Beware of Vampires

My eye lids drooped and my head felt heavy.  I wanted nothing more than to curl up on the floor with a blanket and take a nap.  Drained – completely drained at noon.  No time for napping, I worked my way through the day attempting to find ways to regain energy – from chocolate to the warmth of my daughter’s hand, to talking with friends.  Tears never far from my eyes, I made it until bedtime when I collapsed.  A good ni9ght sleep can do wonders.

I woke a bit more refreshed and energized the day after my conversation with the vampire.

When I think of vampires of late, I think of those who live off the optimism and hope of others; those who drain the energy from the person to whom they are speaking or those around them. 

Think about it – I am sure you know people who have this characteristic?

I am familiar with the vampire – the seductive night creature that drains life and depends on that life to survive.    It is the relationship that leaves me exhausted after a conversation, regardless of the time of day.  It is the chat that deflates and drains, leaving me wondering why I need to continue to engage in something that leaves me feeling like this. 

The truth though, I have been engaging in such conversations for a long while.  I have never felt as drained by them as I do now, but I have felt exhaustion and fatigue from time to time throughout the past.  It is the conversation that is all complaining and negativity.  It is the phone ringing and my thinking – do I really want to answer that?  I answer it all the same.  It is the chat that leaves me thinking and eventually saying – stop talking and start changing it or just stop talking!

I feel drained by the vampire. 

My hope and optimism are pulled right out of me filling the vampire with all the life needed to continue for a few more hours or days.

And we all know these people.  We all know these situations.  The hardest part is not recognizing them as much as it is doing what it takes to maintain your own strength and energy – to pull away when necessary in order to maintain a level of energy that is healthy and comfortable for each.

It isn’t easy but it is necessary to detach – and yet that same detachment requires energy.  It requires a great amount of strength to maintain high energy levels while still operating with the vampire.  It is challenging to feel the pull and fight it – to listen to the lies and ignore them – to keep a balanced perspective in the light of the manipulation that is attempted.  And yet, it must be done in order to fend off the prince of the night.  

There are times when I would like the vampire of my life to be the fictitious vampire of the stories – the one that turns into a bat or is rendered helpless by the light! 

Still

Over the weekend I started experiencing bouts of shaking.  

Hands freezing off and on

Feet freezing off an on

And shaking… just shaking.  

High emotions with no output – no avenue of release

Although much of this dissipated as the weekend progressed, it didn’t go away.  

I have energy  - energy without a lot of ability to stand still and be.  

I want to move and keep moving

My fingers type without really having anything to write

My mind flits having difficulty landing on one subject or falling into the intoxicating power of writing.

I want to move and do and be but I don’t want to do anything or be anywhere or anything else.  

I am in the moment… fully… and yet that moment is full of energy and movement.

It has been the oddest weekend and the oddest beginning to the week.   

Waiting to be Discovered

My life is a talk show just waiting to be discovered.  I can’t tell you how often people say – “you should write articles.”  Or “This story should be a book.”  While I personally think that it is a case for the psychological journals – a case study that would keep psychology students busy for years, if not decades, as they try to unravel the various aspects and nuances.  

Jerry Springer has also been suggested though, to be honest, I am not sure that I am up for that one.  It just doesn’t hold the appeal that feature articles in the Washington Post or the New York Times do.  And then there is Judge Judy or Court TV… because those are forums that don’t hold the drama but still attract a wide variety of watchers!

The most common suggestion, however, is Oprah.  I should take this story and its players to Oprah.  As crazy as that sounds, I would do it I think.  Should the Oprah show be reading, drop me a line.  This story is waiting to be discovered and resolved!!

Ballet Blues

Ballet is a HUGE part of my life and has been for years.  I learned very quickly that the best way to support my daughter and her dream, and to see her on the weekends, was to be involved behind the scenes.  So I rolled up my sleeves and became the master of my craft; a specialist  of a specific variety.  I go where very few other parents have gone before. 

I steam costumes!

This is not to say that I don’t do other things.  I do marketing, parent outreach, volunteer coordination to some extent, and I have even been known to color shoes!  But when it comes to working backstage, one can always find me yielding the business end of a long hose, attached to very hot water, steaming. 

“What are you doing?” the little girls have been known to ponder as they troop back to the lobby after a few hours of rehearsing. 

“Steaming.”

I would like to say that their eyes enlarge and they say “OOO” or “aw” or that they might even consider aspiring to such a job in their adult years when they too are the parent of a child in a ballet school. 

But no… they look at me, say “oh” and turn their attention back to their friends or the pretty costumes on the racks awaiting my attention.  They are not that interested in the wild, steam breathing beast I have tamed to do my biting!

That is okay.  One day they will understand all that is involved with the work that I do.  They will come to appreciate the steam burns on my hands, the frizz that occasionally comes to my hair, and the reason I wear a light shirt when it is freezing outside.  They will realize that without my skills and my ability to direct this steaming beast, their costumes would be wrinkled or appear wrinkled for no reason.  Their various tutus would bare the mark of months in storage over the fresh, clean, and fluffy costumes that line the racks before them. 

For years I have spent my rehearsal afternoons steaming.  The process has become an art.  The flipping of the costumes, the refilling of the water container, the steaming of 12 month old wrinkles...

I have learned how to steam despite the burns… moreover, I have learned how to receive fewer burns as my work with this beast has developed – our relationship becoming one of mutual understanding over machine and operator. 

*sigh*

Every relationship, at one point, must come to an end. 

Saturday, after I refilled the water container and returned it to the machine, I noted that something seemed off.  The power didn’t appear to be working properly.  Once on, the machine would not turn off.  Though on, the water would not heat; the beast would not exhale steam. 

My friend appeared to be… sick.

I turned to the head of the costume department to seek her advice.  I mean, where else does one turn when a steamer is sick but the person in charge; the parent in the know. 

We played with the cord.

We noted the loose sockets and changed from one outlet to the other. 

We jiggled things around.  (This is what costume people do to help a sick steamer)

We decided to give it a rest and check it out again later. 

 

 

 

 

In Memory

 December is often a cold month in Virginia.  The wind blows from the north, rain can turn to ice, and Canada seeks its own form of revenge against DC in the form of the Alberta Clipper.  Having lived in this area for most of the last 10 years, I am prepared for anything December offers.  I might not like it, but I am prepared. 

Last year, 1 December provided a glimpse into what December can offer - icy spots farther west, a freezing wind when it blew, moments of brilliant sun, and minutes of pouring rain.  All this happened within a 24 hour period. 

It was in this weather, in these conditions, that I found myself on that Monday afternoon.  While cars lined the lane behind us, my mom, her former acquaintance, and I walked behind the Caisson and the DC area USAF ceremonial guard.  The wind whipped my hair as I snuggled more deeply into my coat and considered my surroundings.

I am the product of long lines of military service.  Neither of my parents served, but men throughout both sides of my family did so – many of them making the military their first career.  One of my dearest friends recently retired having served her last tour as the Ex-O of the Navy Ceremonial Guard in DC.  Not to mention I work with a high percentage of retired military officers.  Yet, despite my association with the military, I had never attended a funeral service at Arlington National Cemetery until Monday. 

I do not know if I can find the words to do justice to this moving ceremony.  The silence, the precision, the simple beauty of the surroundings, the attention to detail… each characteristic united to form a ceremony that lacked pretence.  The ceremonies are understated dignity – simply moving.

Visiting Arlington can be a moving experience.  Tucked away in the midst of the National Capital Metro Area, the cemetery is peaceful with its rolling hills, and landscaping.  Thousands of visitors wander the grounds paying their respects.  And that Monday I was one such person. 

Taps sounded through the hushed air as 20 of us stood to honor the Colonel as well as the thousands of others who found peace in these hollowed grounds.  Though the wind continued to blow, I no longer noticed.  Each note of music, each visitor, each crisp movement, and every detail of the ceremony paid tribute to the men and women and the duty they performed.

It is this memory that entered my mind on this Veteran’s Day.  The rain falling from the sky and the wind blowing from the north – and a country paying tribute to those who have served in the US military.     

 

 

 

Respect

She sat at the table discussing how she did not receive the respect she deserved from the staff as the staff didn’t realize that she and her husband owned a unit.  Rather, they assumed, due to their age, that they were renters.  This idea gave me pause… Did the staff actually care whether she rented or owned?  Did they base their behavior on that or on the treatment they received or by external variables completely removed from the woman and her family?  Moreover, is respect something that is bought or something that is given or earned?

Money doesn’t buy character or respect.  Money doesn’t buy happiness or love, but in this part of Virginia, I think that many have lost sight of this truth.  Money buys… ?  Money buys things.  It can allow us to provide for our families the basic needs of shelter and food.  It can provide a sense of comfort in that we don’t have to worry about meals or medical expenses or we can do things like take vacations or have a few cars or even go to a movie now and again.  

But… and this is a big but… money doesn’t buy happiness or love or respect.  It doesn’t buy honesty or trust or forgiveness. 

Money can buy the bandage but it can’t heel.

Money doesn’t buy status or character or integrity either…

Money can not make us people that we aren’t, so why does it seem that so many believe that it does?

What a Way to Start a Monday

The light flashes on my phone.  I glance at it as I sit down, drop my stuff and prepare to start the day.  

The reports sit on my desktop requiring my attention.  

Deep breath – I sigh… this is what happens when I work form home for a few days to take care of the Diva.  

My attention turns once again to the phone…

I hit speaker, dial in the pass codes and focus on the screen…

“Hi Mamma… I love you”

And my eyes fill.  

My heart fills with love for this child – my thoughtful and kind and loving daughter.  

What a way to start my Monday!