Scent of a Woman

This morning as I was walking our adorable dog, I caught the scent of lilacs. It was a strange thing, as like most people, I associate lilacs with spring time.

Again, this morning at work, the same scent whiffed through the air. Same fragrance of lilacs … except now I had this image in my mind of the purple lilac bush in the backyard of my childhood home.

Despite the fact that I was born and raised Catholic and went to 12 years of Catholic school, I don’t consider myself a very “good” Catholic. However, I do consider myself a relatively spiritual person.

I believe that there is a higher being out there that watches over me; a person who is there to observe my thoughts and actions, but who is also nonjudgmental with the path in life I decide to take.

I choose to believe this because I need to know that there is someone out there (besides my husband) who supports me when I need it most. I don’t demand this higher being to prove His/Her existence; He/She wouldn’t need to say one word to provide further proof. All the faith I need is that I feel that unconditional love and support. I need to know that there is some positive “force” in my life.

After experiencing the aroma of lilacs for the second time in a matter of hours, I realized what … or rather who was infiltrating my senses.

This is when my spirituality comes into play; my belief that there is life outside of this existence. Perhaps it’s based on previous experiences. Or maybe it’s just because I’ve always had an open mind to these types of things.

This morning, I believe my Grandma Rose came to visit me.

Grandma Rose loved the color purple. I could never imagine her wearing anything else but all shades of purple. Which is why, despite her namesake flower, I have always associated the lilac bush in my parent’s backyard with her.

So when the smell of lilacs overcame me for the second time today, I just knew that it was Grandma reminding me that she was looking over me; acknowledging that I had finally made the decision to live child-free with my Hubby. It’s as if she was letting me know that, even though I always wanted to have a house full of children like her (I have/had 10 aunts and uncles from her alone!), it was okay that I didn’t achieve that dream.

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I can’t believe the outpouring of love and support I received on my blog after publishing the previous post. Every comment was a reminder to me of exactly why I continue to write … of why I express many of my most private thoughts and feelings to the public.

It’s amazing how total strangers (well, not all of you are strangers anymore …) can provide that unconditional love and support I’ve needed during the most difficult times in my life. These “strangers” have literally taken me from feeling incredibly isolated with no one (but Hubby, of course) to turn to … to feeling as if I’m in a room full of Adoption, Pregnancy Loss and Infertility (ALI) gals. It’s as if these “strangers” become that positive force I’ve learned to turn to when, at times, I felt paralyzed in taking a step forward.

But despite the incredible love and support I’ve received from the ALI community and from close friends alike, I still can’t seem to shake off some of the sadness that comes with this decision.

Part of me thinks that, despite the fact that we’ve been living without children for years, the reality of saying that we’re living child-free is so … FINAL. Even though Hubby & I both know that it could change at any moment.*

Mostly, I think it’s because I’m searching for the “approval” of those other important people in my life; those family members who may have looked to us to continue the family lineage and those traditions that both our families hold dear. I wonder how they feel about this decision. And if, by making this choice I’ve disappointed them in some way, shape or form.

Logically, I know it shouldn’t matter what they think. I know that this is the right decision for Hubby & I at this time. It has allowed us to open our hearts and minds to new adventures in life.

Emotionally? Well, that’s a different story.

But this morning’s visit from Grandma Rose and all the warmth and love I’ve received over these past few days … Well it’s those positive things I should continue to focus on.  Because, somehow I know I’ll need to depend on that energy on those days … those moments I need it the most.

Thank you again, from the bottom of my heart,
for every kind word and encouragement.

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My Grandma Rose with all her kids. Guess which one is my Mom?

* Meaning that we’re not closed to the idea of having children;
but if the right opportunity should come along …

Cutting The Strings

This post has been a long time in coming. Truthfully, this should have been written a few months ago. However, between preparations for the audit at work and having just recently had the conversation with Hubby a week ago, the timing just didn’t seem right.

A year ago earlier this month, I was in Chicago interviewing for the position that I now hold. The very same one that has given me much stress and headaches over the past 11 months. The same one that has made me realize exactly how strong I really can be … without the hormonal emotions getting in the way.

I specifically mention the “hormonal emotions” for a reason. That’s because when I look back during those active “baby-trying” years , I can now see how much strength I needed in order to get me through that period.

Except I can honestly say that I never feel that I was strong at all during that time period. I felt as I was living day-to-day, hoping that somehow I would catch a break from all the “hard work” I was putting into starting my family.

Whereas with the “challenges” I faced this past year … well, they didn’t feel like a day-to-day struggle. There was always an end in site for each new challenge I faced. From the very beginning of “Operation: Move to Chicago,” there was a goal in mind that was achievable:

• Find an apartment; check.
• Start new job; check.
• Survive living alone in new city for three months with seeing Hubby only on the weekends; check.
• Get through six months at new job without being fired from “My way or the highway” boss; check.
• Live through high profile work audit with dignity intact; check.

Everything I faced since moving here was (relatively) successful; with that bright light guiding me to the end of a dark tunnel.

Unfortunately that same bright light was never there when facing the darkness that is infertility.  And, in my case, definitely not successful … at least in the way that I defined success.

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There’s this memory I have from back in my high school years. It’s back when Disney began to start re-releasing classic movies on VHS tapes. The idea was so that a person could own these movies before they were put back into the “vault” of classic Disney animation.

My mother totally bought into that smart marketing ploy. In fact, she bought many videos including The Little Mermaid, Beauty and the Beast, and … if I can recall, Sleeping Beauty. AND she wouldn’t even open them; storing them away in her dresser, in her own personal “vault.”

“Not fair,” I remember telling her. Especially since I loved Ariel and Belle. “Couldn’t we just open them up and watch them once?”

“No,” she had told me. She was saving them for her future grandchildren. So that she can sit down and watch these movies with them, whenever they came over to visit.

This memory, as inconsequential as it may seem to others, is one that cuts me incredibly deep. It’s a reminder of how I’ve failed to fulfill my parents’ dream of becoming grandparents.

Never mind that I already felt horribly bad that my body was not able to give my husband a child of his own. This specific memory reminds me that I’ve probably disappointed my parents as well. That I haven’t been able to give them the grandchildren that they’ve always wanted.

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I’ll be honest that one of the many reasons Hubby & I moved to Chicago was start fresh. There had been way too much emotional Infertility baggage that I had been carrying around for years. And although I had been working very hard at purging that baggage, I could never fully put it away … at least into a place within me that could make things manageable.

So putting some physical distance between myself and the baggage (which held waaay too many memories of hurt and disappointment), as well as the physical location where most of these memories occurred, was something I felt I needed to do.

And it’s with the blessing of my very supportive husband that we found ourselves moving out-of-state; away from the only “home” I had ever known.  All this is in effort to be exposed to new people and to be open to new challenges. To have a fresh outlook on where Hubby & I stand in our quest to have a family.

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Next October will be my 20th High School Reunion. Part of me is interested in seeing where everyone is at in this stage of life; to see how far they’ve come since we were teenagers. Then there’s the rebel in me that thinks, “Pshaw … HS Reunions are so ‘Peggy Sue Got Married’! We must break this cycle at once!”

And then there’s the Infertile (with a capital “I”) in me. The one with no children. The one with nothing exciting to show for my life over the past 20 years, other than a degree (only undergrad, to boot!) and a good job. I’ve no kids to brag about; I’ve no incredible 3,000 square foot house to talk about. All I have is a decent walk-up apartment in the city and fur children that shed hair all over the place, including my clothes.

At least I have an incredible husband who I can show off and brag about.

As it is, I’m still debating on whether I want to go or not. However, what I do know is that a bunch of the HS friends that I still keep in touch with, will be planning a more low-key get-together some time next year. That should, at the very least, be a “milestone” something to look forward to next year.

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I’ve had the pleasure of (finally) seeing my new family physician, not once but twice in the past few months. One was the quick one-over, “Hi, nice to meet you” -type of visit. The second was my yearly female parts check-up.

Both times my physician asked me if I was interested in pursuing further treatment for my infertility. And both times, I told my physician I still wasn’t ready to make that decision. I was in the midst of still adjusting to my new job in a new city.

And I needed more time to separate want vs. need, hope for the future vs. more disappointment, treatment vs. acceptance.

Let me say it’s extremely strange to go from living in one State where In vitro Fertilization (IVF) is not covered, to currently living in a State where it now is. To now have that option to choose what course of treatment that Hubby & I would like to pursue in creating our family.

For those that don’t know, infertility treatments are sometimes not covered by health insurance in certain States. There may be some aspects of treatments that are covered (such as the work-up and, at times, the medications), but for the most part infertility treatments — and specifically IVF is not.

The Infertile RN in me thinks it’s utterly cruel to allow coverage for the work-up of the infertility diagnosis and then turn around and not cover the treatment for it. Even though IVF is not a “guarantee” that one would be successful in starting a family, there’s still that little bit of chance that it becomes successful in “curing” that person’s infertility.

I relate it to treatment for cancer. Much like chemotherapy and/or radiation therapy is considered standard treatment for a person with such a condition … it’s never a “100% guarantee” that the cancer would be “cured” or go into remission.

It’s that double-standard in treatment of a health condition that bothers me the most about the lack of coverage in IVF treatments. Because, quite frankly … the RN Case Manager in me (the one who works for a health insurance company) strongly believes that people have the right to choose how they would like to pursue treatment and have the Health Insurance that I pay for assist in coverage for that treatment.

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This January, it will be a year since I’ve lived in Chicago. And April will mark the official date that Hubby & I will have lived together in this bright new city (well, new to us anyway).

During this past year, Hubby & I have had a chance to open our hearts and minds to different possibilities. We’ve had the opportunity to accept where we’re at when it came to reassessing our options in creating our family.

We’ve talked about IVF and the impact it may have emotionally for me … Both if it wasn’t successful and if it actually was. But even though we know the option of IVF is available to us in the fine State of Illinois, both of us have decided not to pursue that route.

We’ve also had the opportunity to discuss adoption more in depth. To decide if this was the right path for us to take. And the more we thought about it, the more we decided that this was also something we wouldn’t be a 100% comfortable with. (Okay, I admit it. It’s me. I’m the one who fears that I’ll just end up being disappointed again. And I fear that I’d get stuck down that rabbit hole of darkness once again.)

So what does this all mean? Well, readers. It means that Hubby & I have accepted that having children at this moment is not in our best interest. It means, that we have accepted the fact that we may never have children. (Okay, maybe it’s more like *I* accepted this fact, because Hubby was light years ahead of me in this thought.)

This means that we’ve consciously and deliberately have made the choice to begin living life child-free.

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It’s taken me more than 12 years, but I think I’ve finally reached some closure in my infertility journey.

Yet even as one door has closed in my life, I’m still learning to live with the reality of this decision. My infertility is no longer a daily struggle, but that doesn’t mean I don’t have those “moments.”

And those “moments” are the reason I choose to continue writing on this blog. Except now, instead of this blog being about the longing to have a children, it will be about trying to let go of this longing. About learning to look forward to my new future with Hubby. The new journey we’ll be taking together.

It’s about trying to break free from these Apron Strings.

If The Shoe Fits …

Whew. What a month. And while Autumn is my absolute favorite time of the year, I am happy to say that I’m glad last month went by fast.

Even though I didn’t even get to make a run to the cider mill and get my freshly made donuts and cider. Or my once-a-year Granny Smith caramel apple. Boo-hoo.

I’ve been swamped with work lately that last Sunday I hadn’t realized it was Daylight Savings “Fall Back” Time until 3:30 in the afternoon. While I typically relish the extra hour we get every year, I’ve never had the urge to say that I was glad to have the additional hour to get more things done. Never. Ever. Until this year anyway …

When I took the job as supervisor for this well-known health insurance company, I knew that I would be assigned to a high profile account. And I knew that I would be heavily involved in this employer group’s yearly “Clinical Assessment” (read: audit). What that meant was that this high profile group would come and visit the lovely city of Chicago and sit in our department’s “Medical Library” to listen to each of the RN Case Managers (my direct reports) present clinical cases to them. In which said employer group with their fancy-shmancy (read: expensive) RN Clinical Consultant would pick apart … rake over analyze every little detail.

Now, ordinarily I find opportunity in being part of such an audit. This gives us, as Case Managers, an idea of what we’re doing right and what could be better. It also breaks things down to what “issues” may be business- (theirs or ours) related or system/process-related. All this in an effort to continue to deliver the best for the individual member (read: patient, customer).

Of course with the economy in the pot today … not to mention the huge elephant in the room called “Health Care Reform” … this year’s audit has been placed largely in the spotlight. God forbid the audit goes horribly and we “lose” the business!

Not to mention the incredible pressure I put myself under. After all, this is my first really big project that will put me on center stage. And that I’d be under scrutiny from this employer group, as their previous dealings had been with my current manager. And trust me … I knew that I had some pretty big shoes to fill.

So yeah, this is what I’ve been largely working on for the past two months. I’ve had to prepare a list of over 1,000 cases to be randomly chosen by the group. I had to have my staff pick out one case of their choosing (in addition to the other 3-4 cases that were randomly picked by the group) and write up their presentation. I’ve had to “spiffy-up” each of their cases in the correct “format” requested by the employer group (Geesh, try reformatting months-worth of case stories into an APIE way of documentation!) Oh, and I had to work with each of them, one-to-one, with their delivery of their case presentations.

And did I mention that I had little direction from my manager? You know, the one who has had all the previous experience with these audits?

In reality, I was okay with it though. As tough as it had been getting everything prepared for the audit with little support, I relished that I was able to do things almost all in the way that I wanted to. Because as with other prior experiences with said boss, I felt that if I had gone to her with just a simple question … then she would have completely taken over this project. And I wanted to prove to her (and yes, to myself) that I could handle the audit prep on my own.

Oh, there were some bumps with my boss along the way … like, once again, going over me and directing MY nurses to complete one of their cases prior to the deadline I had set (and she had approved). Or by insisting we have a PRE-mock audit with her before the “official” mock audit; which would obviously be done before the real audit*. But overall, I’m glad I worked my A$$ off just to prove to her that I could do something without little assistance. Maybe (just maybe) then she’ll be able to relinquish some of the reins** she feels she needs to hold onto with her former team.

SO … after all this, you might be asking how the “Clinical Assessment” went. I am happy to report that the employer group’s visit was successful. They were here this past Tuesday and Wednesday and, while they pointed out some processes that need to be revisited or re-tweaked, they were things that I was already aware of. And my staff? They were absolutely incredible. I felt like such a proud Mom***, as I sat there watching them answer every question that was thrown at them with such confidence and ease. It was a long two days, but in the end I came out of it mentally and physically exhausted, yet incredibly satisfied.

But the most uplifting part of it all? As I shook the hand of the RN Clinical Consultant and thanked her for her input and suggestion, she said to me “You had some big shoes to fill.”

“I know,” I told her, while still shaking her hand. “Those shoes are incredibly large and I hope that I can fill them to the best of my abilities.”

“No,” she corrected me. “I said you had big shoes to fill. And you’ve filled them quite well.”

Wow, was all I could think.

So it will be those words that I’ll be living off of for the next few months … nay, years … as I continue to forge forward in this multi-faceted demanding job.

Wish me luck!

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*Yeah … I didn’t get it either. But I figured this was her way of gaining a little “access” and/or control into my whole preparation. So I granted her that much. Give a little, take a little!

**Perhaps she can learn to untie those “Apron Strings”? Tee-hee!

***Hmm … I’m finding the irony in the fact that I’m feeling “Mom”-ish and yet have no real children.

Go To The Back of the Class

“Poor Me” … that was the headband that Sr. Barbara, the Third Grade teacher at my small Catholic school, would make one of 25 or so kids in my class wear for an entire day at any given moment. It was “awarded” to any classmate whose behavior she deemed appalling.

Imagine a headband like this, sans feathers, that had "Poor Me" written across it ...

Lucky for me, I only found myself wearing that headband maybe once or twice during that year. Okay … maybe three times. There was that incident where Sr. Barbara caught me jump-roping outside during recess without my school uniform on. Relax Mom … I had shorts on underneath that lovely plaid jumper, so I wasn’t completely running around in my day-of-the-week underwear. The correct day-of-the-week underwear, may I add. (At least I think so …)

Punishment like that would never fly in today’s classrooms. It’s (rightly) deemed too humiliating to present to a young child at such an impressionable age.* But that doesn’t stop other children from humiliating a fellow classmate. For instance, Nancy who got “caught” by others digging for gold might suddenly be called “Nose-picker Nancy.” Which, I suppose would be better than being called “Paste-eater Peter.” (I was unfortunately given the nickname “Dummily”)**

Other school-ground embarrassment can also include the feeling of being isolated or singled-out. Perhaps it’s something as silly as refusing to play with a certain individual during lunchtime recess because he/she ate tuna sandwiches for lunch every day. Or it could be as typical as choosing a particular person last in gym class for your team just because he/she wasn’t athletic/graceful enough.

Whatever humiliation is endured at that time, it’s cruel that — even as adults — we still act in such a manner. At times, playing the “Isolation Game” is blatantly obvious: A co-worker may avoid another co-worker for some incredibly vague reason or another. Or a fellow peer may request to be taken off certain projects just so that their name isn’t associated with another employee. Personally, I think it’s sad and childish that certain adults still feel they have to act out in this manner. ***

Then there are those instances where inadvertent humiliation takes place. These are the moments in which one person unintentionally says something that results in the embarrassment of another person. These, if the offender actually realizes that he/she said something off-color … well, these would be known as the “Open Mouth, Insert Foot” moments.

Allow me to use the example in which a skinny friend goes out to meet with her weight-conscious, always-on-a-diet friend for dinner. Skinny Gal orders the largest and fattest piece of red meat out there, while Diet Gal sticks to her plain salad with dressing on the side. And after finishing the meal and despite knowing how self-conscious her friend is about her looks, Skinny Gal states, “G*d, I feel like a cow!”

Heh. An ancient depiction of "Open Mouth, Insert Foot"

And then there’s this scenario. It involves either a well-meaning family member or an “infrequently seen” friend. This person proceeds to make the mistake of reach out for the belly. That action is closely followed by the statement, “Wow. You’ve gained weight! Are you pregnant?”

Yeah, that one’s definitely not my favorite.

I’ve had many of those “thought you were pregnant” moments over the past 13 years of marriage. It doesn’t help that I definitely gained a bit of weight since being married. Nor does it help that I had taken all those meds during those active baby-making “science project” years. And my latest excuse is that I’ve been totally stress-eating since my latest work issues began in June.

But my weight issues aren’t the basis of this latest rambling. Nor is it about feeling humiliated, whether intentional or not. Rather this post is about feeling once again, as if I’ve been left behind.

You see, today I read one of my HS friend’s FB statuses, indicating that her 9-yr old daughter would be going away to overnight camp for the first time this week. And I thought about the strange combination of pride and sadness she probably felt letting her “baby bird” fly away from the nest for a bit; even if it was for no more than two days. And this is probably what started the chain of events and line of thinking leading up to this post.

While I love FB, there are some days where I just want to bury my head in the sand and forget that such an addicting social-networking site ever existed. It has been a wonderful tool for me to catch up with those friends from my “school days.” It has done wonders with keeping in touch with Dr. Bro and Dr. SIL as well as any of my cousins who keep a FB accounts.

Then there are those aspects of FB that make it appear as if I’ve literally been left behind. And today is definitely one of those days. Especially when it comes to seeing friends post pictures or videos of their children. It makes me want to post pictures as well; ones of my “supposed” children. And it makes me want to update my status (via Twitter, of course) with witty statements about what my imaginary kids are up to. It’s moments like that where I feel like I’ve been a “total slacker” in my life. Where I’m just not at the same point in life that my other friends are. That I’m kinda just “stuck” in the marriage phase of my life.

Oh yes, I know realistically that what I’m feeling is pure crap. And I know that despite the fact that I don’t have children of my own, I’ve been pretty successful in my life in other ways.

Yet, there’s this small nagging voice inside my head. It’s the voice that remarkably sounds like a hybrid of my parents and a third-grade version of myself. It’s the one that tells me that I can’t just be average; that I must strive to be the best in everything I do. That I should be a step (or a phase, in this case) ahead of where I’m currently at. That I should always be the one at the top of the class; ahead of all my classmates in everything I do.

Good thing my devil voice doesn't sound like Homer

And that nagging is swiftly followed by the voice of that little red devil on my left shoulder; the one that says, “Face it, Em. You’re so far behind in what you’ve planned for yourself in life. You might as well give it up.” And it’s the same devil voice that tells me that, even if I do have kids now (whether it be my biological child or adopted child), I’d never be able to “catch up” to the rest of those parental peers in my age-group.

It’s, quite frankly, the same voice that tells me I’m a failure for not even being able to pass a pregnancy test. (No multiple choice; just True or False … )

It’s at those moments where we feel like I’ve been instructed to put on a “Poor Me” headband and head to the back of the class. Because, given my conscience lately,  Sr. Barbara would have told me to.

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* No wonder I have self-esteem issues to this day.

** No thanks in part to my brother, The Dork.

*** But when there are reality TV shows out there that foster such behavior, it’s amazing that the whole world isn’t all about the backstabbing and talking-behind-the-back

Hook, Line and Sinker

It’s that time of year again for me. College Football Saturdays, fresh apple cider and hot donuts, and fall TV season premieres. Oh, and knitting. For some reason, I tend to pick up the “sticks” (aka knitting needles) and a fresh “batch” of yarn around this time of the year.

This year, instead of sticks I’ve picked up the “hooker.”

Uh … I didn’t say A hooker … I said THE “hooker.” As in a crochet needle.

Geesh. Get your mind out of the gutter.

Crocheting always reminds me of my Grandma Rose. In the years that she lived with us, and for decades after, I can’t recall a time where she didn’t have her crochet needles and ball of yarn inside her bag. She’d pull it out at various times; many times just to keep her hands busy.

Grandma had told me that she picked up crocheting to help with her debilitating arthritis; that it helped loosen her joints, which I can clearly remember looking incredibly swollen and misshapen. While I believe that she took up the craft for that very reason, I also believe that she continued to do so because creating something was incredibly satisfying. (I can’t tell you how many the heirloom tablecloths she made for every one of her children and grandchildren!) That, and the repetitive activity of pulling yarn through slipknot after slipknot was especially soothing.

That’s the reason I’ve enjoyed knitting and crocheting. The simple notion that continuously “picking” or “hooking” or “throwing” yarn over needles to produce a piece of art is calming. It’s a way for me to relieve some stress and yet still feel fulfilled that I’ve actually made something out of a skein of yarn.

Yet, while I love to knit and crochet, I only do so with an end project in mind. Otherwise I’d be making waay too many cup cozies or pot holders than any one of my family and friends would ever need. (Yikes!) So with the recent news within our circle of family/friends, it should come to no surprise as to what kind of project I’m currently working on.

After five years of knitting/crocheting hats & booties or blankets for various family members or friends, you would think that I’d be able to forget about my own issues and focus on the project at hand. And many times I can … In fact doing such projects and keeping such a blog is a very personal form of therapy for me. But there are those moments in the midst of making such creations where my childless situation hits me square in the chest.

But then my thoughts somehow switch to the very good friend of mine; the one that taught me to knit. And I remember how lucky I am in other aspects of my life.

Or, like last Thursday on the bus ride home, I remember my Grandma Rose; who taught me the basics of crocheting years and years ago. I remember each piece she’s ever created especially for me. And how much they mean to me; now even more since her recent passing.

And I remember that what I’m currently making is meant to bring up these emotions. Because feeling such sadness reminds me the importance that Hubby and I had placed on trying to have our own child … and exactly how strong our love is to have survived everything we’ve gone through.

Today’s Gonna Be A Good Day

Just wanted to quickly share the video from Oprah’s season opening performance by the Black Eyed Peas. This was Frickin. Amazing. Just to see how they got close to 21,000 people to do this dance was amazing!

And now I’ve got this song playing over and over in my mind. BUT … I suppose if I had to have a song stuck in my head, this is a good one to have!

(To see the “official version” for better picture quality, click here!)

Meet Me Halfway

I used to think that the more “hits” I had on my blog a day signified how much of an impact I was making in the infertility world. I thought that the more people I “reached” through my writing, the more people would relate to my struggle.

Of course now that this blog is more that two years old, I know the real truth.

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Today Hubby and I hung out downtown after I got off work today. Oprah had conveniently closed down Michigan Avenue to celebrate her 24th season opener. And — even though I’d love to say Hubby and I went down there because we’re such “newbies” to the city — the truth is that we both saw attending this huge event as such a unique opportunity.

Because seriously … when would something like this ever happen if we were living in Detroit? (No … Superbowl XL does not count!)

I could totally see all the activities from my 21st floor Office Building!

I mean, really … who else, other than Oprah could get the City of Chicago to shut down the streets for the day? As a fellow co-worker, who’s Hubby works for the Police Dept said, “They don’t even shut down the streets for the funerals of fellow Police Officers or Firemen!”

Since the “show” was not being streamed live on TV, there were many takes between segments. The Black Eyed Peas would perform one song, be interviewed and then perform a second song; all with probably a nice 15 minute interlude between “scenes.” The same thing happened after Cris Angel performed and before Jennifer Hudson’s “band” set up for her performance.

Many times between segments, the crowd was able to hear what Oprah would be saying; a hazzard of the trade, since she was “mic”-ed the whole time. Not to mention the fact that she pretty much had cameras on her the entire time.

Those circumstances obviously made for a couple funny moments. Like the time Oprah was caught asking her make-up crew to apply more powder to her. Or when she mentioned out loud that it was a good thing she wore extra deodorant today.

It was in hearing her voice “live” (versus on the TV) that suddenly made Oprah “real” to me.  And actually seeing and hearing those “every day” type of comments / actions? Well, I guess that just confirmed to me that Oprah wasn’t just some “high up on a pedestal” type of person.

Too bad I couldn't get any closer!

Before today Oprah always seemed to represent an untouchable legend;  a person that could probably not do a thing wrong. A powerful person whose whose opinions and/or commentaries could influence mass audiences anywhere. A person, who … by just her voice alone, could certainly make an impact.

And today I also realized that Oprah was a person who, despite how incredibly “popular” a celebrity she is, appeared to be quite lonely. A person, who, as incredibly approachable as she seemed to be, appeared to “wish” that someone  — anyone — would approach her in between segments. Instead, the majority of the time she ended up sitting alone by the side of the stage. To the people surrounding her (whether her crew or even the audience), they most likely shied away from her so as not to  intrude her space.

Now if given an opportunity, I could speculate that Oprah would have loved to show her soft, compassionate and intimate side. And I say that only because during the course of the evening, I happened to witness two instances. One occasion involved Jennifer Hudson who, in her postpartum hormonal state, sought reassurance from Oprah that her performance was absolutely spectacular. (It was!) The other instance occurred when a fan, apparently close enough to talk to Oprah, mentioned to her that it was her birthday. And Oprah, with her response, mentioned that she recognized the birthday girl dancing during the one of the Black Eyed Peas songs.

In both those instances, I’m sure that each individual who received such attention from Oprah (as in “Oprah, the Legend”) was “touched” by such simple actions. And I hope that both individuals were humbled that, if approached or even met half way, Oprah would make any attempt to engage them into her personal world … at whatever level she felt comfortable.

~~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~~

Okay, so what does Oprah have to do about blog writing and/or making an impact on the world? Well, let me share with you the revelation I had on the train-ride home tonite:

It doesn’t matter how many people I “reach” (or how many “hits” I get) on a daily basis … it’s simply the thought that I’ve somehow impacted someone somewhere down the line; whether it be a simple statement said or an observation made.

And that even though I don’t get the monstrous number of “hits” or “comments” that I would love to get … I am making a difference to that one person who is willing to understand me and “meet me half way.”

And now … check out the “footage” I shot from the show …
It’s the Black Eyed Peas performing their latest single, “Meet Me Halfway”

It’s too bad I had to work all day … otherwise I would have loved to be on the other side of this monitor!

Lucky Number Thirteen

My Dearest Hubby –

This is your silly wife ...

I can’t believe it’s been thirteen years since we walked down the aisle and promised everlasting love to each other. We have been through many ups and downs … especially these past few years … but we’ve stuck together like glue.

You are my Winter, Spring, and Summer. And you are my most favorite season of all … Autumn.

You are my colorful Fall leaves. You are my Apple Cider and Donuts. You’re my Football Saturdays. And thirteen years ago, under a beautiful golden-red Harvest Moon, we pledged our love to one another …

I couldn’t be more happier with our life together …

Have you ever seen a sight as beautiful
As that of the rain-soaked purple
Of the white birch in spring?

Have you ever felt more fresh or wonderful
Than on a warm fall night
Under a mackerel sky,
The smell of grapes on the wind?

Comical Breakfast with Hunny

Well I have known all these things
And the joys that they can bring
And I’ll share them all for a cup of coffee
And to wear your ring

Have you ever had the pleasure of watching
A quiet winters snow slowly gathering
Like simple moments adding up?

Have you ever satisfied a gut feeling
To follow a dry dirt road thats beckoning you
To the heart of a shimmering summers day?
.

Well I have known all these things
And the joys that they can bring
And I’ll share them all for a cup of coffee
And to wear your ring

Seriously? You still love me?!

And I don’t know how I survived those days
Before I held your hand
Well I never thought that I would be the one
To admit that the moon and the sun
Shine so much more brighter when
Seen through two pairs of eyes than
When seen through just one

The Love of My Life ...

Have you ever seen a sight as beautiful
As a face in a crowd of people
That lights up just for you?

Have you ever felt more fresh or wonderful
As when you wake
By the side of that boy or girl
Who has pledged their love to you?

Well I have known all these things
And the joys that they can bring
And now every morning there’s a cup of coffee
And I wear your ring

– “Anniversary Song” by Cowboy Junkies

Protected: Afterthought

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Post Script

So there’s also another thing that has been bothering me lately. One that also requires being password protected (PWP). Hence the second PWP post in a matter of one week.

For those that followed along from the previous PWP post, the password remains the same. For those that might be vaguely interested in reading it, please comment below and I’ll respond to you via email.