She Soaks Sea Shells From the Sea Shore

Last week I returned from a vacation in Washington State. One day during the trip, my daughter and I picked up sea shells from a beach off of the Puget Sound called Horsehead Bay. We gathered quite a few, the ones still intact and with minimal damage to them. I've had the sea stowage in my garage airing out for the last week. Today I decided to bring them in and wash them.
I began by dropping each one in hot soapy water. Then with a scrubbing sponge, I scrubbed them inside and out. At first, I only noted the swift removal of their grit. As I turned one over to clean the outside of it, I noticed the more I scrubbed the more it faded. I placed it in the side sink and did the same to the next one, wanting to prove my theory. It was one of the bigger ones we had found. It reminded me of a human hand. Its more prominent curves resembled the bones that lead out to webbed finger tips. On the other more the rounded side formed its wrist. Starting horizontally, grooves ran in subtle waves cutting across it ending on the other side. Each wave encapsulated colors ranging from dirty coral tones, to muted browns, and almost muddy purple hues. As I scrubbed it, the browns faded. I continued rubbing until its knuckles were completely white. I looked at it. It was no longer a vibrant beautiful thing, it was a lifeless bleached corpse. Its uniqueness had been scrubbed away. I was careful with how I cleaned the rest, using the sponge side on the outside and the scrubber side to remove the sand. As I began rinsing off the clean pile, I noticed the hotter the water, the more the colors faded. I wondered if it had to do with steam or if once they dried out a bit, the color would return. Of the ones bathed in hot water, their colors didn't restore. So, I changed tactics. I rinsed the rest off in cold water. I noticed another pattern of color change; if the water was too cold, they lost their brilliancy, however, if the water was merely cool, they retained their original hue. I was perplexed by this phenomenon, and as I always do, I applied its effects to my life.
The more experience I have, the more scars I have. The more I try to stay on the path I'm suppose to stay on, the more intact I stay. And perhaps the more rips and tears I endure from these experiences on this path, the more brilliant I am and the more beautiful my life becomes.

Hairy Cairy

Today, I find myself in a rare situation. Both of my kids are "hanging out" with other kids, my husband is at work and I am sitting in silence with nothing to do. This isn't true, there's always something to do, I guess I have no motivation to start a new something. Yesterday I made an appointment to have my hair done. Through anxiety and tremendous trepidation I arranged to have my hair cut and colored at a Salon I had heard little about. This is in stark contrast to the last place I was butchered at where I had heard and read rave reviews, so why not? The original person I was scheduled with was suddenly, and regrettably unable to take me within an hour and a half of my appointment, so I was given to someone else. Strike one. I arrived on time and met the girl who was going to fill in. She was cute and edgy and willing to listen to my past tortured hair-situation. Unfortunately, I think I scared her to death. Immediately she spilled bottle water on me, she pinged me repeatedly in the head with combs, brushes, and clips. She accidentally flung a piece of hair she had just finished coating in bleach and caught me in the eye with its tip. I then followed her blindly to a sink where I stuck my face under freezing water to rinse out my eye. I sat the rest of the four and a half hours with exactly half of my face resembling an abstract watercolor, ducking, cringing and holding my breath every time she whisked about my head with a pair of scissors, or razor blade. Strike two. I also crushed a little inside every time she made comparisons between me and her mother and told me that I now looked like a "sexy mommy". Strike three. Despite the emotional and physical dangers I experienced I will go back, and I will even go back to her. The reason is because she did an amazing job with my hair (think along the lines of Mary Tyler Moore circa 1960s with an edge). I love it! This ordeal made me wonder why I would "put up with", and possibly risk my life, merely in the name of a fantastic haircut? I think we (particularly women) "put up with" a lot according to the end result. This "putting up with" extends beyond the hairdo (e.g. paint color of the living room, your husband's favorite shirt, and even foreplay).
I recently got back from visiting my brother-in-law and his wife who live in Seattle. In the name of cutting down costs and developing a stronger relationship with family, my husband and I decided to stay in their home with them. We had a blast. We are in love with them and we will gladly go and visit them again, but we'll probably stay in a hotel some place close to them, next time.
My brother-in-law and his wife go a million miles an hour. I thought I was a go-go-go kind-of person, I have nothing on either one of them. Because they are constantly rushing in their life, there is a lot of energy bi-product in the form of numerous projects consuming their every living space. The contents of these projects are complex to me and appear meaningless, but to my sister-in-law, she knows exactly what they contain and what their value truly is. What I interpret as chaos, they view as a home where life is worth living.
Today, I discovered I know nothing about living in a home. I have lived in the same house for ten years and have not yet created a home. I live in a dwelling that I am always complaining about and fantasizing about moving from. I don't have close friendships around me because I simply don't like who I've become while living in my own neighborhood. I have morphed into a stressed out tyrant who sulks within a house, desperate to change my circumstance without truly knowing where to start. I live in a house, not a home. My in-laws live in a home. I realize how hard it is to share your life and your home with someone and how generous it was that they would so easily share with us. So I don't mean for any of this to sound negative. I am positive if the situation were switched, they would find my life and my house, perplexing and probably down right boring. I have learned from this vacation, that I love them for themselves. Perhaps on our next visit, I can love them from the solitude of a hotel room.
Last night on my way home from my hair appointment I was telling my sister about the experience. She laughed and gasped and all the things a sister should who has also experienced hair calamity. By the end of the phone call she said she was sorry about my hair. I was confused. No I like my hair. I plan on going back. She laughed and I tucked a piece of hair behind my ear where I noticed I had been clipped and was bleeding. I'll be aware next time. And will possibly make sure my health insurance covers maimings. But I will go back because my hair looks so awesome! Besides, in understanding I at times self-sabotage, maybe someday I will realize the importance of how to achieve an actual home run and be happy with where I am and who I am.

Eye for an Eye

I can't believe it has been two months since my corrective eye surgery and I haven't bloggedabout it. After three consultations and price comparisons I settled on a surgical center. Getting the outer layer of your cornea removed is expensive. For three days straight, I whethered eye dilation and probes. I finally went with the Eye Institute of Utah. I liked everyone I came in contact with and was treated incredibly well. By the way Dr. Hoopes Sr, is a real jerk. Anyway, I made my appointment and my husband drove me there. I didn't realize there was a difference between Lasik Surgery and what I was eligible for; PRK. PRK stands for Photo Refractive Keratectomy, it also stands for Son-of-a-bitch, this is the worse pain in the history of all pain. I worry about writing this last statement for a couple of reasons; my Mother may someday start to read my blog and will know I swear, and the other is that my blogs seem to talk about the many different experiences I've had that are painful, seemingly both emotionally and physically. I worry that I am the biggest wimp on the earth. However, this is a brutally honest documentation of said experiences and so, pain is what I write. For you, I will commit to experiencing so many of the things that are painful and pass on my wisdom...
On the day of surgery, I was whisked upstairs to the surgical unit at the Eye Institute. The lights were low and a fountain splashed somewhere nearby. I was given a hairnet, a Valium and a green apple Jolly Rancher. I found this perplexing. I wouldn't have thought to take a Valium with a Jolly Rancher chaser. I was then led to the actual surgical room. I felt really good. I mean really good and I don't think it was the Jolly Rancher. I laid on top of a padded sort of stretcher where my head had to be wedged into a doughnut hole shape at the top. This was so I couldn't squirm resulting in the Lazar hitting something else (I was told). I was wrapped from my waist down in a warm, soft blue blanket and was handed a stuffed bunny rabbit doned in green surgical scrubs. Between the Jolly Rancher and the surgically outfitted stuffed animal, I began wondering if the procedure was going to be performed by Willy Wonka.
My eyelashes were taped open both the top and the bottom, while the other eye was covered with a hard sphere, also taped to my face. A technician counted throughout the ordeal. It was bazaar watching as a liquid was poured onto my pried opened eye and then a tiny tool which looked like a hoe, began scraping off the top layer of my cornea. I could see and unfortunately comprehend a tweezers-like instrument pulling off what the hoe had loosened. Then a large plastic contact lens was placed over my pupil and the tape (and most of my eyelashes) was then torn off. I had to endure the other side at this point. It only lasted 7 minutes per side and when it was finished I could see immediately better than before I went in, wearing my glasses. I asked the technician if I now belonged to "the collective". He must not have been a Star Trek fan because he didn't know what I was talking about.
The following week my eyesight grew worse. Even worse than being blind was the pain. I could not get any since of relief. It burned when I closed my eyes, it was worse when I opened them. The light hurt, the air hurt, I hurt. I was on a dose of pain medication which I normally refuse to take. After my Hysterectomy I took Loretab for one day and then 800 mg of Advil for the next few days afterwards. This was intense. I was told that I would be in some discomfort after the PRK. They lied. It was horrible. In the middle of the night my husband took me in after I spent the day screaming into my pillow. Apparently the large bandage-type contact lens I was fitted with was too tight. What was bad about this whole ordeal was that I couldn't produce tears. Normally when you get something in your eye, tears soothe and flush it out. This wasn't the case after my surgery. The following day I had a follow up exam. The doctor asked about my "discomfort". If I could have seen him I would have slugged him. "Discomfort?!! I know what discomfort feels like, I wear under wire bras! This is sheer pain!" I yelled. He was apprehensive with me after that. I felt a little better when, the next day he called and started asking me about my "discomfort level" again and abruptly changed mid-sentenced and asked how my pain was doing.
Within one week of the surgery I felt better. I wasn't in pain anymore and I was able to open my eyes for longer periods of time. Each week I feel like my eyesight improves. It has been a slow process (PRK takes up to three months for a perfect and nonfluctuating eyesight), it's been two.
Overall, I am glad I did it. I love going to bed being able to see, waking up being able to see and getting in water both while showering and while swimming,being able to see. Plus finally, I believe my eyelashes have grown back!