Relentlessly Resolute

I try not to make resolutions, because as soon as I put a title on something (like “resolution”), or make it a conscious decision, BOOM!, the possible becomes impossible. I can be going along just fine, eating healthily, but as soon as I decide to eat healthy, suddenly I find myself surrounded by mountains of empty Oreo packages.

I do much better at doing better when I have no idea what I'm doing.

Which is how I came upon the happy realization that I have, of late, become Relentlessly Positive. Or Annoyingly Optimistic, depending upon your perspective.

This is a rather blatant rip-off of Furiously Happy, a hilarious (yet serious) book by The Bloggess, Jenny Lawson, in which she details her efforts to combat/confront her mental illness by setting out to have as much fun as possible. In my defense, being Relentlessly Positive does not always mean that I am Furiously Happy, only that I am Less Frequently Stressed, and quite often Not As Grumpy As I Could Be.

My accidental descent into Relentless Positivity was an act of self-preservation. Faced with Persistent Pessimism, Wanton Negativity, and Bitter Outbreaks of Generalized Anger – triggered at least in part by contagious political partisan poopy-ism – I decided to focus on the good that is, rather than the bad that might be.

The seeds of positivity were planted last year in a chance encounter at the gym. As I was leaving after a 5:30 am class (still grumbling about hating mornings), a cheerful young man was coming in for his 6:30 am workout. He told me that he made a conscious decision every morning to be in a good mood (even at 5:30).

I found his attitude wonderfully refreshing!

Actually, I thought he was a complete nut job – because it was 6:30 in the morning and I had not yet decided to be Relentlessly Positive. But now, now I see the method to his madness.

When I focus on making the best of a bad situation, or when I stop borrowing trouble by anticipating the worst, or when I ignore things that are just none of my business, I am a lot happier.

Unfortunately, Relentless Positivity does have its drawbacks. In the first place it is exhausting. There are a plethora of Cockeyed Pessimists out there just waiting to harsh your mellow or steal your parking space. And sometimes I get so caught up in ignoring the Negative Nancys (and minding my own business) that I speak without thinking (not an entirely new situation).

For example . . .

I recently took a bread-making class, and as we were mixing our dough the discussion turned to celebrity chefs. Someone mentioned that they used to like Chef FancyPants (not his real name), until they read that he had sex with a bride – not his own – in the kitchen while catering her reception.

Caught up in the powerful Zen of dough kneading and Relentless Positivity, my lips started moving before my brain started working. (See: “I do better when I don't know what I'm doing,” only not so much.)

“Well, these things happen,” I said.

A hush fell across the kitchen; the kind of hush usually reserved for statements such as “I eat kittens for breakfast,” or “I voted for Donald Clinton.”

Still not entirely cognizant of what I had already said, I never the less felt compelled to say more. Unfortunately, I still did not feel compelled to think prior to speaking.

“I mean, Eww!” I continued. “Not in the kitchen!” (For the record, this celebrity chef neither asked for nor received my approval for his actions. But really, the kitchen?)

Just like that, I officially became the Unofficial Craziest Lady in the room. As such, my classmates took to treating me the way people usually treat the extremely socially awkward – speaking slowly, using small words and avoiding eye contact when possible.

Which is all a long way of explaining that as we approach a new year, I (unconsciously) intend to continue to hope for the best, prepare for the worst, and keep my mouth shut about things I can't control.

Unless I don't. In which case I will most likely say things that are Incredibly Inappropriate.

And I am Relentlessly Positive about that.

It's Still Morning in America

In a surprise move, the sun came up this morning.

The same as it would have regardless of who was elected President of the USA. The same as it does every day.

Suck it up, Buttercup.

Do you really believe that one person can change the nation over night? Or in four years?

You're right.

YOU CAN.

Quit whining, quit gloating. Roll up your sleeves and get to work.

Wondering what to tell your children or grandchildren?

Tell them to be honest, be kind, be fair, be considerate, be polite. Tell them to have good character. Respect others. Don't be a bully. Tell them to be nice to people even when people are not nice to you. And maybe, once in a while, you should try to figure out why those people aren't being nice to you. Because maybe, once in a while, it's YOU who is not being nice. And maybe, once in a while, it's YOU who needs to change.

And maybe not. Life is not fair.

Tell them “ask not what your country can do for you, ask what you can do for your country." Tell them to be one of “a thousand points of light.”

Worried about the homeless, the poor, the hungry? Volunteer your time at a homeless shelter, donate your money to a reputable charity. Want to make college affordable? Establish a scholarship or donate to a scholarship fund (or adopt my children). Worried about the environment? Reduce your waste, recycle, plant a tree. Worried about gun control? Don't buy a gun, be a responsible gun owner, enforce the laws that are already in place, restrict access to your own guns. Worried about American jobs and American wages? Support American companies, buy local, support businesses that support their workers, start your own business. Worried about affordable health care? Become a doctor or a nurse, volunteer at a clinic, stop going to the emergency room for a hangnail, eat less, exercise more, get vaccines, wash your hands, promote healthy living. Be PRO-active, not RE-active.

Quit whining, quit gloating, quit assigning blame. Quit telling me why you can't. Tell me how you did it. Quit mocking, ridiculing and name calling. Put on your big girl/boy pants and deal with it. Be an adult. Be better than most adults.

Quit looking to the government to solve our problems.

Roll up your sleeves and get to work. Lead, follow, or get the hell out of the way.

Be a force for POSITVE change. Work to BUILD not to DESTROY.

Wondering what to tell your children or grandchildren?

Tell them you love them.

Don't tell them anything. Show them. Set a good example.

Saying Goodbye: The Beginning of the End

So.

The Queen Mother is not doing so well.

Really, really, not well.

As in, it's past time for me to just get a grip, and admit that she will be gone soon.

It's just that... sometimes I still can't believe the woman lying there in that bed is my mom.

My Mom.

My Mom was always so full of life and energy and spit and vinegar and ornery, ornery, ornery-ness.

And love.

Even today there was a glimmer. When I got ready to go and I leaned over to hug her – to hold those wispy, fragile, bony shoulders – and to kiss her cheek and press the side of my face to hers, and to tell her “I love you,” it was there.

Her eyes found mine for just a moment.

“I love.”

A breathy whisper.

My heart broke, even as it filled to overflowing.

I realize that I only knew a part of her, knew her only for one segment of time. I realize that other peoples' memories and interactions with her were different than mine. But she was... is... my Mom. We weren't “Gilmore Girls” crazy (although we had our moments), or BFF's. She's my Mom.

My hero.

My role model.

Sitting at her bedside, watching her breath, wondering what she's seeing that's just beyond my sight, my mind swirls with memories and my heart fills with emotion.

Even when she became “confused” she was still Mom.

“She's good at faking it, ” I told a friend, “You could stop in to visit her and ask 'Do you remember me?' and she'll smile and say 'Of course'.”

“She was a good Midwesterner,” he said, smiling.

What a wonderful description! She was! She is a good Midwesterner.

“She always had a smile and a kind word for everyone,” said a different friend years ago.  I'm sure there are those who would disagree with that assessment, but for the most part, it's true. This was even before Mom got confused, when it was just too hard to get her in and out of the car to take her all the places she would have loved to go, to see people she would have loved to see.

The staff at the nursing home said the same thing. She was always smiling, always teasing. Just today the Hospice nurse, who has only been visiting for a couple of weeks, said that when she asked Mom how she was feeling, Mom would say she was fine and then ask “How are you?”

Do I remember to do that? Do I listen to the answers?

She was always willing to help. She helped coach my little league softball team. She became our super-support speech mom/one-woman cheer squad when I was in high school. She became a 4-H leader for our neighbor kids – long after I had aged out of the group!

She was part of a core group of ladies who took care of dinners at the church. There is nothing as polarizing, as potentially explosive as the politics of church basement ladies. Forget everything the talking heads on TV tell you as we head into another election year. If any politician – ANY politician – ever says “I helped serve dinners in the church basement” forget about religious affiliation and elect that person. Immediately.

After all those years of (church) basement politics, serving on the city council was the next logical step for Mom. She pictured herself a champion for the city workers, and was so proud to become Mayor Pro-Tem. How many people shun taking this type of responsibility, shy away from getting involved (myself included)?

Of course there's a fine line between getting involved and being a busy body. I think she stayed on the straight and narrow. Although, again, everyone will have their own opinion.

And she knew that, too. She knew that sometimes people tried to do the right thing, or at least do what they thought was the right thing. Even if she didn't agree with them, she recognized that their heart was in the right place.

Her heart was in the right place.

I just hope mine is too.

Even though it's breaking right now.

I love you, Mom.

Bridging the Political Divine

One possible upside to my being so busy I missed November, is that I didn't have time to kick off my political career. I've long known that I have the answers to all of life's problems. As election day 2009 rolled around I considered blessing everyone with my insight and knowledge. I just couldn't decide who would benefit the most from my brilliance, and this wasn't a Supreme World Dictator election year.

My political aspirations began after a typically crazy day of so-called "stay-at-home" mom chores. I was seriously considering a career change. I mentally listed my strengths (keen sense of fashion, razor-sharp wit, infallibility) and my desires (unlimited power, a huge paycheck, to be worshiped in a manner befitting royalty). Two job possibilities immediately came to mind: politician and mob boss. Since there are fewer politicians in jail than mob bosses, the choice was obvious.

Besides, I've always enjoyed spending money. Particularly other people's money. OK, that was really what tipped the scales in favor of politics.

What could you expect from a Jomama administration? A chicken in every pot, pot for every chicken. Something for everyone at no cost to anyone, all financed by OPM (Other People's Money).

Anyone can make empty campaign promises and vacuous slogans. I offer real plans, solid solutions to the most pressing problems. The first stop on my roadmap to prosperity is right here in eastern Iowa.

The Johnson County Board of Supervisors continues to wrestle with the question of what to do with the historic Sutliff Bridge. At last report it would take a mere 2.4 million dollars of OPM (news flash, you are the other people) to replace the span washed away in the flood of 2008.

If only the raging Cedar had been considerate enough to wash away the other end and leave the span next to Sutliff. That span could have become Eastern Iowa's biggest and best back porch! The bridge was always a great place to enjoy burgers and beer from Baxa's Sutliff Store and Tavern. Half a bridge would be even better -- short and sweet and closer to the bar!

But that's not the way Mother Nature rolled. Most people would look at that half a bridge and see a problem. Not me. I'm a bridge half-full kind of gal. Where others see problems, I see possibilities.

Let me take you through my solution-making process. Part one: the Sutliff Bridge was over a river. The river flooded. Big problem. Solution? Move the bridge. Seems obvious, I know, and yet people continue to put bridges over rivers. Go figure.

OK, part two: it's an historic bridge. I think "historic," I think history, I think... West Branch! Heck, the tavern building would fit right in with the downtown architecture. Now we're getting somewhere.

Speaking of getting somewhere, let's face it, Sutliff is not in the middle of somewhere. West Branch, on the other hand, is right off the interstate. Bingo! Bring the history to the masses!

For you purists, West Branch is located on the west branch of the Wapsinonoc Creek, so the bridge could still be a "bridge." The creek has even been known to flood occasionally, so the element of danger would still be there.

In fact, the creek plays a vital role in my plan to move the remaining span to its new and improved home. What the Cedar River hath started, let the Cedar River finisheth, I say. Just attach a couple pontoons and an outboard motor to the remaining span, wait for the next flood and sail her on down to the Wapsinonoc. I'm not sure the two waterways connect, but have you ever heard of a little thing called the Panama Canal? Where there's a will there's a way, baby. This thing has "made for Discovery Channel" written all over it.

Oh yes, I have a dream. A dream that some day West Branch will not only be the birthplace of the 31st President of the United States, but home to the Sutliff Bridge, and campaign headquarters for the Supreme World Dictator.