Detours on the Road to Thanksgiving

It is easy to get mired in the things that are not working in my life, not enough money, a major repair bill, how to buy a PS3 for my son, why I have no half and half left in the fridge for my coffee tomorrow...

But today is Thanksgiving, I needed to not focus on those little things, I needed to feel gratitude and focus on how great life is, so why was I was not feeling it?

No time for that, I needed to cook dinner, we were having company.

My husband invited a friend and his wife over this year, a friend that he grew up with in New York. This friend and my husband lost touch with each other for about 20 years, but then through a mutual friend were able to reconnect with each other via Facebook. Come to find out, for the past 20 years or so, this friend has only lived about 15 minutes from us in Englewood, Colorado.

Strange how life works.

I had never met them, and only knew bits and pieces about them from my husband. I was a little nervous to have people over that I had never met so I spent hours cleaning my house, setting the table properly and making sure everything was in order. My husband kept telling me not to stress out so much. He said, i am sure they will not notice if your napkins and place settings are not perfect...he said "Trust me, they are really down to earth".

Their names are Shirley and Ed. They met about 15 years ago while working together at the Denver Post. The first time Ed came out to Colorado was in the mid 80's. He said he came out to work a temporary construction job with several friends. He came out on a Greyhound bus he said with 16 teeth in his mouth and $1.85 in cash.

At that time, he was a drug addict and alcoholic.

He was very open about his life and his experiences. Down to earth would put it mildly. He still has a very thick New York accent, like my husband, he grew up in Queens, New York in the 70's. He told us that he has been clean and sober now for 27 years.

He chatted about his life, the fact that he spent months at a time living in the streets (homeless), a stint in jail, died twice (one due to a seizure from drug withdrawal), and then a final stint in rehab. By looking at him, you would never guess that he had gone through so much during his life. Aside from some weariness in his eyes and deep wrinkles in his forehead, he looked healthy and content. He laughed and smiled about his experiences. He seemed happy to be alive, amazed actually, considering all he has gone through.

In other words, he was grateful.

He and Shirley live in a small bungalow in Englewood. Not a wealthy area to say the least. My husband says that their lawn looks like a small golf course and the house, while small, is immaculate. After working for the Denver post for the past 20 years, he took an early retirement 2 years ago as the paper is slowly being phased out by technology. Who reads the Denver Post anymore? You can get your news for free just by googling it.

By outward appearances he does not have much money. He talked about buying his first new living room furniture and how he hoped to have it delivered in time for Christmas. He kept looking at our house and commenting on how nice our home was. Every time he made a comment about my home I would take a moment and complete a quick inventory. I did not see it, all I saw were the defects, the old funky couch, the too small table, the cabinets in the kitchen that were starting to show their age.

He chatted about the times he worked as a roadie for a band, traveling up and down the East Coast during his teens and early 20's. He talked about growing up in Queens, old friends and the crazy things both he and my husband did when they were younger.

He talked about how he and Shirley met and places they have been together. He chatted about hiking up the Great Sand Dunes, camping, and getting lost on a hike. They looked at each other and laughed about getting lost on a road trip in Sante Fe and how because they got lost they found this amazing place that sold old cemetery fences. He said, that the best road trips were the ones you did not plan, the ones where you got lost and ended up falling upon something remarkable.

He talked about wanting to see the Grand Canyon and how much he loved Colorado. He talked about staying at his Uncle's ranch on another visit to Colorado and how his uncle helped to save his life because he let him stay there when he had no place or no one to go to.

The more he talked the more I realized that Ed did not focus on the big things, things we all think we need or want. His focus was on the moment, the fact that he was alive, clean and sober. On how much he enjoyed the meal we served him, how good the crumb cake was, how good the coffee was, how nice our son was, how nice our yard was.

After the meal, he drank his coffee black (two cups), and thanked us profusely for a wonderful day and a wonderful meal.

When they both left it got me thinking. What was I whining about? Why did I take so much for granted? I looked around my house again and saw things differently. I realized that while my husband and I are not rich, we have a very rich life.

Maybe my cabinets were not so bad after all...

It also made me realize that although things do not always go according to plan that maybe that is how it is supposed to be, that is the point. I know that things have not always been easy for my husband and myself, we have had our own share of ups and downs but listening to Ed, made me rethink things.

Have you ever taken a road trip with someone, got lost, and that person started to panic and freak out? I have, and believe me, is not pleasant. You start to feed off the other person, your heart races, your stomach ties up in a knots, you have visions of crazy zombies attacking your car in the dead of night.

But then you take a deep breath. What is the worst thing that can happen? If it is dark out, you will eventually realize that there are no zombies in sight and you might pull over into a not so great hotel, pass out on a funky mattress, and regroup in the morning over the soggy donuts that are supposed to constitute the "Free Continental Breakfast".

The next morning, your head will begin to clear after a second cup of some very bad hotel coffee. You notice the sun is shining, there are no zombies and it is a new day, complete with new possibilites. You pay for the room, and grab a dusty map from the front desk clerk. Maybe you look at the map and see that the Giant Colossal Ball of Twine is about a mile down the road, an amazing landmark that would have been passed over had you never gotten lost in the first place.

It reminds me of the time, about 18 years ago, when my husband and decided to take a road trip.

We had no plans, no money, and just knew we wanted to head towards someplace in California. So we packed up our very small dented Honda Accord and drove West. We got lost several times but ended up in some remarkable places. We spent a few days sunning at Malibu Beach, gazing up at the trees in the Redwood Forest, stopping for a huge black bear in Yellowstone, playing slots in Vegas, wandering around the seaport in Seattle, walking across the stars in Hollywood, and burning up our clutch going up and down hills in San Francisco. Even after all these years we talk about it like it was yesterday and wonder why we never took another road trip like that one.

Maybe we need to...

Listening to Ed, made me think about all those wrong turns or mistakes you can sometimes make in life. I realize that some are pretty lousy but ultimately each wrong turn can take you to an unexpected place. They make your life interesting, meaningful, and can change you forever. You are not the same person afterwards, they cause you to have faith, gratitude, insight, appreciation or whatever else you want to call it.

So today I have decided to be grateful for my life, for meeting Ed and Shirley and having a chance to experience two amazing, and interesting people, to share a meal, and have good conversation. Today I will make a choice, I will focus on being alive, being healthy, and having a wonderful family and home.

Today I refuse to focus on the fact that there is no more half and half in the fridge for my morning coffee.

What is the worst thing that can happen?

Maybe like Ed, I will drink two cups black, soak in the sun in the morning, and head out for an amazing run with my goofy dog. Maybe if I get lost I will find that Colossal Ball of Twine I have been dying to see...

I grew up in a family where emotions were not something you dealt with or at least dealt with like a normal human being. Feelings and emotions were generally shoved under the carpet at all expenses, and the motto was basically "suck it up and drive on."

I am not sure why this was the case because my parents were old school, and feelings were considered weak—a Darwinian measure for weeding out the inefficient hunters or gatherers. I am not sure, but I know that it had a huge impact on me.

My father always struggled with his feelings; after his passing, I remember saying to my sister that it was like he was trapped in his own head. He had such a hard time expressing himself and telling anybody, much less his family, how he felt. The only raw emotion anybody ever really saw was anger from him. The only time I remember him crying was after his mother died and a sweet old family dog. Then he would "suck it up" and move on again.

I knew that he loved me, not sure why, but I always knew it. He tried to be affectionate when an important family event surfaced (maybe because it was customary), and he would awkwardly try to hug me and tell me how proud he was of me. It always felt genuine but very strained and uncomfortable.

My mom, on the other hand, was a stone.

She was cold and emotionless. It used to make me feel like I was horrible and unloved, but as I got older and understood a bit of her childhood, it started to make more sense as to why she was the way she was. She could not help it. It was a defense mechanism for protecting herself from sadness, grief, or happiness. She did not have an easy childhood. Her father died when she was a child, and her mother worked to support her and her sister. My mother became a caregiver. Other things molded her into the person she became. A disease (a near-death bout of polio when she was a child) and near-death experiences (she is a two-time cancer survivor) made her shut down and go into protect mode. Feelings became inefficient. Feelings got you hurt.

I used to joke with people when they asked me what she was like when I was a child, an easy response. I would say, "efficient." She was very efficient; we wanted for nothing, all of our basic needs were met, she kept us warm and safe, and made sure we stayed out of trouble, but anything above and beyond that, the dealing with raw emotion, was just not her style.

It has been a week since the passing of my dear friend Mike Fontes. And while it is getting better, I am still struggling with all these emotions bubbling to the surface. I want to shove them down, but they keep surfacing. There is anger, sadness, and confusion but mostly sadness.

Since I have never been a touchy-feely person (see the beginning of this post) and not the best at handling raw emotions, dealing with this overwhelming sadness makes me want to scream. I find myself in a precariously, sensitive state all the time. It feels awkward and defenseless. I am at a loss for words as to how to cope with it all.

I know that death is a part of life, and I need to move past all the raw emotions and somehow accept things for what they are; I cannot help myself from crying at the 7-11 while getting gas. Something comes over me like a wave and then spills out on the pavement in front of me.

I run into somebody that knew him, there it goes, I see a post on Facebook, again another wave. I try to control it, but I cannot.

I was listening to this song on my iPod called "This too Shall Pass" by OKGo. I know it is true; this will pass. In the meantime, I am trying to deal, to cope, and to deal with seeing his face in my dreams and wondering if he is still running up there in the sky.

Run-on, my friend, run on.

A Remarkable Friend

My husband said, it's wierd how life works, how you could be happy and go out for a run and not come back. I said, yes sometimes life works like that.

This weekend i lost a very close friend of mine.

His name was Michael Fontes.

It was a beautiful Saturday morning and we were in the middle of a training run. I saw him back track before we turned around and i put out my hand to give him a high-five.

A few minutes later, he was hit by a van.

Nikki and I saw someone lying on the other side of the street as we were heading back. We ran across to see who it was. We did not know right away that it was him and the moment we realized it. we sat beside him.

I want to hope that somehow he heard us there comforting him, Nikki and I. Allowing myself to think this way gives me some sense of relief. I kept telling him he would be OK. Nikki kept telling him to hang in there. I tried to convince myself that he was going to be OK but I knew deep down inside that I was fooling myself.

He was already gone.

It has now been two days. When I first got the news, that my gut told me that very morning, that he had indeed died, it did not really register until later on in the day. I found myself crying about him. I would miss him terribly.

They posted a story on the news about him the next day. They talked about what an accomplished runner he was. They said he was a Boston Qualifier. This was true, he was an a remarkable athlete and there is no doubt in my mind that if he was still with us, he would have been even more remarkable, defied the odds and gotten faster and faster, despite the fact that he had just turned 60 years old.

But as remarkable as he was, that was not the Mike Fontes that i knew.

We met a little over 4 years ago in the Denver Galloway group. I was training for my first marathon, he was on his second. But just recently, over the last few months or so and I did not see him much. As he got faster, i was still slow. Not that i am complaining, but anybody that runs knows that this is the nature of the beast. Sometimes people get faster than you.

Mike always wanted to be better, and while i did too, i was not the same kind of runner as Mike. While my improvements were minimal at best, a minute here, two minutes there, his improvements were astronomical. Well who could blame him? He was dedicated and passionate about the sport. He seemed to live and breathe just to run. That was who he was. I always knew that about him. So I would try to get to our group runs a little early so we could chat, before he darted off with his pace group.

You see, you really get to know a person when you log a lot of miles together. When you run for hours at at time, what else do you do? When Mike and I met in the Denver Galloway group, we were kind of the same pace so we always ended up running together. Most of the time we were our own pace group, he and I, Nikki and Lisa. It was a small pace group, so go figure, we talked... a lot.

I knew about his significant other, Joann. I knew that he was Portuguese and that he came from a very large family in Pennsylvania. I think he said 7 or 8 brothers and sisters. I knew that he was an engineer who worked at comcast for years. I knew that he had Lady Gaga on his iPod. I knew that he liked birds, because he always stopped, regardless of how fast he was going to take a picture of one and tell me what kind it was. Of course, i could never remember all their names, but i would nod and enjoy the short break just the same. I knew that he liked to grow his own tomatoes. We shared stories of growing up on the East coast, i grew up in NY, so we talked about the people, the places, the food. He talked about his only son Mike, who he said was so smart and creative.

He knew about my husband, my little boy and his heart condition, my step-kids and my job as an Instructional Designer.

Then of course, we always talked about running. We discussed races, times, places to run, how to pace. Not like we really new much about pacing or any of that stuff back then, no matter, it filled the hours during our runs.

We ran the Boulder Spring Half together. He was so excited for me because i shaved about 10 minutes off my previous time. After the race, Nikki, Mike and I drank hot chocolate and coffee under a tent and waited for Mike Costas to finish. 

We did the Mt. Evans Ascent together, he Nikki and I. He scrambled to the top while Nikki and I did our best to make the cut-off. After the race as we stood shivering up at the top, enjoying the view, and talking about the mountain goats, he took pictures with his phone. We took the bus back down to the bottom for the free cheeseburgers.

We ran several Platte River Half's together. He always came in first and waited for us to finish. Nikki, he and I ate brats and talked in the parking lot after each race.

We ran the Colorado Marathon together. Well most of it anyway. I found him around mile one. It was cold and miserable but we ran together. Nikki found us and we all chatted. Then at mile 13, he took one look at his Garmin and with a look of panic in his face, in typical Mike Fontes fashion, took off like a bat out of hell. Mike, had a goal to meet and knew he needed to pick up the pace. I was glad that he went because if he stayed behind he would have been upset at himself.

When I finished the race, i could not find him anywhere so i shuffled back to my car. My phone beeped and there was a message from him that said "Yeah!" I think his time was around a 4:20 and he was so happy about that. Who would have thought that he would surpass that time by almost an hour a year later?

When I got back home, he emailed and said how glad he was that he stuck with me because it helped with his pace. He said, he always started out way too fast. I told him, maybe next race stick by me until about mile 4 and then take off, but i knew he would never do that. He had to run his own race.

When ever we were on a long run and i felt crummy he would try to cheer me up. One time he took out his iPhone, attached it to some kind of speaker contraption and ran with it on top of his head with the music blasting. Even writing about this makes me laugh, too funny. Only Mike would devise that kind of thing.

Another time he came to a run bragging about his "home made GU" as he rattled off the ingredients and the process to make this concoction, Nikki looked at him oddly and said "Dude, Really? Gu, 99 cents a pack at the store."

I would say, I knew him way before he was a remarkable runner. I knew him as a person and a friend. He was kind of a spaz, with beeping gadgets, garmins, headlamp and a slightly OCD personality, but underneath all of that he was a good person with a huge heart, who made me laugh. Who else would let you know how fast you were going every 17 seconds like clockwork? Who would run up and down a hill next to you until you got to the top just to keep you company? Who would wait for you to finish, no matter how far behind you were?

He would.

But i also know there are others, like me, that knew him before he was remarkable, that climbed mountains with him, ate breakfast, talked about religion, politics, kids, wives, husbands, ups and downs. To know this, to know there were others like me, gives me solace in my grief.

Running makes you think about a lot of things. This morning i took my dog out for a quick 3 mile run and started to think about Mike. My run was not remarkable in the least, it was hot, i was tired and grouchy and my dog was yanking me all over the place. Nonetheless, thinking about him made me imagine that he was next to me talking about a bird, rattling off his heart rate or talking about another homemade GU concoction.

For the last two days my husband pointed out a butterfly out in our backyard. Since we hardly ever see them anymore, it was kind of strange. It is large and yellow and beautiful.

I am not a spiritual person but when i saw that butterfly i could not help but think about my dear friend. I know that butterflies are only around for a short period of time but they make an impression on you. Maybe, just maybe, this was his way of saying that everything will be OK, that life is short and beautiful and precious. How people come and go out of our lives and we have no control over any of it. How everything happens for a reason and sometimes it is difficult to rationalize those reasons and how even though we are only touched by a person for a short period of time, they never really leave us. They make an impression that lasts forever, like that butterfly.

Dear "Speedy Mike" If you can hear me, I will miss you more than you will know. I only wished i could have said that to you on that day so you would know it.

Run on dear friend.

Your friend,
The Old Chick in the Back

Life on the edge of cheapassism

I came to this realization the other day that due to necessity, i have spent my entire adult life being a cheapass.

Yes it is true, but i have to admit, it is not all my fault. I blame it on my parents.

Well, honestly i can't blame it all on them right? I mean after all i am 47. That would be like kind of like blaming my mom for forcing me to eat brussel sprouts, still feeling traumatized by it, and spending years in therapy for it. No, they cannot take all the credit. Maybe in my early youth, but not now. I am my own worst cheapass... it is time to take some personal responsibility.

But i can't help but wonder. Could it be years of eating crusty meat scraps, day old bread or dented cans of green beans that my mom found in the clearance bin at Waldbaums? No, it couldn't be that. Maybe it was the flea market training or learning how to scavenger hunt (ie: scope out the garbage on trash day) that my dad taught me? Hummm... Or maybe it was the recyling or re purposing of everything that came into our house?

I can't pinpoint it, but i had to get it from somewhere right?

I know my parents, like me now, had no choice but to get on the frugality train. All aboard! They were broke and trying to raise three kids on my dad's meager salary. It was either get on the train or starve. So off we went into the frugal sunset.

It all started when my father's business went belly up. I had to be about 2 or 3 at the time. My mother was not working and they were flat broke. My father eventually found a job. It was for the city of New York, painting lines in the street at night. It was a horrible job, with a low wage, but my dad took it because it had good benefits. So my parents had no choice but live in my grandmother's house in Queens. It was an old funky row house, with the bathroom in the hall and rooms laid out so that you had to go through a bedroom or two in order to find the kitchen. There were radiators in each room that spewed steam and made howling noises at night. The bedrooms were tiny, neighborhood was noisy and the windows were drafty.

I spent the first 13 years of my life in that house.

We lived on the top floor and my grandmother down below. The back yard was a rectangular shape. There was a clothes line that went from the window to the back fence. There was a small patch of grass that constituted a lawn and aside from a few rose bushes, the only decorative element was a bird bath. When you went into the backyard, you could peer over the tiny wire fence into every neighbors yard on the block. Everybody knew every bodies name and business. Because nobody had air conditioning, the entire summer was spent outside, either in the back yard or camped out on the front stoop in order to people watch. Summer activities consisted of either the fire hydrant, stoop ball, johnny ride the pony, a tiny plastic pool or a sprinkler out back. For a kid back then, it seemed, life was good.

Things were tight, they always were. I remember at an early age that there was always the "we can't afford that" line for anything that appeared to cost anything. I knew not to ask for much. You got what you got and you appreciated it... period. Toys were simple and most of my day consisted of either school or running around the neighborhood with my pinky ball or an old pair of skates. Vacations were either non-existent or consisted of riding upstate new york in the back of the Ford Station wagon to the Catskill Game Farm or Lake George.

We did not need much.

To be honest, my fondest childhood memories were of living in that rowhouse in Queens. I guess because it was never really obvious to me that we were all that different then the rest of the kids that lived on the block. Everyone wore hand me downs, and waited in line at the free lunch truck during the summer for the Bologna sandwich and apple they gave out to all us "poor kids." My mom always new the exact time that truck rolled in and shoved us all out the door so we could be the first in line. Everybody in our neighborhood was all in the same boat.

Quick, get in line or miss out on a free sandwich!

I learned that, things always got recycled or re purposed for something else and my dad always brought things home that he found from the trash.

Didn't all dad's do this?

You never quite knew what my dad would bring home. As soon as my mom saw him come through the door, she would cringe and yell at him to "get rid of it". She could never see how anything he brought home could could possibly serve any useful purpose.

But my dad knew otherwise. My dad always saw the potential in something that nobody else was able to. He was able to create something truly amazing out of junk.

One time, he found a funky wooden wagon wheel in the trash. It was ugly and huge. My mom looked at him, shook her head in disgust and went back to washing the dishes because she knew that she had no control over what came into the house. She had to let it go.

He took the wagon wheel, worked some magic on it and turned it into a western chandelier (or at least that's what he told us it was). After the chandelier, there was the whiskey bottle converted into a lamp, tables converted into desks, homemade bunk beds made out of wooden scrap and leftover wood re purposed into a complete home entertainment unit.

Frugality made my my dad very creative.

My mom, on the other hand, had her own gifts. She was known as the contact paper queen. Are you familiar with contact paper? Do they even make that stuff anymore? Either way, it came in sheets and was sticky on one side. You basically bought the color or style you wanted to cover something up with, rolled out the sheet, cut the shape and presto! A brand new something could be created! She literally created dresser drawers, shelves and a dice costume for my brother out of contact paper and old cardboard boxes. She probably could have opened up her own contact paper furniture business if she wanted to. It was actually quite amazing.

When i finally moved out on my own, i learned how to make my dollar stretch. I credit this skill with years of being around my parents. I lived in several basement apartments on meager waitress wages, all the while putting myself through school. Often, to the disgust of my roommates, i thought nothing of hauling home a chair, table or sofa from the trash in the back of my Honda hatchback.

At the time, even though i was basically struggling, i never felt poor. Maybe this was something else my parents taught me? Don't get me wrong, there were times when i barely had 20 cents in my checking account, but there was always the thought that it was not as bad as it could be. In other words, i always thought "i will be fine."

And i was always fine.

A few years ago, upon getting one of my social security statements, i was actually shocked by how little i made back then. One year i believe i lived on about 6000. How i managed this was anybodies guess. Yea, rent, food, necessities were cheaper but the reality of the situation, was that i lived in abject poverty and had no clue.

Nowadays i am still not rich. My family of three manages on my salary and a tiny bit of rental income each month. I have had people ask me "how do you do it?" To be honest, i am not sure. I know i am kind of a cheapass... OK maybe not kind of, maybe full blown cheapass, but there is more to it i guess then just the cheapass part. It also has to do will feeling like no matter what, we will be fine. We have enough to meet our needs and a bit extra for a happy meal. We have a nice house in a lower middle income neighborhood. Our sofa is about 20 years old, but it still works. My clothes are from garage sales and thrift stores.

When i look around, it feels like we are doing well. Maybe to somebody else that would not be the case at all. Maybe ignorance is bliss as they say?

I was once listening to this radio show on finances. The guy said something that kind of stuck with me. He said "If you can go into a mall, look around, buy nothing and feel great, then you have basically achieved financial happiness." That kind of sums it up for me. I feel good with what i have, i do not really need anything else.

Well that and i also avoid the mall like the plague.

Now don't get me wrong, there are days when being a cheapass has it's downside. Sometimes i feel a bit burnt out with the whole process. Like for example, I was walking around Khols the other day, eager to spend a 20 dollar gift card that was burning a whole in my pocket. Free money!

What was supposed to be a fun way to burn free cash kind of turned into a complete disaster. First i felt completely overwhelmed. Too much stuff and I did not even have enough money to buy one crappy t-shirt! How can you get the most bang from a buck if even the stuff on the clearance rack does not cover a tiny gift card? Then at every turn i had the opportunity to look in a mirror and assess my garage sale wardrobe. What seemed like totally presentable when i left the house this morning had morphed into crazy bag lady sans a few stray cats.  Wow, did i really leave the house looking like a bag lady? The thought that it could be a conspiracy theory made it feel a little better. The bad lighting and the fun house mirrors were there in order to make you feel so bad about yourself that you had to buy something! That was it, fun house mirrors and bad lighting.

Or maybe it was just me feeling the pangs of not enough money and being in a place where i did not belong. I could have a pity party or i could just pack it up and leave.

So i left. Yes, being a cheapass has it's downside. Note to self... stay out of Khols...

Life with dogs

"Nobody can fully understand the meaning of love until he's owned a dog. He can show you more honest affection with a flick of his tail than a man can gather through a lifetime of handshakes."

Anonymous

My dog has been sick for awhile. After several vet trips, antibiotics and a an xray i was finally given a definitive diagnosis last week. He has a tumor in his nasal cavity. More than likely it is malignant and more than likely he has a very short time to live.


I spent a few moments at the vet that day digesting the news. I looked at my dog, wagging his tail and completely oblivious to what was going on around him. I questioned the vet and the diagnosis, came up with reasons why i thought he was wrong. The vet just looked at me and shook his head. Then i broke down and cried. I was not sure i could take this kind of news, i had already lost a dog to cancer, now Elvis.

The next step was a biopsy and MRI and then radiation treatment depending on the type of cancer he has.

We got Elvis 4 years ago from the Denver Dumb Friends League. He was almost 2 and we knew nothing about him save for the fact that he came from an over crowded shelter in New Mexico. I got him primarily for my son, who was 3 at the time. A dog to grow up with, like i had always had. But go figure, after about a month or so, Elvis was completely disinterested in Aaron, he bonded immediately to me.

I was his human.

I never thought about a cocker spaniel as a breed for me. My last two dogs were very large, one a 90 pound golden and the other a smaller st Bernard mix. They died about a year apart from each other, Brutus, the golden was 10 and had cancer, Bernie was also 10 and got a very bad infection that ended up as septicemia in his intestinal track. It took me almost 2 years to even think about getting another dog. Loosing both was devastating. Then after searching online i saw Elvis's picture one day on the Denver Dumb Friends League site. A smaller dog with huge brown eyes and I knew, that he was my dog. I took off work early and went straight there to get him.

He is the sweetest dog you can imagine, not a mean bone in his body. He always is wagging his tail and happy to see me. He waits by the window every day for my car to pull up. He has become the perfect running partner for me and best of all, i am his world.

When i got the diagnosis from the vet, i went home and had to come up with a decision. Either take him back on Friday for surgery or forgo treatment and let him live his life, happy, with his tail wagging and oblivious.

Then eventually let him go on his own.

After 2 days i decided, i called the vet and said i was going to let him be. The thought of putting my friend through radiation, pain and suffering, more than what he would go through anyway, just so that i could have him around for a few additional months, maybe a year, felt horribly wrong to me. It felt selfish. The decision to not treat him, nonetheless makes me feel wracked with guilt.

Was i doing the right thing?

Like every life altering decision, i am constantly questioning myself. I think with Elvis, with whatever happens now, i will always feel a bit of doubt in this decision. But i guess, this is life. Not every decision is cut and dry, some are not easy, and some will be wrong. This felt right for me and for Elvis. I wanted to remember him happy, not sick and bald from radiation.

So now it has been a week since his diagnosis. Every day he looks at me, his tail wags and there is a gleam in his eyes. He is happy to be around me and happy to be alive. I am happy to have him with me for another day.

Tonight i decided to take him for a short run. He pulled me along with his tongue out and his tail wagging.

When i looked at him, i thought to myself, if i ever had to have his diagnosis, i wish i could be a dog. What makes a dog such a wonderful animal, they give so much, expect so little, and only live to be happy and make you happy. So simple.

Finding the perfect running partner

Once upon a time i had the perfect running partner.

He was 60, classic type A personality, throw in a touch of aspergers and a dose of OCD and there you had it. He would show up to runs, gamin beeping, heart rate monitor carefully attached and checking all vitals, head lamp, extra watch, gadgets, gear, and home made GU. An engineer, a fellow running nerd like me. We were a match made in heaven.

We ran the same pace, often times alone, leaving the rest of our group in the dust (well only about a 10 minute mile but who's counting). He did not mind when i started to babble on and on. Usually he would comment with a grunt or a "a ha.. ya" and that was about it. I was positive that, he never really heard anything i had to say. He was merely a sounding board for my rambling diatribes or incessant whining. The whining that would almost always begin at about mile 16 or so "My ass hurts" or "My jog bra is not working for me" "Are we there yet?" "Slow down!" I could pretty much say whatever i wanted and he would just nod and say "a ha.. ya"

It lasted for about a year and then the worst thing that could have happened did... something unnameable and horrible. No, he did not move to Botswana.

He got way faster then me.

As a matter of fact he got so fast that he has now officially become a Boston qualifier. While a part of me is happy for his accomplishment. I mean, let's face it, getting a BQ is a pretty impressive accomplishment for any runner. A BQ is pretty much the creme de la creme. The ultimate goal to strive for. To Boston qualify is like reaching the top of Mt Everest.

It takes a lot of training and dedication, more for the type A personalities with the beeping Garmin and the precise training schedules to BQ. You really have to want to have it, you have to taste it and dream it.

That was not for me.

As a matter of fact, I will probably never BQ. I am not that obsessed or dedicated. Don't get me wrong, i enjoy running and i want to get better but it is not my ultimate goal. To me, running is about fun and i want to keep it that way. But now, I had nobody to run with. While i was happy for him, i was sad, oh so sad for myself.

Who would hear me whine? Who would let me ramble on about my wardrobe malfunctions or my painful body parts at mile 16? Who would take out his ipod, attach it to a speaker system to the top of his hat and play it for me so i could make it to the last few miles of a torturous run? Who would track the Garmin and let me know the pace every 17 seconds like clockwork?

If i wanted to train for another marathon anytime soon, i needed to find another running partner or i was seriously screwed. No way i could do those long runs on my own. My discipline was non-existent. I needed someone to whine to! I needed someone to go "a ha... ya" Without the "a ha.. ya", i would be lucky to do 3 miles on my own without stopping for a vanilla shake at Sonic and then having my husband pick me up at Chipotle.

Now what?

The what is, I am back to square one and am now feeling a bit defeated. As a runner, It is very difficult to find someone that you can bond with. Most runners do not fit one size, they are either faster than you or slower than you, so hard to find a happy medium.

So i joined a different running group this year. More runners to choose from. I am hoping i will find "the one" but who knows. It feels a bit like an online dating site. I keep testing out other runners. Do they mind that i am talking about Mob Wives or the Real Housewives at mile 15? Do they care if i start to whine about my sore feet at mile 17? I keep trolling for all the perfect prerequisites, proper form, good stamina, perfect pace, tolerates rampant whining at mile 16, is able to filter out rambling diatribes and just nod when needed.

Homemade GU, need not apply.

So far, not so much luck, but i refuse to give up. I know he or she is out there. So i keep looking. Hopefully the perfect match will surface and it will be like Forest Gump, peas and carrots or oatmeal and blueberries... i donno, you get the idea right?

Wardrobe Malfunctions

I am a dork.

Why you say do you think this way? Well let me explain myself.

I always feel like i am seriously out of place when i join my running group. Everyone else has brand new running gear, expensive GPS watches beeping happily, serious sneakers and pricey tech shirts. What do i look like? Well, i am one step away from bag lady from the thrift store in dayglo spandex, 15 year old sweat stained cotton tee shirt and tube socks with holes in each toe (OK, that is a scary visual but you get the idea).

Anyway, let's just say for shits and grins that i am cheap. OK, i am going to actually admit it... i am cheap. There i said it. Spending money on anything other then staples and toilet paper (is toilet paper considered a staple?) always seems frivolous to me.

I can't blame myself for this you know. I refuse to take any kind of personal responsibility! It is all my moms fault. OK, i know that is a cop out, I am after all 47, these "mom" issues should be well behind me right? Well... not so much.

I grew up in a house that was beyond frugal. I mean it was scary, any article of clothing that was threadbare and i NEEDED to throw out got picked out of the garbage by my mom to be recycled for rags or something else. Everything was recycled and reused. I guess from an environmental standpoint it was good, but growing up as a teenager it was horrendous. I learned at an early age that anything that i owned had to be used until it was see through. Buying a new item for school once a year was a thrill, that usually consisted of 2 pair of designer jeans and 2 matching shirts. Those items had to last, anything i wanted above and beyond that, i had to figure out how to buy on my own. It was rough, when your main salary was nights at burger king.

Either way, it pretty much molded me into one big old cheapass. Not all bad i guess. I actually am what you call fairly low maintenance. This makes my husband very happy actually. I am not into make-up, nails, the mall, high dollar hair cuts, or anything girly for that matter. Malls actually give me hives. They also bore the crap out of me. When i spend the day in the mall i am constantly thinking of how much time i am wasting and how i could be outside running or hiking or biking. As a matter of fact one day my husband and I took at trip to the new IKEA and i was so unbelievably overwhelmed that i had to go home and take a power nap afterwards. 

My mall is Unique Thrift store. It is about a mile from my house and if you had to inventory my entire house i would bet that 98 percent of it came from either this store or any number of local garage sales.

But sometimes, this can really bug the crap out of people. I have had my husband come unglued on me at stores several times as he watched me agonize over purchasing an expensive item for myself. After about an hour he usually snaps, turns bright red and says "Oh for Christ sake, would you just buy it!" at which time the salespeople stop talking, look over at us shaking their heads, doing that tisk tisk thing. Mortified, i end up slinking over to register to make my purchase.

Of course, i want to go ballistic on my husband when we get into the car and out of sight but i find myself ogling over my new purchase. Like a small child tearing open the packing and reading all the material. I have very little regret and am usually happy that i "bit the bullet" and spent the money.

So, I am beginning to think my husband has the right idea. Sometimes i just need to friggin buy it! This is also causing me to rethink the whole frugality thing. Maybe not totally abandon it but maybe change just a few small things about it, especially since my last wardrobe malfunction.

I was running the Slacker Half marathon in 2011. I had the cutest little running skirt on. This was a huge splurge for me. I "bit the bullet" and bought the skirt at the skirtsports website, clearance of course for a whole 35 and change. Big bucks! These running skirts are not cheap mind you, typically costing about 75. So of course, i felt like i hit the jackpot, plus i looked amazingly cute in it.

Well, actually, i looked cute in it for the first 3 years that i owned it, then as it got more and more threadbare, it was hard to justify the whole cute thing. The material started to fray and snag, the bottoms were totally misshapen and the elastic was just not working full force anymore. But frugal me, do i throw it out? No way! I guess maybe i was afraid to throw it away for fear that my 80 year old mom would fly in from New York and snatch it out of the garbage can. Damn her and her frugality!

Instead, out of good judgement, i continued to try to "work it" and simply had to wear it for Slacker, one of my favorite races.

The skirt worked for me until about mile 2, then everything just fell apart from there. As i was running the elastic band around the waist started to slip off my waist and slowly edge to somewhere around the halfway mark of my ass.

I tried my best to adjust it, shoved my shirt inside the skirt, pulled the skirt up, folded the top of the skirt down, ya, nothing helped. To make matters worse, because the skirt had a little pair of spandex shorts attached to them, i had nothing on underneath... yes that's right, commando for this girl!

So here i am running, holding up the skirt and trying not to give the people in the back of me a show of a lifetime (it might actually make them run the opposite direction which would be an unfair advantage on my part). White pasty butt action was after all, not every bodies cup of tea.

One of my running friend's kept looking at me, shaking her head and said, "Girl, that skirt needs to go in the trash as soon as you get home!" Liar! I had this under control. I could just hold it up and run, she would see, i was going to PR that day, skirt around my knees and all!

Finally, after about mile 5 or so i got the bright idea to take some of the safety pins from my bib and use them to pin the top of the skirt so that it did not keep sliding down past my ass. It worked, but boy did i look like a complete dork. I was dork personified. Maybe they had a medal for that at the end of the race?

So now, you ask, what has this experience taught me? Well maybe, i should stop being so dang cheap. After all, life is short, and i should really look cute at all my races right? I mean, i can't go fast so i may as well look good while shuffling for 13 or so miles.

So now what i need to do as soon as i finish writing this is buy a new running skirt and... realize that my mom is not going to come out and snatch my threadbare clothes out of the garbage anymore.... thank god.

Treadmill Love

I bought my first treadmill about 8 years ago after my husband had a heart attack. They told him that he would need additional physical therapy after he got better and he really enjoyed the treadmill at the hospital. So i got one. Then i put it in my living room, strategically faced close enough to the TV yet far enough away from the kitchen.. brilliant! Not a ton of room left in the living room after the treadmill took residence but enough to maneuver around the training equipment and shove your butt on the couch with a bag of cheesy poofs.

I am not going to lie about it, deep down inside i really bought that treadmill for me. I just did not want to admit it at the time. While i did not want my dear hubby to fail at working out, i really did want him to use it, i knew that it would not be his thing after a few tries. I felt a bit like Lex Luther. Maybe telling people "Oh that was for Alan, but since he never uses it, i figure i should try it..." Diabolical...

Now, i am not an impulse purchaser at all. Most people call me cheap. I take it all in stride, yes, i admit, i am cheap! So what. Everything i purchase is well thought out and agonized over months, maybe years, before it is purchased. I never buy anything that i do not need, i steer clear of malls like the plague, i am not easily influenced by used car salesmen. As a matter of fact i am the used car salesmen's worst nightmare.

But when i saw that shiny new treadmill in the store, i have to say, i was instantly smitten with it. I remember the first time i laid eyes on it, like a love sick cow. I did some research, agonized for months and then bit the bullet and went to one of those upscale fitness equipment stores in yuppie hell. Only top of the line models for this place. I told myself as i drove over, that "I am just going to look, thats it..." Well when i saw it....ahhhhh. It stood by the window, clean lines, sturdy frame, beautiful streamlined True Treadmill.

The sales lady saw me. She new she found her sucker. She asked "Did you want to try it?" She must have seen the longing in my eyes and the little piece of drool hanging from the left side of my mouth. She had me at "Would..." Yes Yes! Turn it on! It took all of about 15 minutes before the sale was made and i was walking out with receipt in hand. I had a glazed look in my eyes.... did i really just spend THAT MUCH on a treadmill????

Anyway, they delivered my shiny new treadmill. I was giddy with anticipation. Hey, it was not for me. It was for my husband right? The ultimate act of a caring spouse. I did mention that already, right? And i am not going to lie, i spent months pestering him to use it. I said "It is so smooth, It hardly makes any noise, try it, just once." I started to wonder if i put a little bag of cheesy poofs on the control board if it would lure him in? Not a chance. He was of course, favorably unimpressed with it. He patted me on the back, thanking me for for thinking of him, used it about twice and then parked his butt on the couch with a bag of cheesy poofs in hand. I guess it is hard to teach an old dog some new tricks?

I was sad that after all my hubby went through that he would be so unimpressed with this gorgeous piece of machinery. I guess i could have pestered, bugged, bribed and threatened my husband but that would not have made the situation any better for either of us. It was not my job to move him to better health, that was his. So here this treadmill sat.

Poor Sir Dready, i thanked him for being gracious enough to help me dry my socks and underwear for several months after the fact. I dusted it off from time to time and looked longingly at it but for some reason i could not bring myself to get on it. I think maybe i was intimidated by him? I could not fudge my miles or my speed anymore, roll out the door for an hour and go "Oh that must have been at least 7 miles! I was flying." The buttons were scary to me too. I was not used to having to control so much of my running environment with a button. Then of course there was always this underlying fear that if i got on it and it was too fast wouldn't i go flying off the back of it?

Of course, all of this unfounded. After a few months i finally got up the nerve to try it. It was smooth. There was no noise. Oh oh... i am not as fast as i thought... Either way, it started to be a good thing in my life. I got to the point where i could not avoid him, he was right there as you walked into the living room from the garage. He was not going anywhere, i had to get on. Then once or twice, became a steady habit for me.

Since then, Sir Dready has been sold and replaced. I used my new treadmill quite a bit too. Some days are better than others. I do miss Sir Dready though. I am not sure why i sold him either. I think at the time i stopped using it and figured it was a waste to have. I think deep down inside, looking at him every day and not using him made me wracked with guilt. I thought, if i sold it then i could recoup some of my loss, right? The minute after the sale was made, i knew i made a horrible mistake. The woman knew what she was buying too. She found the ad that i put on craigslist and was over in a flash. You could tell she knew i was selling it for a song, and she was right.

So now i have a cheapy one. It sits in my office, so i see it and use it, which i do. It rattles and shakes, makes so much noise that if i do not have headphones on i find myself trying not to yell if i need something. It makes very loud beeping noises and to this day i have not quite figured out how the programs work. It seems that sometimes they do and other times they don't anyway. Oh well... maybe one day this dready will kick the bucket. Secretly i am hoping it does so it gives me an excuse to visit that fancy fitness store again. I have kept myself from going, i know once i go, i will be lured into those beautiful machines again. I will not be able to control myself. And this time i will not be able to say "it is for my husband!"

Cancer, what it is, what it is not

The other day my sister called me very distraught. She told me a close friend of hers was dying of cancer. Apparently it was diagnosed in a very late stage and after a brave battle she was nearing the end of her fight. Here was a woman in her early 40's, vibrant, beautiful, with young children, who took amazing care of herself. She was a fitness instructor in the best shape of her life. I had to stop and ask myself, why?

She talked to me for about 15 minutes and i started to zone her out. To be honest i did not want to talk about cancer. I hate cancer. I am over cancer. I tried to be supportive and understanding. I have been there with this horrible disease, but for some reason i did not have the stomach or will power to talk about it with her. I felt horrible for basically telling her to "stop, i cannot talk about this anymore." She got quiet and said "ohhh... i did not mean to depress you, i am so sorry." Then she hung up.

I just could not do it. So many friends and family over the last few years have lost their battle to cancer. Sister in law, coworkers, friends, family. I hate it. I want to wish it away. I want to think that it is just a dream and that it does not exist and never existed.

I can't do that.

As human beings, we think we have ultimate control over everything in our lives. Since the time of the cave man, we have been trying to somehow control our environment. Throughout the decades we have built cities, gadgets, skyscrapers, roads and amazing landscapes that make a mark on the world and control the way we move throughout it. We think that somehow with all of our knowledge about how to answer every question put out there that somehow we have this disease beat. We do not, we cannot even begin to control how it happens, who gets it and why.

Oh sure, we have some clues. We have finally figured out that things such as; health, diet and environment play some part but there are still so many questions that remain unanswered. We figure if we can control everything else, somehow we can control whether or not we get this disease.

We start to eat right, exercise, take care of ourselves, go vegan, see a doctor all the time. Now it is all good, It cannot possibly enter our lives because we have ultimate control over it.

How wrong we are.

To the people that have gotten this disease, could they have done some things differently? Quit smoking? Eat better? Take care of themselves? Yes, yes and yes. And when we stop and think about all of those things sometimes we lay judgement on a person with this disease. I have had friends say "Well they smoked, they did it to themselves." Yes, to a point that might be correct but sometimes it really does not make any difference. Cancer does not seem to care what you do, what you look like, how popular you are, and if you are a wonderful person. If it wants you, It finds you, and takes you. Cancer, unlike us, has no judgement and no control issues. It is the one in control, not you.

I finally get this, It took years, but i do. I hate cancer but i have come to terms with it. In some ways i have come to accept it as a part of life. It comes and goes out of my life and i cross my fingers and hope that it's next victim is able to survive it. Sometimes this works, most of the time, it does not. I understand that i have no control over this and no matter what i do, it can happen to me.

So instead of questioning it and the person it picks, i am compassionate and understanding. I understand that if it has not come into your life, eventually it will. All you can do is cross your fingers and fight the good fight.

We are all in this together.

The unbearable lightness of facebook

Facebook has become my obsession of late, i tell people that i "am hardly ever on it", which is a boldfaced lie. I find myself randomly checking my Facebook account at least a dozen times a day. I realize that i can probably categorize myself as "the lurker" i basically troll around the site and look at everybody else's posts but rarely put anything up that is even remotely interesting, important, or even entertaining (well maybe the later if you count the funny cat pictures i found on the George Taki fanpage). Anyway, what is the point? I realize there is no point. Nobody really has anything important to say at all. And the minute you post something you think is news others have already jumped on that bandwagon. Point in case, Whitney Houston. Really? I thought i was the first one telling the world about her demise! I realized that i was one of millions that felt the need to post it on Facebook. Not that i am minimizing it at all. I did in fact really feel so horrible about her death, but i also felt like reading about it a gazillion times on Facebook somehow made it so much less profound.

I guess i am still trying to figure out the point to this whole social networking thing. Does it connect or disconnect people from each other? Do people really want to know what you are doing or do they just want you to know what THEY are doing? I tend to think the latter is true.

I often ask myself, does everyone aside from myself really have this great of a life? I know this is not the case, nobody is always "smiley and happy" and that there is a certain percentage of people that even brag about what they have accomplished. I know this, because just in my friend list i have Ultramarathon runners, PHD's and the wealthy that think nothing of posting endless pictures of vacations, second homes, and expensive cars. Not to mention, all of the wonderful accomplishments of their children. Depressing... sometimes, yes.

I thought connecting with high school friends (and not so friends) would be enlightening. I thought, wow, now is the time that maybe those cheerleaders and cliquey horrible popular people would actually want to know what i was doing with my life! Ya, not so much... As a matter of fact, as i add them all to my friend list like potatoes in the sack, i came to the sad realization that i will probably never even take 5 minutes of my day to chat virtually with any of them. I do lurk around their pages like a voyeur trying to see if they really are the perfect people they were in high school. I troll through all of their pictures gazing at the smiling faces and trips to Europe, cruises and beach perfect bodies. Some of my high school enemies look as perfect as they did in high school, aging has apparently stopped counting for them. They look amazing.

They have also done well over the years, or so their pictures portray that they have. They have great jobs, handsome husbands and beautiful children. Some even have grandchildren (this is really sad to me). Either way, it makes me feel like i have somehow failed in "most likely to succeed" category. Outwardly you would not think this, i have accomplished a lot in my life (at least i think i have) but sometimes when i look at others, well, i feel like i have somehow fallen miserably short.

I realize i am being overly dramatic. If you knew me in high school you would have probably thought i would have ended up as a professional waitress at Denny's or an inventory clerk for a nut bolt and screw factory (actually had a summer job doing that). Lets just say i was not all that. I was very shy, had very few friends and was a major under achiever. I had no self confidence. The only thing that gave me any sense of self worth was being on the swim team (that was where all the chicks that did not make it into the popular sports ended up). It was there that i found my passion, even though i was not fast, it was something that made me feel like i could accomplish anything. It was where i felt like i fit in. The rest of high school pretty much sucked.

To be honest, i spent several years floundering around after i graduated. I had no idea what i wanted to do when i grew up so i tried everything. I spent years in and out of different colleges, tried the military, moved out on my own (with or without different boyfriends), and pretty much took up space on the universe as a professional college student. I waited tables for years and took classes here and there so i could say i was "working on my BA." It was a sham.... it actually (and i am kind of ashamed to admit this), took about 10 years to finally get my BA.

I met my current husband, moved out of NY to Colorado in 1990. We pretty much had nothing (unless you count the 2 quarters we were able to scrape together). We drove cross country in a 1963 Chevy Impala that was falling apart. It broke down in every state and i remember having to shove towels in the rusted out hole that was in the passenger side floor. We had some houseplants, an old crotchety cat and my step son (who was only 9 at the time), squeezed into the back seat. I was 25 and my husband was 36. We had no clue what we were doing and all i know is that he had a job in Colorado and i had no life in NY. It was a match made in heaven!

It was rough, we barely knew each other when we decided to hook up and move out west. We thought we had it made! We had hardly any money but we figured out how to make it work. If you asked me now, "would you have done it again" i am not sure that answer would have been a yes. But now as i look back, i realize it helped shape me into the person i am today and i have a beautiful son to show for our life together. I would not trade that for the world.

If i had to put everything in perspective, life did not really begin for me until i was in my late 30's, early 40's. I tell people that the best years of my life have been the last 10 or so. In a way, that is a sad testimonial but it also makes me happy that i finally figured out who i am, what i want, and what is important to me. If i had to rate my life right now, i would have to put it somewhere around an 8 or so, seriously, It feels right to me. I am finally really happy.

I had my son at 40. I completed over 20 half marathons and 6 full marathons from age 42 on. I finally got my Master's degree at 45, and i have a great job at 47. So maybe i am not a grandmother, or have a summer house in Maine, but i do actually have a really great life. It just took me longer than most to get there and of course to realize it. To realize that money was not what would ultimately make me happy, it was the accomplishments that did it for me.

I also realize now, that what is important to me, more than anything else, is to keep on accomplishing great things for myself... and nobody else. I intend to run until i am 80, one day maybe an ultradistance. So what if i am 80 when that happens? Who cares? I just do not feel the need to post it on Facebook for the world to see. These are my accomplishments now, and nobody else's.

I try not to compete, i put up my own smiley faced photos, trips to Colorado Springs and pikes peak (OK not a cruise, i live in Denver which is about an hour from each of those places). I put up pictures of my son and I skiing, those are pretty cool. Not too many of the smiley faces do that back east where i moved from.

Ok, so the reality of the situation, i am not rich, and to put up phoney pictures trying to emulate that on Facebook, would be a lie. My husband and I do not take fancy trips, we do not drive a Hummer, and we do not own a vacation home in the Poconos. All of my clothes come from the thrift store and after we pay all the bills at the end of the month, there is a little bit left for movies and a dinner out here and there. If you ask me "does that bother you?" i say, no... I have a very comfortable life, i am able to provide for my son, my husband and have a bit extra for a few fun things at the end of the month.

To be honest, and as much as i fantasize about hitting the lottery, or getting promoted to CEO, i will never be rich. We will never be rich. That is just the way it is.

I know, I know, think big, dream big, right? Yea, I get all of that, but i am also a realist. A close friend of mine says, you are so underpaid. You have a Masters degree, you should be making way more money! And i realize, she is right, but the thought of working in a place that fosters weirdness (think typical corporate america) is about as appealing to me as sticking a hot needle in my eye. To work at something that makes me stressed out and miserable at the end of the day... no way. To have to work overtime in order to sacrifice time away from my son, never going to happen. With age, my priorities have changed. I enjoy working in education, i love the people i work with and my job enables me to have a life at the end of the day. This makes me happy, not rich, but happy.

I have actually thought about disabling my Facebook account several times. Why do i need to try and compete? I feel like i am keeping up with the Joneses! It is actually quite silly if you think about it. As much as i do not want to admit, it is hard not to lurk and compare my life to others. Do they really have it all and my life is a sham? It is hard to ever know what is real and what is not on Facebook. I try to take it all with a grain of salt. I am sure they have all had their trials and tribulations as i have had, maybe they are just ashamed to admit it. Everybody wants to paint a pretty picture, don't they?

I think that i could spend more time doing something a lot more productive than trolling around Facebook, not sure what that is yet but i am sure i will think of something. Then again i cannot control myself... back at it, lurking, lurking... the voyeur with nothing else to do.