I Love a Parade

One of the many perks of living in downtown Lee's Summit is getting a front row seat for our Snake Saturday parade. From the comfort of our front porch, Penny and I watched the floats, dancers, and animals parade by. (Toby stayed inside. He HATES parades; the noise scares him.) Here's some highlights.

Fumbling in the Dark

Went to dinner with a friend tonight and she asked if I was still having fun blogging or if it was getting old. I still love the daily posting, but have gotten into a bad habit of waiting to post until right before bed. Believe it or not at 12:30am (or 1:45am tonight), my motivation is lacking. I want to skip posts some nights. I'm not doing this project for other people, but at the same time understand how vital an audience is to the process. Having an audience (no matter how small) has surprised me not only in the amount of support and encouragement I've felt, but in the effect blogging is having on my family and friends. The main reason I'm even posting tonight is because I was reading the blog of the friend who I had dinner with tonight and saw a post where she talked about me and what I'm doing here on this blog. She's reading, some of what I'm saying about myself is resounding with her, and she's been encouraged because of that. This matters, even if it's just to her, what I'm doing matters.

My whole family is now reading, which is a little daunting, encouraging but terrifying. Even as I type this I'm picturing them listening in. I've mentioned this before, but as curious as I am about who's reading, the anonymity of an audience is actually probably best when it comes to preventing myself from self-censoring. Knowing my mom or dad is probably reading each word makes this experience more intimate, and increases vulnerability as I'm exposing myself to people that I interact with in the real world outside of this online shield. My friends know me by my honesty so it may surprise them how reserved I can be inside of my own family. Retarded emotional development my counselor would say about this. I'm sure I'm not the only one out there who finds it riskier to be vulnerable within your blood relationships than with acquaintances. Somehow when it's inside the family it just matters more. I know I am loved and accepted for exactly who I am and that's comforting. But emotions between kin seem to carry more weight. Hurts are more tender, joys are more raucous, everything is just heavier. I'm being terribly inarticulate here. (Inarticulateness seems to increase with the lateness of the hour.) I'm not even sure where I'm going with this. I began this post unsure of what to say and now I've said something. It may be foggy and cluttered with confusion. I feel like an emotionally impaired person fumbling around in the dark trying to express something kind and meaningful to those who matter most to me, but failing to find the light switch illuminating what it is I really want to say.

So here's to a totally imperfect rambling post. If you've read this far, I'm sure you can extract some small sentiment. If not, let me just tell you now, thanks for reading, thanks for being a friend, thanks for being a Hogan, whoever you are thanks for bearing with me as I try to find my way in the dark.

The Giggles

Oh man this is going to be a sorry excuse for a post today, but oh well.

The internets (or interwebs if you prefer) have really been keeping Daniel and me entertained these past few nights. Here are the two things that made me laugh till I cried.

In honor of Korea abiding Tom and Bonnie:

You are my love my angel don't treat me like potato

This totally sounds like an argument me and Daniel just had, "Okay jeez, I'm sorry! I've been treating you like such potato lately honey."

Fugees & Funions (or is it Funyuns?):

Sorry for my immaturity. I'll do better tomorrow.

In Sickness and in Health...and in Loss of Alliteration

Daniel started in on one of his if-you-died-here's-what-I-would-do conversations again tonight. I say again because yes this happens semi-regularly. It usually involves what his grieving process would be like, what city he would move to, and what celebrity crush he would go on to marry. Tonight he turned the tables by coming up with a plan for me if I were the one finding myself widowed. And then he addressed another issue. He said he wanted there to be a clause in his will that allowed me to divorce him if he were in a vegetative state. I said I would never leave him if he were still alive (I mean how bad would I look if I divorced my husband just because he was completely incapacitated? "You're comatose and therefore no longer any use to me...goodbye.")

I told him that I was committed to him in sickness and in health. I've already proven my commitment to him by giving up something that I held near and dear to me for 25 years: my gorgeous, catchy, alliterating name. I had a great maiden name, Hattie Hogan. What a ring it has to it! People would often comment on how well my parents named me. The only negative comment I ever heard was that it sounded like a cartoon character, but that actually only proves how catchy it is...was. Tear.

I knew I would always take my husband's sir name, no matter what it was. I know it isn't right for every woman, but for me it was an important thing to do. It was a way for me to show my commitment, loyalty, and pride in belonging to this particular someone. When people hear my last name, I want them to associate me with my partner. This all sounds very noble right? I must confess that though I wanted to take his name, this was by no means an easy thing to do. On the deep level it meant giving up some of my independence, identity, etc. But at a basic, selfish level it meant giving up my alliteration.

In the back of my mind I always held onto the thought that if someday I ever wrote or did anything in the public eye, that I would use my maiden name. From a business stand point this is simply the smarter choice. If a reader is looking for an author in the bookstore, Hattie Hogan is much easier to remember than Hattie Cummings. This isn't to elevate one name above the other, it's simply a wise marketing choice that's all. I ran across my maiden name in some old journal or notes from college and it stuck out to me. The truth is that's not me anymore. It's a cute name (a really, really cute name). But my identity is Cummings now. It has been for quite a while. I'm not sure I can articulate it, but my second name suits me better now somehow.

At least I think it does.

In memoriam of my alliteration, let's grieve alongside some other fine women who entered into marriage vowing allegiance to their spouses in sickness and in health, and in loss of alliteration.

Allie Andrews (Statler)
Beth Benzinger (Morris)
and quite possibly the best alliterating name ever...Carly Kiick (Roach)

To the Kelly Klings, Mandi Morrows, and Addie Alexanders of the world, enjoy your gift while you still can.

And to the women who through marriage are able to gain the gift of alliteration, well congratulations. May you always be grateful for this gift and steward it well in honor of those that came before you in maiden-hood and as we forsook all others also forsook our alliteration.

Buyer's Remorse and Other Perils of Caffeine Sensitivity

I spent the day working from the Barnes and Noble cafe on the plaza where I enjoyed a delicious Starbuck's Chai Tea Latte. I'm not a coffee drinker, but have found a friend in Chai, and even that I don't drink very frequently. So when my body gets a dose of caffeine it can result in some serious side effects.

Caffeine is not recommended for those who suffer with anxiety as it can agitate an already "jittery" feeling. About an hour after consuming my beverage the side effects kicked in. At first it feels like an adrenaline rush, all is right with the world, everything is amplified (sounds, colors...I promise I'm not talking about ecstasy here, just tea). I had my head phones in so music only increases this adrenaline rush effect. Then comes the crash: shortness of breath, the jitters, racing heart (at least it feels like it's racing). Again I promise I'm not talking about ecstasy, though coming down from a high certainly sounds similar to what describing.

So I take deep breaths, turn off the music, drink some water, get some food in my stomach and try to convince myself that I don't need to rush outside to pull any cars off of old ladies trapped beneath. It's a little like an Incredible Hulk episode only Hulk not angry, Hulk just caffeinated and crazy.

A few years ago I was shopping with my friend Brea at Standard's warehouse sale and consumed a latte prior to our trip. I left the sale with a few purchases, spent a moderate, but perfectly acceptable amount of money, and found myself experiencing the most severe buyer's remorse. "I don't need this stuff. I'll never wear this. I can't take it back...final sale...FINAL...FOREVER...NOOOOO!" I had no idea where this panic was coming from and Brea pointed out that I just seemed a little over-caffeinated. Oh was that all? It was indeed. I came down from my jittery state and the buyer's remorse subsided.

This caffeine induced guilt does occur frequently for me, but that adrenaline rush, though temporary, feels so good. I'm sure heroine feels good too before you crash and burn, but you don't see me reaching for it. Maybe I need to rethink the Starbucks, but I'm sure it's fine. I can quit anytime I want to.

You Know You're Crazy When...

You know you're crazy when you think your dog is capable of using a camera.

I have often stated in this blog that I am a crazy person. I have completely irrational thoughts running through my brain on a regular basis. Remember the Volvo thought process? I'm not exaggerating when I tell you that my thought process on that issue was completely genuine. I love my dogs and am fully aware that they are in fact dogs and not people. I don't pretend that they are my babies or anything crazy like that, but still my brain processes my thoughts as such and I end up with crazy thoughts like these two examples that I submit here for your consideration:

First, Daniel and I were getting ready to take the dogs for a walk downtown and I wanted to take a picture of Daniel and me in front of this cool mural painted on the side of one of the buildings. But then I realized, "Who is going to take the picture since I want Daniel and me to both be in it?" Here was my brain's response to my own question: "Oh I'll just have one of the dogs take it." I'm not joking. I literally thought Toby or Penny could take the picture for us. I'm not sure how much of a delay there was before I realized how non-sensical this was, but it was not instantaneous by any means.

Second, I was thinking how fun it would be for my sister and brother in law to visit me overnight at Young Life camp, but then considered, "What would they do with their kids (my nieces) while out of town?" Ready for my crazy response..."They can just board them." Yes, board them. Like dogs. Again not sure at what point I realized the absurdity of this response, but for at least a few minutes my brain had accepted the feasibility of this option. I think it was 10 minutes later or so when glancing around my kitchen and spotting my dogs' kennels/crates that I even remembered having that thought. It's craziness didn't catch me off guard, but rather just floated through my brain amidst other normal everyday thoughts unchecked.

So if I ever end up in an institution, you'll know it was because I live in my own little world where dogs can operate cameras and children can be boarded in kennels.

Next Blog

For some the "Next Blog" link in the toolbar at the top of each blogger site is meaningless and thus neglected, but for others like me it has led to evenings engrossed in the lives and stories of complete strangers. How many of you, like me, cannot resist that link? When I began my own blog I was still pretty ignorant to the blogosphere, but now have uncovered a subculture of online purging where people will pour out their emotions, joys, tragedies, and even their secrets. It is a phenomenon I am fascinated by and am sure if there are not books about this online therapy already on the shelves, then there soon will be.

When looking for domain names for this blog I tried out a few to see if they were already taken. One idea was "A Year in the Life". This site is already preoccupied by a Jenifer who posted only once back in 2003. Ironically she wrote, "Jenifer made a blog. If she built it, will they come?" She did and they didn't. (What a waste of a great domain name for a failed blog.) Another idea for a title I had was "The Lazarus Project" identifying with Jesus' friend Lazarus whom Jesus raises from the dead. This is one of my favorite Bible passages where after Lazarus exits the tomb, Jesus orders that Lazarus' grave clothes be removed. I love the picture of him stripping off the burial linens representing death and putting on new clothes as he enters back into life. A powerful picture for me as I strive to shake off all those burdens that keep me walking around half alive. This domain was also taken already as well. This person posted only twice back in 2005. What happened to her? She talks about coming back to life and experiencing a reawakening. Where is she now? Still feeling renewed, alive...or stuck back into those dark places of death?

These two blogs were my first small glimpses into the stories floating around the online universe. I'm not sure if the next blog link sends you to blogs with similar subject manner as your own by picking up key words from your posts. I'm assuming this is the case sometimes seeing as how when I was writing frequently about Hannah's cancer, the link sent me to multiple sites of families struggling with cancer as well. One night the link sent me to a site where the last post was from a wife expressing her gratitude to everyone who made it to her husband's visitation. My voyeuristic urges plunged me into the story of a school teacher, coach, and husband suffering from and subsequently dying from cancer. It was also a story of a husband and wife loving one another quietly, simply, and patiently in the anticipation of death and separation from each another. I read backwards chronologically, like reading the last page of a novel before beginning the actual story. We live our own stories without the benefit of already knowing how they end. We must sit back and watch them unfold in front of us. Enduring the unknown and mystery of what the future holds can be excruciating. I cannot understand how this couple must have felt living through their story as it occurred. I began with his death, their journey began with mere symptoms of a great disease. The voice I began with was hers, the wife's. As I continued my reading, I read posts written by him, the husband, back when he was strong enough to write, to type, to think. She had taken over for him when the sickness began to overtake him. But his voice was there in the beginning, reporting of treatments, blood counts, procedures. I had already read the posts where they had come to accept their course, his end. But there were posts written earlier that were still full of questions, confusion, the possibility of healing...and hope. I watched his demise in reverse. While in reality he became sicker, as I read backwards, his faculties returned along with his strength and resolve.

The blog was created as an information station for family and friends to track his illness as well as offer support. From what I gathered by reading the numerous comments left on each post, this man and his wife were well loved, not only by family, but by friends and students and former students. He impacted the lives of the kids he worked with both in the classroom as well as on the court as their coach. And now in his time of greatest need, they were there. "You can do it coach!" "We love you coach!" "You were my favorite teacher Mr. Z."

It was (is, I have to remember this was a real person, a true story. As far removed as you can become by invading someone's life online, one must remember that it still happened. He existed. He had a family, a wife, kids, friends. He was real and his story is real.)...it is a heart wrenching story, but I walked away from the site feeling privileged to have encountered a beautiful life. What I read was a collection of posts, some only a sentence or two with others filling my entire screen at once, but what I saw was a life well lived. I did not know him, or her, but I know about them. I know that he loved others and was loved in return. I know that she loved him and loved him passionately especially during hospice while waiting patiently, never rushing him, at the end. I know that he died with dignity and peace. I know that his absence is marked with sadness and loss.

I always feel guilty reading things I know weren't intended for my eyes. But maybe I shouldn't in some cases. I didn't intrude or disrespect this couple, this family, this community, but rather embraced their story with humility gleaning from them all that I could. Judging from Mr. Z's impact on those in his life, I think he would be proud but humbled to know that his life well lived impacted yet another person...stranger or not.

So beware of the next blog button. Not only may you find yourself in the middle of a powerful story being told by a fellow sojourner, but someone else may walk into your story. I'd love your thoughts on this post.