Real Bliss

Growing up I was a Coca Cola kid. I loved the delightfully sweet taste of coke and that nice little burn at the back of my throat when I drank it. Back then Coke came in 16 ounce glass bottles that you took back to the store for a refund. One of the worst days of my young life (i.e. before I realized what real tragedy was was the day that Coke announced New Coke. As the supply of the old stuff ran low, I'd drag my dad from store to store, gas station to gas station, to find the cans with the silver lid as I knew they were old Coke while the gold tops were the hated new Coke.

Finally, Coke wizened up and announced that they were bringing back Classic Coke. There was dancing in the streets as we all eagerly awaited the delivery of the "new" old coke. Soon the soda was flowing freely again and I was happily guzzling my favorite drink once again. I was and always have been a coke purist. Although I would drink Coke in a can when I was younger, I always preferred the Coke canned in Chicago to that canned in other places. People thought I was nuts when I said there was a difference in taste, but I was convinced. Once they started bottling Coke in plastic bottles, I refused to drink canned Coke anymore. It tasted flat and too sugary.

We managed to keep Coke away from our son until he was three, but in a moment of weaknesses during a layover at Hickam Air Base where we were stuck in the terminal for 48 hours, I relented and let him taste some soda pop. He was just as hooked as his mom and although we severely limited his intake, he got enough to know he liked it. He viewed it as a special treat, one that should be shared and the day his newborn sister came home from the hospital, he wanted to stop and get a soda for his little sister.

My love affair with the brown sugary stuff is entering a new stage as I recently realized that Coke from Mexico is still made with cane sugar and if you look hard enough you can find it in the States. I always get it when we go to the Maxwell Street Flea Market and last night I actually found it at our local Meijer and I purchased several bottles.

Although the Coca Cola company swears there is no difference in taste, I beg to differ. Mexican Coke comes in glass bottles, just like the real stuff, and it has a lighter sweeter taste. It doesn't even need to be refrigerated, but tastes incredible at room temperature right out of the bottle. My research on the Web has revealed that I'm not the only gringo with a taste for the Real Deal. Bodegas around the country are selling Mexican Coke as fast as they can stock their shelves and it's no wonder because one taste of that blissful brown liquid transports me back to childhood and days spent playing outside and coming in every so often for a cold soda.

Blissful Accomplishments

I'm coming to realize that there are two kinds of stress in life, one that can cause depression and illness and one that can push you to be better. The first kind of stress feels as if you're world is spinning out of control and that there's nothing you can do to help yourself or fix your situation. That kind of stress can cause depression, illness, and the stress itself can cause more stress, causing your life to continue to spiral downward. Most of us have felt that kind of stress a time or two in our lives and it's not something most of us would willingly sign up for again. The second kind of stress is the adrenaline packed stress of the moment when you're under pressure, but you know deep down that you'll succeed.

Unfortunately, that last few months have brought some incredible challenges that have caused me to experience more than one bout of negative stress. I'm learning to recognize the lack of sleep, queasy stomach, obsessive thoughts, and all the other signs that go along with this type of stress. I haven't yet found the perfect cure for dealing with this type of stress, but meditation, eating right, and exercise help.

Tonight, however, was all about the adrenaline packed stress of being under the gun and knowing I had to come through. It's layout week for Pacer and parents are responsible for bring meals for the whole crew. With the amount of kids on staff, everyone usually ends up bring food once or twice a year. Well, tonight it was my turn and after sternly lecturing me that bringing pizza or any other type of fast food, my daughter suggested that I whip up stir fry for twenty. Oh, and I had to make sure there was both a meat lover's version and a veggie version. Oh, and I had to make sure to bring the rice too. No problem, well except for a few minor details like a full time job that would leave only a couple hours to whip up dinner for 20 before the ravenous teenage hoards were ready to eat.

To top it off, I was too stressed over the weekend over a situation that ended up having an amicable resolution to go grocery shoppping, so not only did I have to whip up stir fry for twenty, I also had to make time after work to run and get the groceries. Once I got off work, the clock started ticking and as soon as I picked hubby up from the train, I raced off to the grocery store to pick up some groceries. One stop at Aldi for the meat and veggies and then another stop at Jewel for spices, soy sauce, and metal serving trays meant that an hour of my 2.5 hours was gone before I even heated up the stove.

The pressure started building as I headed into the kitchen to start chopping up meat and veggies. The pan I needed had to be washed before I started cooking so I turned on some tunes and got down to business. Once the music started flowing, I found myself in the familiar groove of being under pressure, but knowing I could control the outcome and that I would succeed. There was absolutely no way I'd let Cat down. I'd promised her I'd deliver and no matter what, I would.

While the chicken was frying in one pan, I dumped the veggies in another kettle figuring I'd cook them together and them mix them together. The rice went in the rice cooker (thanks Sean) and then I started to chop up the fresh veggies I planned to add to the frozen to make it a little bit more special. By then the aromas of garlic, sesame oil, and meat were filling the kitchen and I was getting into the rhythm of cooking. Once the chicken stir fry was done, I moved on to the beef stir fry and then the veggies. Once a batch was done, I dumped it into an aluminum roasting pan and then moved on to the next. The clock kept ticking down, but I finished within 10 minutes of when I said I'd be done.

I felt like Mom's catering service when I pulled up to the school and Cat's editor and chief and one of her friends were waiting outside to carry it inside. Cat didn't have shoes on so she'd sent the boys to do her bidding. Afterwards she quizzed me about whether the boys were polite or not and made sure to tell me that her "coworkers" loved and appreciate the food.

The evening ended with an incredibly deep sense of bliss and knowing I'd come through for my daughter and knowing that the stress I'd felt had helped push me over the finish line.

Burden Lifting Bliss

Today I took action and made a phone call that I should have made many years ago. We've had on again off again problems with the IRS for most of our marriage and rather than actually "manning up" and calling them, I've chosen to play the victim in every encounter and bury my head in the sand or hide my fear behind a belligerent facade. This time I decided that one way or the other we were going to confront our issues head on and come up with a final solution to our tax problems.

The weekend was spent researching and calling tax firms that advertise online in the hopes of finding a professional to take on the tax man. Unfortunately (or maybe it is fortunately?) our tax problems are less than $10K and below the threshold most of the big boys set for girding up to do battle. We found a couple of firms that would help us, but the fees were hefty ($1200 and up) and there were no guarantees.

I decided that before we ponied up the cash, I'd put in a call to the tax man myself and see if I could resolve our issues myself. I took multiple deep breaths before the call and then placed myself at the mercy of the IRS. The revenue officer I dealt with was very nice, realistic, and helpful. He asked me lots of questions about our income, laughed when I asked if he was going to come out and verify the exact mileage on my car, and we worked out an agreement we could live with.

Getting off the phone I felt as if 10 years of fear and frustration were lifted off my shoulders. The encounter was nowhere near as hellish as I'd convinced myself it was going to be and I realized that maybe I needed to start facing more of my problems head on instead of the passive aggressive way that I sometimes approach issues.

The Bliss of Trust--Guest Post by Cat

I’ll put it plainly: I’m not a team player. Ever since my childhood, flitting in and out of playgroups like a kindergarten ghost, I’ve never been willing to sacrifice my independence for the sake of being part of a bigger picture. Perhaps it has to do with my past: jostled from one house to another as my family found better opportunities, I rarely stayed in the same neighborhood or school for long. My upbringing – raised up in a human wolf pack, a fiercely independent clan bound by blood and hardship – encouraged me to think for myself and refuse help. Dependence, in my mind, has always equaled weakness; it has taken years of awkward adolescent loneliness and a spectacular person to break this mindset.

At the onset of high school, I joined the school newspaper on a whim. I never expected a hokey journalism class to completely revolutionize my life: in all honesty, I joined because it seemed like the only elective class that utilized my passion for writing. And yes, to be honest, while learning to design pages and write in correct AP style is often useful for class projects or research papers, these skills have not really changed me. Instead, it is the incredible people I’ve met – the people who share my passion for the written word – who have made the deepest impact in my life.

When I met Josh*, he was a gangly, slightly shy freshman whose voice made me snicker and who seemed like the ultimate teacher’s pet. As we sat in Journalism 1 class together, shooting glances at each other, neither of us expected that the next three years could bring about so much change for both of us. We didn’t interact much our freshman year, merely because I refused to associate with most of the newspaper staff beyond the class; I thought I was too ‘cool’ to be tapping away at a computer in the wee hours of the morning with ink-stained fingers.
While I was rebelling against the role I’d chosen, Josh was diligently producing modest pieces for the paper, helping out whenever he could. (I guess that’s one way he’s never changed: he’s still the hardest-working teen I know four years later.) From what he’s told me, he considered me quite a mystery, always asking questions about me behind my back or wondering what I was up to.

Josh was made Co Editor-in-Chief of the paper his junior year: quite an impressive feat, considering some juniors weren’t even section editors, and here he was directing the entire paper. I was put in charge of the Opinions section; who know two pages of a newspaper could be so much work? I was just as aloof as my freshman year and still refused to associate with much of the newspaper staff, cloistering myself away in the secluded office to work on my pages and keeping a low profile outside of class.

If the staff were a well-oiled machine, I was the screechy cog that clogged its functions. Whenever Josh or his Co-EIC would suggest a change to my section, I stubbornly refused, making a fuss about even the smallest edit. Josh and I fought nearly constantly, to the point that I often threatened to quit staff.

In spite of this, Josh tried incessantly to be a good friend and a good EIC. Even when I was getting on his last nerve, Josh always showed me the respect he thought I deserved and tried to see beyond my temper tantrums and flaws. Though I didn’t appreciate it at the time, Josh was (and still is) one of the truest friends I’ve ever had: he could have easily given up on me, replaced me with another staff member, or done my simple pages himself. Instead, Josh respected me enough to always extend the olive branch and try to work out what was bothering us, and we ended our junior year on shaky but agreeable terms.

This year, I was surprised to notice just how close Josh and I have become: we joke with each other constantly, keep up-to-date on each others’ lives, and sometimes even finish each others’ sentences. Beyond the newspaper, we talk and tease each other about our personal current events: we cheer each other on through Homecoming court nominations, debate and speech tournaments, or changes in relationship status. We also complement each other in personality: while he is an energetic, outgoing popular kid, I am a dreamy, independent poet, and we’ve taught each other a little bit about the other side of the fence through our conversations and interactions.

I was also surprised and a little afraid to realize how Josh has come to rely on me. Whenever something little comes up, like a side bar or feature, I am always the first one Josh asks to finish it; when a page needs editing and the copy editor is gone, Josh immediately hands it over to me. Because of my steady hand and endless patience, I have become the PhotoShop cut-out queen, the one he turns to when he needs an intricate photomanipulation. While the paper doesn’t fall apart when I’m not around, he’s commented to others that there is an energy lost when I’m gone: that layout is less fun without me. Though some people would be flattered to be depended upon, that restless side of me wants to turn tail and run.

Perhaps because of this, and the stress of being at the cusp of adult hood and its accompanying pressures, we have fought a lot this year – and the fights have been pretty personal. Along with our newfound closeness has been an unimaginable increase in our ability to hurt each other through words. We both blame each other for the fights – and perhaps we are both to blame - but I have left each fight burdened with a nagging feeling that something inside me causes the stress.
After much introspection, thinking back to each argument with Josh and others, it hit me like a ton of bricks – I am so afraid to trust that I push others away. While Josh is a perfectly trustworthy person, and has proven himself time and time again to be trustworthy, my innate wariness has caused me to constantly shove him aside.

I thought back to all the times that Josh has been there for me: giving me rides to school, driving me home from layout, writing for my section whenever I ask him to, editing my school papers, complimenting me when I’m having a bad day, remembering the little things I tell him, teasing me to make me feel better when I’m depressed, forgiving and forgetting each fight, taking a sincere interest in my life. I compared this to the few times that he has let me down: turning in columns late, being unavailable or preoccupied, becoming upset at a minor annoyance. I realized that the good vastly outweighed the bad, and that many of the times he’d disappointed me were instances when I’d asked too much at an inconvenient time. Faced with the cold hard facts instead of an irrational frustration, I knew then that Josh was too good not to trust.

Though my fledgling trust is still maturing, and sometimes becomes lost in the heat of the moment, I’m putting forth a sincere effort to trust before accusing – and our friendship is already improving as a result. Instead of assuming he’s intentionally letting me down, I try to exercise a little empathy and relax my expectations before immediately getting upset. The fights, though they haven’t quelled permanently, have definitely lessened in severity and regularity, and we spend more time laughing and joking with each other than snarling and accusing. I’m much happier and more positive as a result: I’ve truly found the bliss of trust.

My trust couldn’t have come at a better time, either. With college right around the corner, my insecurities about our friendship are starting to grow. Like any teenager, I’m afraid that we’ll grow beyond each other, especially as he’s going away to college and our friendship will be long-distance. When I see the joy in his eyes as he talks about his college and future career in journalism, I accept that in order to be a good friend, I have to share in his joy and trust that he will let me share in his future too.

*name changed

Counting My Blissings

This weekend started out great because John had a good doctor's appointment and was cleared to go back to work, however it turned crappy pretty quick as as something that we thought had been taken care of a long time ago has reared it's ugly little head and threatened our financial future. We both felt as if we'd taken a big kick to the gut especially because when we called to try to resolve it and get information, we were lied to and told it was all taken care of and there were no issues.

The bad news put a damper on our entire weekend and it was hard to enjoy our good news and the time off because we have no clue how we're going to resolve this issue. We've tried multiple times to resolve it ourselves in the past and apparently have failed, so we've pretty much decided it's time to bring in professionals, but who? I spent most of the weekend online researching firms who might be able to help us and getting more and more confused. It's Sunday evening and I'm still not sure who we're going to go with, but the one thing that became more and more clear to me as the weekend wore on was that I could not let this area of my life define who I am as a person. Because I was stressed out and angry over this, I snapped at my daughter and made her feel bad about myself, I didn't enjoy the time that Sean was home over the weekend, and I sat and moped instead of being productive. I spun these big spider webs of horror about all the things that could go wrong. All of them are legit, but they will only happen if I choose to be a victim and not address this head on.

The other thing I realized that I was doing the one thing that I said I wouldn't do and that was to focus on the negative instead of all the wonderful things going on in my life. I don't often take time to sit down and make a list of all the things that are right with my life and that I should be grateful for. So here goes:

1. We have a roof over our heads, food to eat, a car to get us to work, and the essentials of life. Reading the newspaper and looking around, this is a huge blessing that we all to often take for granted.



2. John survived his heart attack and is well on the road to recovery. He got the green light to go back to work on Monday.



3. I have two healthy and smart kids who are kind, responsible, and for the most part respectful.



4. John and I both have jobs that pay the bills and where we are appreciated and respected for what we bring to the table.



5. I have people at work who believe in me, support me, and will go to bat for me. That means a whole lot.



6. Not to brag, but I'm intelligent, hard working, and I bring a lot to whatever organization I work for.



7. I am a kind person who tries to do her best every day and make people's lives a little easier. I'm certainly not always perfect and there are a lot of times where I'm thoughtless, but I keep trying to do my best.



8. I have my health. Although I'm not in perfect health, I'm working on it and getting better every day. Trying is half the battle and eventually I will get in good shape.








9. I'm loved by my family and friends.








10. My incredibly awesome dog Luke who loves me and believes in me no matter what.

So no matter what is going wrong with my life, there is a wonderful bliss in knowing that there are things going right.