flying leap of that train, got married, gave up law school, and well became a step mom. A housewife is something I could never be, I never felt fulfilled or complete. The x he knew this and tried to fill in the void, he never really understood that I gave up a dream for him. At 27, I put myself first for once and moved on. On to a better day and a new time for me.

People ask will you get married again. The answer is maybe, but most likely not. For some reason I find comfort in knowing that I am free to walk away and not be bound by paper. Divorce is messy, breaking up is hard, yet cleaner and less expensive than a divorce.

My parents were only married for 1 year, got an annulment and have been living together happily unmarried for 35 years. That right there stands for something, maybe they have it right. Maybe marriage is for the birds.

One thing I know is, I want a relationship like theirs. 35 years of stories, tears, laughter, and adventure. I do not want a ring or a certificate to define me or my love for who ever my future partner is.

The Other Shoe Dropped

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I’ve come to know in my 28 years on this planet that life never goes smoothly. Just when things are falling into place and the feelings of normal set in. A curve ball comes crashing through.

One day I am perfectly fine and dandy. The next it can be turbulent and filled with the unknown. I should be use to this by now. As a person living with a Kidney disease you never know what you are going to wake up to and how you will feel. Most days go by without incident or thought, then there are the days like Monday.

Monday, brought the what ifs back. Sitting at Park Nicollet, I knew what was wrong and how it needed to be fixed. The doctor he just looked at me and said its bad. Six hours later I walked out of there with a sore arm and back from the injection sites, an rx for more antibiotics and vicodin. He advised me to rest as much as possible and to push the fluids through.

This is my normal, a normal I’ve come to love and hate. It is what it is, I can’t change the hand I was dealt nor will my disease magically disappear. For me, it has made me humble and reminds me that each day that I wake up healthy is truly a gift.

Communication

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It’s hard to remember a time where I didn’t text, tweet, or Facebook the moments of my life. Maybe as humans we are a little to connected. So connected in fact that we no longer have the ability to miss someone because they are always at our finger tips. I’m not gonna lie I use more text messages per month than I do minutes, phone calls somewhat annoy me. Yet, I call my father every day, mostly because he can’t text and thinks twitter is something for the birds. Realizing that I normally rush my father off the phone in a rude hurry, today I actually listened.

It came up in conversation the other day that maybe we are to connected to each other. When dating I often send a few texts to show that I am interested. In the past when I haven’t done this, the men fire back with, “so are you not into me? Why aren’t you texting?” Maybe these men were just lazy or so hungry for human touch, they craved the ping of their phone. That some how my texts proved to them that they were desirable and needed.

I have finally met the other end of the spectrum. Someone who can survive and still like me without the constant battle of text messages flying back and forth. Today was the first day in a long time, that I didn’t really tweet or text. Best part is my world didn’t fall apart and I wasn’t constantly glancing at the Blackberry. Maybe this man, will help me unplug from my way to connected life.

After the Storm the Sun Always Shines

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The sun is finally shinning, its been a while since I felt its rays against my skin. The sun is a subtle reminder that with the spring comes rebirth. That after the long hard winter, the sun always shines.

I am reminded that beyond the storm lies calm. An in the calm lies the sun, if we stand in its light it will warm out hearts and we will truly feel the grace of God.

I have weathered many storms in my life, some so turbulent and strong I never thought I’d see the light. Yet my faith, friends, and family (The three Fs) always got me through. I hope all of you whether each of life’s storms with grace and revel in the sun.

Speck of Faith In My Little Toe

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Sometimes I wake up cursing and wishing that I could have my old pre-pulminary embolism life back. It’s a wasteful wish, I know, but part of me still hopes I will return to the old me.

The me who used to run fast and far with her dog at her side. One who didn’t have to calculate how much vitamin K was in her food, or pay attention to odd feelings in her chest. There are days where I just want to drop the ball, chuck the aspirin in the can, and run far.

Run far away. Yet, its days like this I reach deep within to pull out any speck of faith I have left. It usually hides in my little toe, that last speck of faith. I use it to get up, to move, and get through my day. Winter is over thank God!

Winters cool crisp air ripped through my lung like a knife cutting butter. Every breath I took on those bitter days was filled with pain. They say spring is going to arrive any day now. Springs air is cool, moist and thick, it feels like I have to gulp the air in and push it down. I am reminded, that I shouldn’t complain because the alternative to this is death. I can consider my gulps, my pain, and this crazy lung as a badge of honor. Honor, that I wear tightly wrapped around my heart and proclaim to all that I am a survivor through and through.

Surviving isn’t a method or a skill, it is something you earn. You chart your own course, create your own plan, and live with faith so strong it can set your heart on fire. I hug tighter, laugh more often, listen a little longer, and love harder.

This experience has made me aware that little things in life don’t matter, it’s the moments that count and the journey that’s worth taking. I used to be obssed with the destination, I saw things only one way and now I muddle my way through. It may take me longer to get there, but at least I will have a story to share.

So this morning as the pain filled my chest and the muppet scampered before me, I reached into my little toe, pulled out that speck of faith and got up. Got up, washed down a gazillion vitamins, pills, and my all coveted life saver the aspirin. As long as I keep moving and don’t lose faith I will win the battle and conquer the war.