I come from a long line of farmers, well, on one side of my family anyway. My mom grew up on a farm, she had horses, fields to play in, and I'm pretty sure she knows how to milk a cow. She had every little city girl's dream of what owning a pony would be like. I guess I would call myself a city girl, I mean nothing like NYC or Chicago. I didn't know how to hail a cab, use public transportation, or encounter bums daily growing up. On the other hand I didn't know how to milk a cow, saddle a horse, or de-feather a chicken so by all means I wasn't your typical small town girl either. I am just your average not-so-small-or-big-city girl.
I grew up in Indiana; when people hear this they automatically picture me in overalls and in a cornfield. This not only makes me laugh but could be nothing further from the truth. I lived in a subdivision, had air conditioning and no one in my family was my brother and cousin at the same time. If you asked me growing up I would have told you I was a small town girl, you ask my mom, and she'd tell you I was a city girl. I do not know why but this bothered me to no end. I was out to prove to her that I was a small town girl!
This story is about the day I found out Mom was right. (You have no idea how hard that was to type!) I guess it should have been a sign to myself that she might be right when I actually considered mowing the yard to be a type of 'farming'. I mean it's a little like plowing a field right? I was headed over to my grandparents house to mow their yard for them. My grandma was the one that use to do the mowing but the task had just become too tiring in her old age (no offense grandma) She stands at maybe 4'll and has more of a waddle than walk thanks to a hip surgery (I think it is absolutely adorable and is something that comes to mind when I think of her)
Anyway! She greeted me at the door and led me out back to the shed where the mower was. Before you start judging my chore list as child, yes, I did mow my parents yard but they had a push mower, my grandparents had a riding mower. In my mind what was titled a chore in my home seemed to be a piece of cake at grandma's. She said she would get the mower out for me and then show me how to use it. She disappeared and came out with, what I think, was the original first riding lawnmower. Ok maybe it wasn't that old but it wasn't the John Deer that I was expecting to see either. She killed the motor and showed me the shift stick thing, the gas petal and what everything did. After she was done she wanted to know if I had any questions. Only one grandma, when did you pick up Chinese as your second language because I didn't understand a word of what you were talking about. I smiled and shook my head yes, I mean if my 82 year old grandmother can handle this thing I'm pretty sure I can figure it out. In my mind it was like a car with a blade and no radio.
I hopped on and turned the key. Nothing. Grandma reminds me to do something with the stick thing and the break. I do it and VAROOM! I give her a thumbs up and a big I-totally-know-what-I'm-doing smile. The fear in her eyes says it all but I just assume her allergies are bothering her. I decide to head to the front yard because there are less trees and I can practice before I get to the backyard which is full of twists and turns, four trees, their garden, and the shed. It was like the Mowing Olympics if you asked me!
As I'm riding along I decide to call my mower 'Bessy' I mean she is like a trusty stead in the field so why not give her a name that honors that. Bessy has a little kick to her, this ol' girl can move! We're flying up and down the yard and I'm thankful that I decided to wear an old t-shirt and shorts because to steer Bessy took a lot of muscle and I could feel the sweat drip down my forehead as we made our way back toward the house. I start to daydream a little about the sweet tea and cookies that will be waiting for me at the end of my hard day in the field. I can picture Grandma ringing a dinner bell to let me know it's ready (in reality she could just waved me in from the kitchen window)
Just as I think 'There's nothing to this farming thing, it must be in my blood' I feel something in my shirt. I sit erect, Bessy can sense my fear and gives a little shudder. It's ok girl, I pat her on the head (steering wheel) it's just sweat, this summer sun is obviously getting to me next time I'll have to remember my straw hat. We turn and head back to the house and there it is again. Ok now I know it isn't sweat because I can feel it's legs. THERE IS A BUG IN MY SHIRT!!! Get it off! Get it off!!! GET IT OFF! I panic and steer Bessy this way and that leaving crooked mowing lines in my wake. Somewhere in the craziness my shirt flies off (no worries, the story is still PG I have a sports bra on thank you very much) I hit the stick thingy and we take off towards the house. There are a row of bushes and plants that my grandparents have worked hours on end right in my path and I can't seem to find the brake! Woo girl, WOO GIRL! Oh yeah, Bessy isn't really a horse and I'm not really a farmer! What the heck am I doing? We crash into the bush and I can hear the blade hack away at it (it didn't have a chance) Grandma comes flying out of the house with a look I've never seen before from her (so THAT'S where my mom got it) She comes up to Bessy and I, grabs the keys and kills the engine. I sit there for a second dazed and confused as to what just happened.
I look up to see my Grandma standing there looking at me like I'm crazy (at this point she might be right though) Why didn't you hit the brake, or kill the engine, or at least bring up the blade? Wait, what? I didn't even know I could bring the blade up, what does that even mean!? Thankfully for me, my Grandma is a lady and does not lay into me with a string of profanity that I probably deserve. I pulled Bessy from the bush, poor little thing barely has any limbs anymore. Thinking I would just put the mower back in the shed and wait until one of my male, more farmer like, cousins could come and mow for them I was surprised when Grandma told me to finish. Is she nuts? I was thrown from my horse, Bessy can sense my fear and now doesn't trust me as her rider.
I reminded myself I was here to prove a point to my own mother and if I gave up now I would be proving her right (I wish I would have known it shouldn't have mattered because by running over the bush I had already proved her right!) I picked up my shirt, inspecting every inch for the bug that caused this horrible scene in the first place. I couldn't find him, I'm sure he was already in the next pasture over. Thankfully the rest of my 'plowing' went without incident.
I was still invited in for sweet tea and cookies at the end of my day. I was covered in sweat, grass and dirt. I may have looked like a farmer but that's as close to one as I would ever be. I was embarrassed and defeated. That little bug with the six legs proved my mom was right, I am a city girl. I don't like the outdoors, I still freak out when I think a bug is touching me and I wouldn't be caught dead in overalls. I am pretty sure that 'farming gene' skipped my generation and that is ok with me becuase my 'farming' days are over!
9.6.11
An 8th month old kicked my butt
So remember all that writing I was going to get done today while Sidney entertained herself? Yeah, that didn't happen, in fact the only thing that happned was me taking a nap with her, feeding her, changing her. Holy cow I'm not ready to be a mother yet...she was such a good baby but I'm pooped! To try to be creative while watching a baby, making sure she's happy, not hurting herself or anything like that...not happening, didn't happen. My 'creativity' was my metal to-do list that I wanted to accomplish when I got home...I don't even have enough energy to cross anything off, let alone do anything on the list. Thankfully I have tomorrow off so I can do my to-do list. I have to say though, our pets are totally children. Since I just smacked my head on the keyboard after dozing off...I'm off to recharge my 'creative' batteries
6.6.11
It's Offical
It's offical. I have writer's block. Is it possible to have writer's block if I'm not a real writer? lol. I have set a deadline for myself, July 15th. I feel that will be enough time to get my stories done, edited and published before my Grandma's birthday. Plus if I have a deadline, there will be pressure (like a REAL writer!) I'm hoping this Thursday my brain will finally give me something like my 'Target' story, I mean that story literally just poured out of me! Thursday I am babysitting for a friend of ours so I figured I will have the entire day to write! I'm going to be making outlines until then to help my creative juices flowing! Ok, I just wanted you all out there (hi mom) to know what's up...plus I will probably post my book that I have two chapters done sometime soon as well:)
22.5.11
Grandma Story #1
So I'm slowly thinking of and starting my book for my Grandma's birthday in August, I still haven't decided on how many there will be; but I guess it will depend on the length of the stories. So, here's the first one!:)
She looked up from the latest spelling test she had been grading; this was her favorite time of the day, 'The Reading Club' she gave her second grade class 30 mins out of the day on Tuesdays and Thursdays so they could pick any book, and anywhere in the room to read. She prided herself in giving her little 7 and 8 year olds the freedom to take what they had been larning in class and let their mind grow and learn on their own for an hour a week. Many of the other teachers did not give their classes so much time to do this and seemed to always give her a questioning eye as they walked past and noticed silent students spread throughout the room with a book in hand. As she scanned the room to find the gigglers or daydreamers that needed to be brought back at the task at hand she stopped on Elizabeth. This precious little girl was wiping the sweat from her brow and concentrating so hard, Sue could almost hear her sounding out the story in her mind.
Elizabeth, now here was a student Sue hadn't had in a long time. The type of student that so desperately wanted to read but what having such a hard time learning to. Lizzy was the first one in line to the library, the one that had a pile so high she could barely carry them, and the one that was having the hardest time sounding out the words. Sue had students in the past with such problems but they were usually diagnosed with a learning disorder and sooner or later they were able to read. She knew Mrs. Clark had done everything a parent could do, she took her to see doctors, practiced with her daughter every night, she talked to specialist but no one seemed to have the answer. She heard everything from 'She is probably just a late bloomer, she will get there just give her time.' to other person not-so-postive people saying 'Maybe she's just dumb.'
***Writers Block, friend came over so I will continue to work on this later:)
She looked up from the latest spelling test she had been grading; this was her favorite time of the day, 'The Reading Club' she gave her second grade class 30 mins out of the day on Tuesdays and Thursdays so they could pick any book, and anywhere in the room to read. She prided herself in giving her little 7 and 8 year olds the freedom to take what they had been larning in class and let their mind grow and learn on their own for an hour a week. Many of the other teachers did not give their classes so much time to do this and seemed to always give her a questioning eye as they walked past and noticed silent students spread throughout the room with a book in hand. As she scanned the room to find the gigglers or daydreamers that needed to be brought back at the task at hand she stopped on Elizabeth. This precious little girl was wiping the sweat from her brow and concentrating so hard, Sue could almost hear her sounding out the story in her mind.
Elizabeth, now here was a student Sue hadn't had in a long time. The type of student that so desperately wanted to read but what having such a hard time learning to. Lizzy was the first one in line to the library, the one that had a pile so high she could barely carry them, and the one that was having the hardest time sounding out the words. Sue had students in the past with such problems but they were usually diagnosed with a learning disorder and sooner or later they were able to read. She knew Mrs. Clark had done everything a parent could do, she took her to see doctors, practiced with her daughter every night, she talked to specialist but no one seemed to have the answer. She heard everything from 'She is probably just a late bloomer, she will get there just give her time.' to other person not-so-postive people saying 'Maybe she's just dumb.'
***Writers Block, friend came over so I will continue to work on this later:)
16.5.11
Chapter 8ish, 3030
I feel like my heart is going to explode. Holy crap; why did I let myself get so out of shape? A better question might be why the hell did I think running a marathon would be a good thing to add to my list? I mean I haven't even gone 2 miles and my legs are heavy and the peson at the fitness desk is charging up the AED; eyeing me as he does. Let's be honest for a second, I'm really not a runner. I mean yeah I have the running clothes, shoes, heart rate monitor and subscription to Runner's World; phssh but please that doesn't make me a runner. And to be COMPLETELY honest, I don't even like running that much, it's the way I feel AFTER the fact and sometimes I have to wonderful if it's even worth it.
I can do this, it's only 3 miles. I've run 3 miles plenty of times before; if I could do it then I can do it now. Who cares if I haven't laced up the 'ole running shoes in oh 8 months? (Who am I kidding it's been a freaking year) I move the towel to see how far I've gotten on this God forsaken thing, WHAT?! 1.75 miles? You have got to be kidding me, I still have over a mile to go? I will never make it; if anything the treadmill will keep going and my body will be laying at the end when my head repeadly hitting the tread. This was a bad idea, I should have signed up for a half marathon. Oh wait, I did that too. What kind of crazy you-can-do-anything (even though you haven't done much in the past 6 months) drugs am I on when I sign up for these events? What am I trying to prove to people, let alone myself? I mean am I a disappointment if I don't run 26.2 miles? Will people be able to look at me and think 'Oh there's no way she's ever done a marathon.' Better yet, what will people think when I tell them I have done a marathon. I'll tell you what they'll think, that I'm out of mind stupid and obviously enjoy torturing myself.
My towel slides off the treadmill tripping me on the way down. I catch myself but the whole process is watched by every single person in the cardio room. It's like they've never seen a girl run on a treadmill before. Wait, they have and yet they would have never thought someone that looks like they're so in shape could possibly be THAT out of shape that she can barely keep up with the 6.2 pace, breath (wheez) as if she were 250 lbs, or land so loud that you would have thought it was her first time running. It might be a good time to tell you that yes, I do look like I'm in shape but it is all a lie and I have depended on that lie long enough. I'm tired of people thinking I could do a plank for 2 mins when actually I can barely hold one for 30 seconds.
Ok Emily, enough with the Negative Nancy, tell her to shut up and focus. You CAN do this, the question is do you want to? I mean no one will have to know that you changed your list a few times. Well your family will know because you already told them you were running it, and everyone at work, the girl behind the counter at the running store, your husband, the cab driver from 2 weeks ago and of course don't forget your dog trainer. Damnit, why do I have such a big mouth, don't I know by now that my failures are less embarrassing when no one knows about them. Correction, it's almost worse beacause I know, and knowing that I have failed or quit yet another goal or dream is worse than anything. I'm tired of letting myself down. I do want to do this; so many people have talked about what an experience running a marathon is. I mean I'll be pushing myself to my body's limits. Wouldn't it be nice to know what my limits are, or better yet find out that something I once thought was a limit isn't anymore?
I smile to myself, crank up my Chevelle song on my ipod and hop back on the treadmill. I decide not to replace the towel. I don't need to keep this a secret and I don't need to hide any of the information that's on the treadmill from me or anyone else in the room for that matter. I pick up the pace to 6.3 and give the thumbs up to the trainer behind the desk (no life saving needed today my man) As I feel the sweat drip down my back, feel my leg musles flex and relax as they carry my body in the forward motion and see my reflection in the mirror I realize; yes, yes I do enjoy torturing myself.
I can do this, it's only 3 miles. I've run 3 miles plenty of times before; if I could do it then I can do it now. Who cares if I haven't laced up the 'ole running shoes in oh 8 months? (Who am I kidding it's been a freaking year) I move the towel to see how far I've gotten on this God forsaken thing, WHAT?! 1.75 miles? You have got to be kidding me, I still have over a mile to go? I will never make it; if anything the treadmill will keep going and my body will be laying at the end when my head repeadly hitting the tread. This was a bad idea, I should have signed up for a half marathon. Oh wait, I did that too. What kind of crazy you-can-do-anything (even though you haven't done much in the past 6 months) drugs am I on when I sign up for these events? What am I trying to prove to people, let alone myself? I mean am I a disappointment if I don't run 26.2 miles? Will people be able to look at me and think 'Oh there's no way she's ever done a marathon.' Better yet, what will people think when I tell them I have done a marathon. I'll tell you what they'll think, that I'm out of mind stupid and obviously enjoy torturing myself.
My towel slides off the treadmill tripping me on the way down. I catch myself but the whole process is watched by every single person in the cardio room. It's like they've never seen a girl run on a treadmill before. Wait, they have and yet they would have never thought someone that looks like they're so in shape could possibly be THAT out of shape that she can barely keep up with the 6.2 pace, breath (wheez) as if she were 250 lbs, or land so loud that you would have thought it was her first time running. It might be a good time to tell you that yes, I do look like I'm in shape but it is all a lie and I have depended on that lie long enough. I'm tired of people thinking I could do a plank for 2 mins when actually I can barely hold one for 30 seconds.
Ok Emily, enough with the Negative Nancy, tell her to shut up and focus. You CAN do this, the question is do you want to? I mean no one will have to know that you changed your list a few times. Well your family will know because you already told them you were running it, and everyone at work, the girl behind the counter at the running store, your husband, the cab driver from 2 weeks ago and of course don't forget your dog trainer. Damnit, why do I have such a big mouth, don't I know by now that my failures are less embarrassing when no one knows about them. Correction, it's almost worse beacause I know, and knowing that I have failed or quit yet another goal or dream is worse than anything. I'm tired of letting myself down. I do want to do this; so many people have talked about what an experience running a marathon is. I mean I'll be pushing myself to my body's limits. Wouldn't it be nice to know what my limits are, or better yet find out that something I once thought was a limit isn't anymore?
I smile to myself, crank up my Chevelle song on my ipod and hop back on the treadmill. I decide not to replace the towel. I don't need to keep this a secret and I don't need to hide any of the information that's on the treadmill from me or anyone else in the room for that matter. I pick up the pace to 6.3 and give the thumbs up to the trainer behind the desk (no life saving needed today my man) As I feel the sweat drip down my back, feel my leg musles flex and relax as they carry my body in the forward motion and see my reflection in the mirror I realize; yes, yes I do enjoy torturing myself.
30by30
**So most of you know that I have a little 'to-do' list called 30by30 and one of the goals on the list actually to write a book, I have like 4 books in the works, ha! So I think I have that goal covered. But I wanted to share in this entry my 30by30 ....
1. Build my character
2. Eat naturally for one month
3. Live anywhere but Elkhart
4. Do something that scares me every year
5. Write a book
6. Get rid of cable
7. Plant a garden
8. Run a Marathon
9. Inspire someone
10. Nude model for an art class
11. start our blanket
12. stop drinking pop
13. Go braless for a day
14. Do an olympic tri
15. Give up my cell phone for a month
16. Start a book club
17. Volunteer
18. Learn to meditate and stick with it
19. be able to do a bodyweight pull up
20. Be able to do a pistol squat
21. Be my natural hair color for a year
22. Read the entire Bible
23. Take a class (i.e. language, photo, art)
24. Do a bikini or figure competition
25. Reduce, Reuse, Recycle
26. Become CSCS certified
27. Become financially sound
28. Give up materialistic things (i.e. crap in my closet)
29. Go commando for a day
30. Become a mom.
1. Build my character
2. Eat naturally for one month
3. Live anywhere but Elkhart
4. Do something that scares me every year
5. Write a book
6. Get rid of cable
7. Plant a garden
8. Run a Marathon
9. Inspire someone
10. Nude model for an art class
11. start our blanket
12. stop drinking pop
13. Go braless for a day
14. Do an olympic tri
15. Give up my cell phone for a month
16. Start a book club
17. Volunteer
18. Learn to meditate and stick with it
19. be able to do a bodyweight pull up
20. Be able to do a pistol squat
21. Be my natural hair color for a year
22. Read the entire Bible
23. Take a class (i.e. language, photo, art)
24. Do a bikini or figure competition
25. Reduce, Reuse, Recycle
26. Become CSCS certified
27. Become financially sound
28. Give up materialistic things (i.e. crap in my closet)
29. Go commando for a day
30. Become a mom.
10.5.11
Untitled Chapter 1-ish
I will not cry. I will not cry. I will not cry! They come anyway. I can feel them fall around my apple shaped cheeks and their heat radiate against my skin. I hope they can feel me radiate my hatred right back at them. This is the third night in a row that I've cried once I've gotten into bed. Why can't they just leave me alone? Isn't it bad enough that I'm fat; do I really have to pity myself to the point of tears? Oh, I should probably introduce myself, I'm pathetic, wait wait I mean I'm Casey. I know this is probably not the greatest first impression but I feel it is important for you to know what rock bottom looked like for me. What? You imagined rock bottom being me with a pint of Ben and Jerry's Ice Cream watching yet another trashy reality show hating myself? Oh no, that was just me hitting a few bumps on the fall down. Rock bottom was when I actually thought about ending it all,over something that I actually had control over. I use the word control very loosely in that sentence by the way.
So there I was laying in my bed, in the dark and in tears. Now I've been in this situation before. The first time my heart was broken, the time my mom told me she was disappointed in me, the first time I heard someone call me fat. This night was different though, I had lost my hope. I didn't see a point to trying another diet or exercise routine when I knew I would just fail and probably have another 10 lbs added on instead of lost. As I wiped the tears away I was making a mental to-do list for the next day; most people would think of a to-do list to go something like this:
1. Pick up dry cleaning.
2. Workout
3. Call Mom
Etc, etc. My to-do list looked a little something like this:
1. put plastic down on bathroom floor
2. type up suicide letter.
3. pay bills! must not stress mom more than needed
4. Find a home for Arthur...
Arthur. How could I not think of Arthur? It was as if he could read my mind because my furry child hopped up onto the bed and began licking my cheeks. Now I know the scientific reasoning is probably because the cat probably just wanted the salt, whatever, I took it as a sign of love and as if he was saying 'Don't be sad Mommy, I love you no matter what you weigh.' If you are thinking about a nice white room with soft padded walls to put me in right now because of my human-like relationship I have with my cat, no worries, my mom reminds me quite frequently that she has one on speed dial for the moment I crack. Gee, thanks mom.
Anyway, I'm getting off track, back to Arthur. He was my rebound love right after my divorce; which to be honest he turned into my one and only love. I decided after Scott left me (oh you'll hear about him later, because lets be honest he had a LOT to do with this extra 50 I'm carrying now) that I needed a companion. I went to the local humane society and as I walked in they were taking this charcoal gray cat out of an animal carrier. He looked quite sad to be honest; his sea green eyes were dark and I'm sure if there were a mirror around I could have seen we had the same expression on our faces. The lady that was holding him looked up and saw me. 'His family just left him here, they said they were more 'dog people'. Poor fella, not wanted and unloved. I hope we have can find a home for him soon' I had to remind myself as I fought back the tears that she wasn't talking about me, she was talking about the cat. I told her that she could just put him back in the carrier because he was coming home with me.
Now honestly I couldn't leave Arthur to think he was unwanted again, not needed, or worse not loved! So yes folks this is my rock bottom. I'm fat but seeing as I can barely say the 'F' word we'll just call me 'out of shape', divorced, and the crazy cat lady. There's no where to go from here but up.
So there I was laying in my bed, in the dark and in tears. Now I've been in this situation before. The first time my heart was broken, the time my mom told me she was disappointed in me, the first time I heard someone call me fat. This night was different though, I had lost my hope. I didn't see a point to trying another diet or exercise routine when I knew I would just fail and probably have another 10 lbs added on instead of lost. As I wiped the tears away I was making a mental to-do list for the next day; most people would think of a to-do list to go something like this:
1. Pick up dry cleaning.
2. Workout
3. Call Mom
Etc, etc. My to-do list looked a little something like this:
1. put plastic down on bathroom floor
2. type up suicide letter.
3. pay bills! must not stress mom more than needed
4. Find a home for Arthur...
Arthur. How could I not think of Arthur? It was as if he could read my mind because my furry child hopped up onto the bed and began licking my cheeks. Now I know the scientific reasoning is probably because the cat probably just wanted the salt, whatever, I took it as a sign of love and as if he was saying 'Don't be sad Mommy, I love you no matter what you weigh.' If you are thinking about a nice white room with soft padded walls to put me in right now because of my human-like relationship I have with my cat, no worries, my mom reminds me quite frequently that she has one on speed dial for the moment I crack. Gee, thanks mom.
Anyway, I'm getting off track, back to Arthur. He was my rebound love right after my divorce; which to be honest he turned into my one and only love. I decided after Scott left me (oh you'll hear about him later, because lets be honest he had a LOT to do with this extra 50 I'm carrying now) that I needed a companion. I went to the local humane society and as I walked in they were taking this charcoal gray cat out of an animal carrier. He looked quite sad to be honest; his sea green eyes were dark and I'm sure if there were a mirror around I could have seen we had the same expression on our faces. The lady that was holding him looked up and saw me. 'His family just left him here, they said they were more 'dog people'. Poor fella, not wanted and unloved. I hope we have can find a home for him soon' I had to remind myself as I fought back the tears that she wasn't talking about me, she was talking about the cat. I told her that she could just put him back in the carrier because he was coming home with me.
Now honestly I couldn't leave Arthur to think he was unwanted again, not needed, or worse not loved! So yes folks this is my rock bottom. I'm fat but seeing as I can barely say the 'F' word we'll just call me 'out of shape', divorced, and the crazy cat lady. There's no where to go from here but up.
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