When my world stopped turning...

All news reports have been 9/11 focused the last week, I have to be honest and say that it in conjunction with working from home (has it's pros and con's) has not helped my emotional levels and anxiety issues. We have watched documentaries and been bombarded with news reports of the possibility of yet another attack. I didn't personally know anyone that died that day, but i knew the fear that many felt, the confusion and the disillusion of what the World was becoming.

It happened my senior year of high school... year 12... or the last year of high school/ college for all of my non-American friends. I was in computer class, doing my work without a clue of what was happening in the outside world. We were all scheduled to attend an assembly in the gymnasium in honor of one of our teachers... Mr. Collins, he was being honored as teacher of the year for the state I believe, or something similar. As we made our way to the doors, a few friends ran up informing me that the world was ending, the world as we knew it, they told of the crashes and the terror and the fear... though I am not sure it had fully sunk in. We went through the assembly, obviously a bit different as the teachers had a responsibility of dealing with hundreds of kids and our questions, concerns and issues. I then headed to college English with Mrs. Davila, we sat on our desks that were tables and stared in unison at the television as long as was possible, the same scenes over and over, the planes flying into the buildings... the terror on the faces of those fleeing the building, the security that was going into effect around the rest of the country. Tara, my best friend growing up, we realized was wearing a shirt that day, it read New York on it and had the skyline in the background, the twin towers standing tall and proud.

I left school that day to meet up with a friend, Gay Bates, to go to dinner and shopping. We kept with our plans, not really knowing what else to do. But when we got to the shops, half of them had closed down, the restaurant  we ate at had the news blasting on every television. I stopped on the way home behind the lines of people to get gas, as the nation was unsure of what would become of our fuel supply, of everything. And I got news that my dad's work was under careful surveillance, the nuclear power plant was enforcing a no fly zone over their premises and they were under ultra high security.

That is all I really remember about it, I think I mentally removed myself from the rest of it, wouldn't let it really sink in or really deal with the fear it caused me to have.

For a final project in that college English course we did a copulation of our own writings, there were several titles we were given to walk us through our lives. We had the leisure to change them if we felt like they didn't relate to us. I don't remember what the topic had been, but I remember making it into "where was I when my world stopped turning" It had stories of friends parent's passing away, a friend of mine dying, Princess Diana dying, 9/11, and Columbine. Since then, there have been many other stories that could be added to this chapter, all playing a huge part of my life, and the more I come to understand myself, the more I realize that I have not dealt with so many of them to the extent they deserved, or that my heart has needed.  

I hope that as tomorrow comes and goes, the world stays calm, remembers and takes time to realize how blessed we all are, how much we take for grated and to stop and truly enjoy life and what we have!

A child in a grown up world

It amazes me how I have a "real" job, pay rent and live this grown up life of bills and responsibilities... and yet.... I feel like an absolute child so much of the time. These bumps (the doctor says it's an allergic reaction, of course it is, my stupid over sensitive skin), I have been given some prescription cream, but it isn't helping now and all I want to do is itch it, Alex the parent in the situation gets onto me and forces me to stop. And shocker, I don't want to! I want to scratch and itch until I can't possibly do it any longer, if it were up to me, the irresponsible child in the situation I would probably go until my skin gave way and I began to bleed.
I don't like it and it's not fair, but then... life is not fair I guess. In my full adult rational I have deducted shopping would help! Ah, if only! I have made my basket, and filled it up on the Internet... the items will sell, and go home to someone else's address, be wonderful surprises in their boxes and adorn their bodies on wonderful fun adventures.

I feel my natural coping mechanisms kicking in... mine, it is reversion! I want to cuddle up in a blanket, with a big bowl of ice cream and watch shows and movies from years ago, springing to mind are boy meets world and home improvement.

The difference in my mind is that as a child it is all harmless, it would be some silly little thing, I would be able to curl up and watch all the silly little shows I wanted to, my mom would bring me the bowls of ice cream and dad would make the best cinnamon toast the world has ever known. I would lay on the floor on a make shift pallet of the downstairs den and be pampered to my hearts desire. The reality of now, Alex also does not feel well, he has more of a cold which thank God I have not caught yet, the two together would be even more miserable. So, I still help cook, and clean, and take care of Baxter, the household responsibilities are still there and we don't have any ice cream... or enough blankets to make a pallet.

I hope that some day I am able to spoil my children the way I remember it, so the horrible times of coughs, itches, aches and all the pains that are unavoidable during a lifetime so the time passes by and what is left are the good memories of it.

Waiting for Summer...

As the weekend marks the beginning of September, official back to school-football season- and all the wonderful autumn bits in my mind I realize that something significant is missing... I am still waiting for summer to start. I am quite confused of what happened in the natural order of seasons. We went from a cold December, they say the coldest in years, though I fully believe I only feel that way because at the time we were living in a drafty flat with no wonderful bathtub and I walked much more than I normally have to outside during these times, to and from the tube. A few small dashings of snow fell this year and the city came to a bit of a grinding halt, public transport slowed if not stopping all together and people caused a fuss. We got past the winter though and came into Spring. There were some "unseasonably" warm days I was told. They were lovely spring days... and I too found myself giving into the wimpyness of the Londoners with their ultra sensitive climate noticing bodies. Complaining at the heat of the 20 degree temperature range.... 30... getting above thirty! That was unheard of, unacceptable, just far too hot... I mean that is the kind of weather we had in Marrakech! We then came into summer, or so this is what the dates told me, though I continued to wait on the "summer" weather. I heard consistent reports from the states of the 100 plus fahrenheit  weather they had day after day. I did wear shorts some, but was always sure to have a cardigan or sweater along.

London doesn't have the true four seasons, I am a bit disappointed to say. I haven't found myself urning to wear my jeans, blazers, sweaters and coats... though instead I have been wearing them throughout the entire year. It does help with shopping a bit, as you wear everything, all year round. Though it takes away from so much of the fun of having different groups of clothes.

So, as I realize to me, summer really wasn't ever here... I never wore a swimsuit in London, only on our holidays (Italy, Sweden, and Morocco were the only destinations warm enough to grant such a luxury.) I never wore many of my tank tops without a cardigan near by. The air conditioner was never turned on, no fan was needed, we did open the windows some, though not necessarily to help cool down, but just to let a bit of the fresh outside in.

The cult of vanity

We go through life thinking we know ourselves oh so well, we know what we like and don't and what is important to us. I wouldn't be so daring to make the over confidant statement that I don't care about looks... I do, I love fashion, the art, the feel, the experience and just the all encompassing... well everything of fashion. I like to be somewhat fit and not look like a total slob, but I see all of these more as just being myself. I don't wear much make up, I wear comfortable clothes often (OK... all the time), and heals are usually put on at the last moment, I don't go to tanning beds or have fake nails, breasts, nose or anything fake for that matter. 

Though there have been a few times in life when I get knocked back and realize that I myself too am part of this vain club. Once, was the first year of high school, I was at a football game and decided I needed gum, purchased a blow pop and bit down a bit too hard and popped off a false covering which had been placed years earlier over a chipped tooth, a mishap from my younger years. I had a full on freak out, and demanded my mother aid me in getting a dentist to do an emergency call over the weekend. With my talking and thinking we actually decided to wait for 1st thing Monday morning... I remember her asking me to really think about how horrible I was being, how difficult I really thought I had it. I thought about it and gave in, realizing how easy I really did have it and how much more difficult others really did have it. She took me to an area called galloway village, we popped in and out of little shops, I resisted talking to people on the chance they might notice the small bit missing from my tooth. This area, galloway, later became my secret, or not so secret refuge. It has a trail that runs through the village and the park called sequiota, and many, many days I managed self provided therapy via my runs there. 

Now some 9 years later, I find myself again struggling with an issue, being vain and wanting to remain covered, trying to remember how much more difficult so many others have it. I don't really know what is wrong with me, there are just small bumps on my legs, they itch and some now appear on my arms, and stomach. I go to the doctor tomorrow and am in serious prayer that they will be able to help straight away. Most people don't notice it.. OK no one does unless they see me itching it. I notice it, I think it is shouting out at the world. When Alex and I first met he loved my legs, and still does... thus I became emotional and freak out that he can't possibly love my legs anymore. He assures me that this is not the case, that he doesn't notice them unless I itch them and draw it to his attention with my complaining. 

I know I need to step back and realize the fortune that I have, as well as I am sure so many other people do.  I am grateful for all that I have been blessed with and the wonderful health I have been given!