Could you change it if you wanted ...

I'm in the least lonely place, sitting alone, at a table for 10. It could be 180 calories, maybe 120, that I'm drinking. A girl with wild curls just sat down across from me. I never drank coffee until last year because its magical powers didn't find me until then. Calories and I aren't enemies, not friends, but I accept them for they don't haunt my days and nights like they have. Oh, the girl with curls has a friend sitting next to her now. I feel like a dinosaur when I'm around young people and their wireless everything...but, I don't understand how the music goes wireless-ly to my ears from my phone, so, I'll stick with my headphones until I do. 


We went ahead and got married 12 days ago, my husband and I. Interestingly enough, I can't tolerate wearing contacts and my blue tortoise shell frames didn't go with my dress. So, I went without both and hoped I didn't run into our beautifully decorated arbor on my way to wedded bliss. All evening, I saw shadows of waving hands and happy faces (I think?) but unless someone walked directly up to me, I hadn't the slightest who they were. I wore a big, fat, half-sober smile all night just in case I missed a wave. We had the best time and didn't realize how many people loved us....enough to go all the way to Siloam Springs, Arkansas and eat our Giraffe cake and watch our first dachshund prelude my dad and I's entrance. I'm prone to creating and later illustrating anxiety when in situations surrounded by large number of folks. I mean, really, who isn't? I started panicking after making it down the isle because I instantly knew I couldn't talk to everyone. Oh, then, Mike's dinner spilled on his handsome new suit...before pictures. 

Now, I have two more people sitting at my table for 10. The girl laughs and the guy is tapping his feet before he jumps up to retrieve his coffee--black, no sugar, he also wears a cardigan with elbow patches. 

I pass by a stop light each day that grows grass around it in order for people to sit who are holding signs asking for help. It's next to a Hardees and Harps grocery store and my mom really loved both those places. Today, I made a U turn to go around this light so I could get a better look at the man holding up a broken piece of cardboard. It's really what makes me need to sit down and re-create the calmness I had before I saw him. . why I am sitting here writing. 

"I have some ideas!" The girl says to the guy with the elbow patches on his cardigan. I had to turn my acoustic playlist up before I started over indulging in her big ideas and forget to tell you about mine. .

Five years ago, I was at a horribly rainy Razorback football game with some friends, scheming ways to get out of staying. Unbeknownst to me, at that time, I would find my escape when my mother called me, panic upon her. She needed to tell that as soon as I got home, I needed to call her so she could explain what had happened. Fast forward because the minor details involve me being angry, rude, and impatient with my mother. 

John Mayer writes, sings, and plays most of my "favorite songs". One that I play loud in my ears (from my wired headphones) often is called, "In The Blood". 

. . . How much of my mother has my mother left in me?
..........How much of my love will be insane to some degree?
. . . . . . . And what about this feeling that I'm never good enough?
.................Will it wash out in the water, or is it always in the blood

When my mom went to rehab few months or so after they released me from my 4 months of tortured "treatment" (eating disorders go to treatment drugs go to rehab, I dunno), she had this counselor who thought of me as satan (or so I decided). As I best recall, I went to visit mom on a Wednesday afternoon. As a real neat surprise (laughing), I was stopped at the door and told I had to meet with my mom's counselor before I could see her. It was summer time and I had on a giant t shirt and shorts because I didn't trust clothing labels and felt I was actually much larger than scales, other people, etc reported. Okay, I had been busy dreaming about the baked potato, spray butter, broccoli with ketchup crown I was going to pick apart and enjoy after this treacherous visit. But then, I had to push back this potato date further and still I struggle with other people getting in the way of my meal times (forgive me). 

There's a man who frequents this place (as do I) and has all of his belongs next to him, pulling on a single roller bag. He just got a refill on his dragon fruit tea. I wonder when the last time was he had a solid conversation with another person? I hope it was earlier today. You know, we were created to fulfill relationships.... healthy ones, maybe even destructive ones. Where would you be without those bad ones that taught you who you were and what you stood for? I'd be so far gone, promise that. Fall apart, then you can come back as everything you needed.

I use both sides of my brain all day long (so do you) and have to categorize how I develop my ideas for written order. I get tangled up in my ideas I guess. 

Sitting down in this crummy counselor's office was not on my calendar and I already knew I didn't care for this fella. My mom just "loved working with him" which meant she had manipulated him into believing she was "fine" and wasn't really an alcoholic. Which, is what happens when you are still comfortable with your addiction. I'll attest. I ended up letting this guy temporarily destroy me with his intervention of choice (ignorance, if you will). "If you could get control of yourself and start eating, your mother wouldn't be struggling with her depression as she is."

cue the tears, cue the body shaming, cue the destruction and take away that longed for baked potato date. 

(depression, not alcoholism, not both)

When I got home and called my mom, after that rainy football game, she didn't answer. Not until the next day did I ever hear from her. You know why? She had been locked in her own damn shed by her erroneous boyfriend who had stolen her phone and most definitely haulted any contact with her to me. I found her in her back yard, drunk, exhausted, but happy to see me. I never got the full details of what happened on so many of these occasions with him until she had found a week of sobriety months later. We had to get out phone  numbers changed and she got a restraining order (which did nothing for her) to keep this monster away from her and I. Weeks later, he showed up in his now forgotten red truck and I ran out of her house (in a towel, mad as hell) and he swiftly drove off. That's what he always did. He ran away and came back. Just like the alcohol. Always coming back in our lives. 

The guy with the cardboard. He didn't have a red truck, only a sign and a look I'd like to forget. Even with my glasses on, I mistakenly saw him for the old, wretched boyfriend. My heart melted past my diaphragm and only started beating again when I was past Hardees and my thoughts were safe. My mom was safe. I was safe. What was I going to say to him if it was, indeed, the boyfriend. Would I start screaming, shouting, crying, having a complete and colorful meltdown? I don't know. Would I close my eyes (and stop my car) and pray for strength to protect my freedom (jail would not suit me) and find courage to move on? From my anger, resent, fear, sadness...the things no one welcomes. 


Would I change the way I think if I wanted?

Would you?

I think so. I believe so. 

It's only fair to figure out what holds us back and find out how to march throughout, over it, and beyond it. 


Because as terribly sickening and hard as these things (so called, things) are....

you (and your thoughts) 
are
completely
up
to
you


Now it's only the guy in the elbow-patched cardigan sitting nearby.

 I'm feeling less likely to skip my dinner and more likely to add cheese to whatever I eat. 

Thank God for destructiveness that creates space inside you for happiness (and potatoes),


Cortney Sisco (formerly Ellis)

P.S Courtney Garrett Photography out of Fayetteville, Arkansas took our wedding photos......and she's perfect. 

:)

Protection from evil spirits and bride stealing....

In the early 80's, there was a girl (who was my mom) and a guy (may dad) and they decided to get married. The girl went to JC Penny's and bought a long, cream dress with long-sleeved laced corset top. The guy picked out a suit he probably already owned and found a tie to match. 

In my mom's parent's living room, there stood a preacher, my mom with a small bouquet of flowers, and my dad, hoping the ceremony would end as quickly as possible. 

When I was a little girl, I loved browsing through  my mom's closet, especially when I reached the back, home to her formal dresses. I was always so impressed by the texture, the length, and the detail on two particular dresses. When I was in trouble, my best hiding spot was in the back of the closet, close behind those dresses. I don't recall ever being found when hiding with those dresses, one time, even waking up after a long hiatus of hiding from punishment and not being found.

When my sweet fiance put this gorgeous ring on my finger, little did I know what all would come with our engagement. Dress shopping,wedding cake tasting, flower searching. All of it only things I've dreamed of, hoped for. 

My mom told me a few details about her wedding, but, mostly just told me that she hoped I would wear a big, fancy dress. That my family would get along well enough to all be around each other during the ceremony. That it would be a special day. 

Now that I'm engaged, I find myself missing my mom, needing my mom, in a different way than I ever have. I guess tradition tells us that this is a time a mom and daughter can form another special bond. In the last several weeks, instead of enjoying the planning, the engagement, I have mourned the fact that I don't have my mom and I am completely alone in this stage of my life (even though i'm not). Bad mood, irritable, just not fun to be around..

I decided to spend some time figuring out why/how/whats of weddings to re-gain some control and make this whole wedding planning business fun..and not a constant punch-in-the-stomach reminder of not having my mom around to help me do everything...."right". 

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . 


Ancient Egyptians, clustered in the fertile lands along the Nile, collected flowers in their travels and venerated the local lotus. The symbolic lotus appears widely in Egyptian art and may have been a wedding decoration. Marriages were simple, civil agreements then, and archaeological discoveries show only that Egyptian brides carried thyme and garlic as a shield against evil spirits.

Brides carried sheaths of wheat, a statement of and supplication for fertility. Those hand-tied stalks were often embellished with other grains, branches of fruiting or nut trees, anything to signal abundance and foretell happiness, good fortune and lots of children.

A custom from the Tudor period -- 1485 to 1603, within the Elizabethan Age -- was a feature of wedding receptions called the "kissing knot." This is a ball of blossums, sometimes studded with greenery, suspended over the bride-and-groom's section of the head table. Kissing knots hold the same mystique and custom as sprigs of mistletoe  tacked over doorways - the lucky couple who comes together under them is entitled to a kiss. In the case of the wedding knot, the flowers are a reminder of romance and the promise of a long and faithful marriage.

Ever wonder why bridesmaids are often asked to wear matching dresses to support the bride during the processional? Me, too. I found some interesting info on Southernliving.com and it went like this:

 "It wasn't always to ensure the bride stood out, while her best pals donned over-priced, never-to-be-worn-again gowns. Quite the opposite, as bridesmaids originally wore similar dresses to the bride to confuse her exes and outsmart evil spirits. That way, the evil spirits wouldn't know which woman in the group was getting married."

As far as bridesmaid duty, in early Roman times, bridesmaids would line up to form somewhat of a protective shield while walking the bride to the groom's village. The group of women, who were similarly dressed, were expected to intervene if any vengeful paramours tried to hurt the bride or steal her dowry. 

And you know the tradition of preserving the top tier of the wedding cake for the couple to save for their first anniversary?  Did you know that saving the cake was also tied to having a baby?.....

 Way back when, people assumed  that the bride would have a baby within a year. The idea of saving the top the half of cake was so the newlyweds wouldn’t have to buy a celebratory dessert to announce the pregnancy or birth.

I've decided to break some rules. To make my (our, sorry Mike) wedding with its own traditions. Queen Elizabeth wore a red wedding dress instead of white. Maybe i'll wear yellow. Maybe not.
 However, instead of letting myself sit alone and wonder "would planning a wedding with me make my mom feel more loved by me? would she feel loved enough to get the help she needed? would we have developed the relationship I begged fate to bring us?" I'm going to celebrate that someone wants to spend his life with me (and my dogs) and be grateful for the ladies in my life who can/will/do all this "mom" stuff. 

Of course, we'll listen to the Eagles at our wedding, because, my mom would request that...every, single, time. 

Every night
I'm lying in bed
Holdin' you close in my dreams
Thinkin' about all the things that we said
And comin' apart at the seams
We try to talk it over
But the words come out too rough
I know you were tryin'
To give me the best of your love

-Eagles, The Best of My Love

Not together; but getting there. Still.

Last year, I packed my Birkenstocks, rain gear, retainers, and all the wrong clothing (because international weather woahs) and went to Poland and Germany. I have a liking towards split-second decision making. When I am folding laundry, I often times look at the map on wall to my left and catch a glimpse of the countries that home the people I met on that trip. . .

Australia, floating on my map brings me to my friend who walked through Auschwitz-Birkenau with me and said my shared thoughts, but with the most pleasant accent. I had been robbed the morning before and didn’t make the time to get money to buy breakfast in Krakow, so, I left for the journey with no food or money. Sometimes I do stupid things like that with the unconscious suggestion that I can go a day without eating.  On the two hour trip back to Krakow, I sat next to my new friend and evidently drooled over his apple and not Subway sandwich long enough for him to force them over to me. What do you even talk about with someone who you met at a tour of a concentration camp? Kangaroos, koalas, and whether or not Americans really drink purple soda.

The young Polish tour guide who walked us through the death camp stood right beside me and told us what happened to the vast majority of babies born in Auschwitz. As if a rehearsed speech, she described to us so many horrific scenes, things you struggle to believe to be fact. While standing next to 3 level bunk "bed", we were told how the SS (Schutzstaffel--Nazi military) roughly delivered human babies of prisoner's and immediately drowned them. In whatever bucket available, forcing the new mother to watch. Two people, the Australian and I, not knowing even each other’s last names, experiencing this unimaginable nature of the human condition, of the depths of despair, the history of mankind. 

Silently panicking on my first night in Berlin, I sat in a tiny red chair in the lobby of my hostel (Circus Hostel, wonderful place) and hadn’t a clue how I was going to interpret my map to locate a place to eat dinner. Stomach demanding I find food, I walked up to a girl checking in and asked her if she wanted to go eat with me. “Yes!” siiiiiigh of relief.  She was in college, and was going to meet up with her boyfriend in London later that week. She laughed at the way I talked but liked that I took pictures of the flowers on the streets.

The two girls from the UK who were 21 and traveling Europe before graduate school. We met some other English speakers and went on a tour of Berlin together the next day. All roaming the streets together, taking pictures at Big Ben, enjoying the togetherness of English-speaking company. How refreshing to sit at a table with people from 5 different countries, traveling independently, and have an understanding for each of our individual need to travel the world. No "why would you travel alone? Isn't it lonely?" But instead, "what country will you travel to next?"

 The girl from France who looked identical to one of my best friends here. She said I looked like an American cheerleader who dated jocks. She told me she liked to go out to clubs until 4 A.M. and dance with her girlfriends. I liked her. I hope I see her again. 

My newfound friend from Columbia who told me all about her dad’s new wife, the one who is pregnant with a new baby, 23 years her junior. Her and I walked through a cemetery that was parallel to a row of remains of the Berlin Wall. I took pictures of the head stones and flowers and she didn't think I was weird; she pointed out better shots, no time line, no reason to hurry. The fear she had about the president of the United States changing the peace treaties with her country. She bought postcards, I bought stationary. She laughed when I had to run ahead to take pictures of German dachshunds. She is just who you want to meet one day when traveling alone in Berlin.


I made a new friend a few months ago. She's from here, from America. She's ten years behind me chronologically, but so similar, still. Before we met, we already knew so much about each other. I was miles ahead of her journey, but on the same path, we shared similar stops. Of course she had on a baggy sweat shirt that swallowed her entirely. Black coffee, drinking it with confidence as those beans don’t create energy by means of calories.

When I was in third grade, I spent so many days crying while trying to figure out the complexity that was long division. It was impossible, pointless, and entirely out of my reach. I watched the other kids (especially my genius best friend) worry-free faces as they worked the problems on their work sheets. I had tear spots on my papers because I just could not get it.

My new friend, she wore jeans, baggy and covered with those frayed holes. She couldn’t sit still. Fidgeting with her straw. “Can I ask you a question?” followed by, “were you scared to gain weight? Did it feel impossible? Do you think recovery is a real thing?”

As I would sit across from her, drinking 150 calories of flavored latte, I wondered if the people who tried to help me during my darkest days felt like I did right then. She was Confused. Scared. Emotional. Alone. I felt the same in regards to the distance her eating disorder created between us.
 Some call it survivor’s remorse. The feeling of “why me”, do I deserve this freedom from the chains that completely held me down most of my life? Offering her suggestions and then seeing her blank stares as they bounced off of her right back at me. “It feels impossible." And I know that feeling...so deeply I know it. It doesn’t seem real.. because misery, misery will find you when you eat 3 meals and then sit. You are surrounded by the vulnerability, the loneliness, the fear of the unknown. Never did I see myself as someone who spoke of "recovery". I never believed in it; why would I? I didn't know what it meant, where to look for it, or how to accept it. 

But. I’ve been working towards recovery from an eating disorder since I jumped on a life boat and checked myself into another treatment center. Hundreds and hundreds of my days spent in a hospital and treatment centers. I decided I live or I die and I wanted desperately to find out how to live. Eating things like bulgur wheat, squash pizza, and morning glory muffins. Learning that my eating disorder was something my mind created to keep me alive. Because when you aren’t old enough to understand trauma, your body memorizes it and keeps bringing it up by way of disordered everything. Your body, it never forgets.  In order to survive, our homeostatic bod creates a strategy. Without knowing it, your brain has been re-wired. Control becomes a way of life. Establishing control over anything, especially your own damn body, is how it keeps keepin’ on.

After my mom died, I ran quickly back to an abusive relationship and hoped for completeness in the return of its chaos. I pushed away family, friends and the frontal lobe of my brain (you know, rational decision making). I got lost in the whirlwind of disorder and dysfunction. I didn’t know how to live anymore. I realized my attempts at actually “recovering” had been incomplete. I hadn’t been able to rationalize recovery.  I was too scared to let go. I needed the control the eating disorder provided me. I needed self-destruction. It fueled me.

My new friend is sick. She knows it. She is scared of who she even is without her eating disorder. She’s 21 and scared of what everyone will say about her when they find out she isn’t just skinny. She’s starving herself to death in order to try and stay alive.

Like many other times, we recently sat across from each other at our favorite coffee shop. I start the conversation about anything I can grasp on to that isn’t her eating disorder. I want to find her, first. When you share your life with a mental illness, it’s crucial to find you first (so, dig if you must, but don’t forget about you). This time, I couldn’t. All I could do was try to stop my tears from falling down my face. My friend checked herself in to treatment last week. The reality of treatment for an eating disorder is gruesome and terrifying. Spending months at a time surrounded by professionals who are paid to discuss your trauma, your underneath-it-all pain. She can do it. She will do it because she won’t be alone.

“If you don’t change your mind, you will never change anything”, said Winston Churchill. We all wander around this world wondering who, if anyone understands our specific pain. Questioning our ability to ever really be “okay”…we compare our joys and fears as if hoping to reach a conclusion. We all have such a tremendous amount to offer and give to one another, but, we get stuck in our own heads; hoping to keep our heads above sometimes murky water. When we stop to listen/see, it’s unbelievable how alike we all are. We have the same needs, wants and so on and so forth. But, what’s even more unbelievable is how different we all are: how unique each of us is and how important that makes us. Spend time getting to know yourself enough to tell your story and be proud of it. To use it as a life raft for someone starting at square one of the struggle you have stumbled through and over.  We were created to be connected. To share our stories and ideas and mystery meat sandwiches. We all have something to say that matters.

So…. Say it. Do it.

Cortney

"Travel far enough you meet yourself"

"I keep my ideals, because in spite of everything I still believe that people are really good at heart.

How wonderful it is that nobody need wait a single moment before starting to improve the world.

Whoever is happy will make others happy too."

-Anne Frank, Born June 12, 1929, Died 1945 at Bergen-Belsen Concentration camp, Germany

After I've known someone a while, I feel compelled to tell them stories of my "past life" but also of today. Because I adore stories, the people in those stories are most compelling. When you share who you are, it allows others to open up the chapters they've maybe been too scared to otherwise do.

The places I've lived, the generous strangers who have opened up their hearts and home to me when I hadn't any other place to retreat. In my heart,where I once felt solid remorse, I now feel re-assurance and confidence regarding my stories. The sometimes confusion I see in people's faces is a reminder of how scared we all are of  re-telling and re-living stories that arouse such a response. The  words of our stories aren't news to us. We know them all by heart. See,  I'm not shocked when I remember trauma. I am not caught off guard when I think of watching my mother slowly take her life away from everyone who loved her. Seeing pictures of the body I once was housed in isn't pleasant, but, It's all fact. It's real. If I never looked back on those chapters I would absolutely never be where I am today. The phone calls to teenage girls in crisis never could have happened because I never could have fully understood. When we hide away from ourselves, our stories, we are keeping that growth from the world. Never use your past as a crutch, but instead as a tool to never allow suffering to occur without opportunity to promote change. . progress.

 A very expensive therapist once told me that in order to get over something tough, you must first go THROUGH it. Like a damn soldier. . .

In a quick bit, let me tell you what I know to also be fact:

 All stories weren't created equal. The characters (people-- real, living, breathing people) aren't always who we'd hoped for (and sometimes they are overwhelmingly MORE than we could have hoped for). Sometimes endings aren't happy and new beginnings don't establish themselves when we feel it's time. We have to keep on keepin' on.....and find what we're searching for exactly when it's ready to be found.

When I was in third grade I remember learning about Anne Frank. My mom rented the movie for me after I finished the book (and also supplied me with endless white chocolate covered oreos while watching) and I remember not being able to sleep that same night. It couldn't be real. No one really let's girls like Anne die because she believed differently, right? It couldn't be. Ever since that time, I have wondered about Anne, about her family, about all the Jewish families who went through those gruesome, untouchable years.

I developed a love for maps the day my grandfather's interest was shown to me and I realized it would give me something to talk to him about. I was close to 12 years old. Ironically, reading a map is as impossible for me as parallel parking, eating cheese on a hamburger, and not kissing a dog when I met it on the streets. I love the idea that you can look at a picture of all the places people live with one glance. . like a reminder that we are all in this living thing together. . only from different latitude and longitudes. 

I love experiencing new places, cultures and people. However, I decided years ago that I would travel to Europe and learn first hand what the Holocaust was really about...not as a vacation/pleasure trip..but as a way to understand myself and my perceptions about people, life, and stories that make me uncomfortable. Open myself up to experience the reality of deep, treacherous stories that belong to millions affected by World War 2.  Because....

"Those who do not remember the past are condemned to repeat it." -George Santayana

I turned 30 this past October and decided it would be the year of my solo traveling. Alarming as it was to my friends and my dad, I knew it was something I had to do. I needed to find the strength and confidence to push through my insecurities and go after something that was invaluable to me. So, I booked my flights and created a map of the things I wanted to do...and just did it. 

Last week, I traveled to Berlin, Germany and then to Krakow, Poland with no proper understanding of the languages, the layout of the cities, or what the hell I was getting in to. I planned the best I could with a couple of weeks notice, but let's remember who I am and how I: run in to walls, have no sense of direction, and generally live inside my head (that is full of ridiculous tales of animals skating, talking, and wearing dresses). It was a pretty big feat to put myself through.. But alas! Besides being robbed (stole from my purse that was sitting in my room while I was outside in hall, no one attacked me or anything dramatic) I gathered up the bits and pieces of confidence I didn't even know I possessed and i MADE it. I developed friendships with precious humans. I walked a million miles a day, learning and exploring. I met and pet lots of dogs. I ate basically zero German or Polish food because, let's be honest, I am 5 and that is just asking too much of me. (ha) I was completed capable of depending on myself for every single thing i needed. Encouragement when I felt completely homesick for familiarity. Laughter when I just wanted someone to talk to and tell about the things I saw each day. Empowerment when I felt completed lost (physically and emotionally) because I didn't want to leave my room and be alone among groups of young people, enjoying each other's company, while I ate alone. I purposely wanted to be challenged in all of these ways, and somehow, I managed and had an exceptionally wonderful time doing it. 

We all don't have to go travel on our own to establish that everything we need is already deep down inside of us. Everyone has their own path to self-discovery and actualizing their ability to kick insecurities ass. But, whatever it may be, you have to do it. Every single day. A trip reminds me that i CAN but doesn't take away from having to DO it. Everyday we are creating our stories, chapter by chapter, experience by experience. Even when we don't understand. Even when it seems the entire world knows and sees struggle but turns its head. We push forward. We learn how to do that by reading and learning from the stories before ours. We establish a desire to love by learning of the pain and complete devastation other people experience in each chapter of their story. Yearning to stop the hurt, undo the fears, and never let atrocities of the past happen again when there's prevention through love, acceptance and understanding. Everyone represented on beautiful world maps (ooh how I love those maps!) is trying to keep their head above water and survive...and find joy in something. For me, travel teaches me this 100,000,000 times, over and over. We have a choice: help each other/ourselves or hurt each other/ourselves. We are in this together, even when division and hate seem stronger and more painful than electric fences (Auschwitz concentration camp reference)....it's up to us to create peace. Every, single day.

 

Because ultimately, having people to love is truly healing. 

"We have to go into the despair and go beyond it, by working and doing for somebody else, by using it for something else."

"Just as despair can come to one only from other human beings, hope, too, can be given to one only by other human beings."

- Elie Wiesel, Auschwitz survivor (passed away in 2016)

<3,

Cortney

Because there's no substitute for time

One day in 1948, an amateur Swiss mountaineer and naturalist, George de Mestral, went on a nature walk with his dog through a field of hitchhiking bur plants. He and his dog returned home covered with burs. With an intense curiosity, Mestral went to his microscope and inspected one of the many burs stuck to his pants. He saw numerous small hooks that enabled the seed-bearing bur to cling so tenaciously to the tiny loops in the fabric of his pants. George de Mestral raised his head from the microscope and smiled thinking, "I will design a unique, two-sided fastener, one side with stiff hooks like the burs and the other side with soft loops like the fabric of my pants. I will call my invention Velcro® a combination of the words velour and crochet. It will rival the zipper in it's ability to fasten."

If it weren't for those pesky burs that have been uncomfortably present on anyone's clothing who has ever spent time outdoors, we'd not have the invention of velcro. Velcro! What an idea.

 I spend my days teaching older folks who have succumb to a disability or acute illness how to compensate, adapt and return to living functionally. Everyone has a different perspective of what that means. I love the idea of making life easier so each and every one of my patients can return to a life that is full of dignity, quality, and meaning. But, wouldn't you know, that before these adaptations and strategies for increasing the ease of a difficult transition can be made, things have to be hard. Really, really hard. Scary, in fact. Hopeless, if you will.

In order for something as purposeful as velcro to be dreamed upon, there first had to be a struggle. . a reason for change.  Cockleburs. Those wretched seeds have attached and relentlessly held on to my mis-matched socks as if they were an invited guest that I would be dismayed to see leave.

Circa 1997, I was the most awkward human being that had ever existed, up until that point. Seriously, ask anyone (especially my older brother). I carried around my little boom box with attached microphone and begged my dad to make videos of me  (while wearing my LA Gear light up shoes, gymnastics leotards, and a hair do we won't talk about) so I could send them to Good Morning America, and somehow, that would lead me to meeting and starting a band with Mary Kate and Ashley Olsen. 

Bitterness, resentment and unmasked dismay come across each lobe of my brain (maybe only the frontal, but let's be dramatic for a moment) when I recognize the struggles that I spend time tending to (or trying to compensate for). Instead of thinking of a solution, a change, a better way to overcome and move forward, I tend to create a task list of ways to turn non-sense, negative thoughts in to party guests of which love to surround me with their company. It's only natural, you know, because our brains must have activity, something to maintain them. I've heard that (some) people enjoy watching scary movies/books because when your mind experiences fear, there is no other emotion able to squeeze in alongside that fear. I'll attest to that same principle with regards to being around dogs/animals who aren't snakes takes away the possibility to accompany sadness. 

The burs of our minds most assuredly spend time attaching, relentlessly,  to the places we are most vulnerable. Jealousy towards another, fears of unfaithfulness, dishonesty in all varieties, and un-explainable anxiety are those pesky attachments that live inside our dear brains and won't let go until a compensatory strategy to override them has been developed. Just like our barnacled friends in nature (Xanthium---aka burs), until we've created a strategy to make something beneficial out of something dreadful and seemingly useless, it will remain. 

"You're not a tree. If you don't like something, move. Change."

When I/we choose to resist changing ways of doing/being because we aren't comfortable with vulnerability, we choose to continue hosting parties for pesky burs that serve us a purpose for only so long. Can I tell you how many times in my 30 years I have been questioned as to why I won't/can't change a difficult habit? No. I can't tell you because I come from a gene pool who only knows of stubbornness as a way of living. So, it's quite possibly unfathomable the amount of time I have spent taking the hard road because it's certainly in my DNA and that's entirely too much biology to discuss and unravel. 

I can tell you this: the most amazing, wonderful, self-less, and loving human beings and experiences I've come in contact with have happened because something in side of me decided to become tougher than the circumstances that seemed damn near impossible to walk through, over, in to and around (ending that sentence in a list of prepositions is going to be me overcoming the anxiety of incorrect grammar). I keep learning that no matter what or who happens, I'm always here. I have to keep taking care of me because I might could help change someone's negative and scared mind....just as so many precious people continue to change mine.

Happiest of weeks,

Cortney 

The weight of things.

I was in a hurry to run up to the 5th floor of the hospital to see a patient before lunch was served. I saw a lady in the hall way trying to help a beetle flip to his belly so she could take him outside. Without thinking, I walked over to the lady and reached under the bug with a piece of paper and together, we got the bug out the door. Two people with the same goal in mind. Working together for, what we saw, a purposeful task. She thanked me multiple times for helping her and wished me well. Eight hours of my day were made brighter because I got to spend 60 seconds with someone who understood how my heart beats.

Beetles often times give me a fright because one of the places I lived was full of big, giant granddaddy beetles. Always making sounds and looking like roaches. 

However, in the instant I learned how life goes from present to past, a part of me froze.

------Side note: I always save bugs because they are small and don't drive cars that move fast.

I've stayed densely frozen and have begged life to leave me here. In one instant, a picture, a sentence, a face can allow so much pain to creep in your four chambered heart. But, also, we must remember, there is always a following instant. Instances of joy and relief.

I spend all day with people who are having some of the worst days of their life. Sick, sick people. If you ever want to feel grateful for the body you are in or the health you receive, work in a hospital. I'm constantly overwhelmed with the happiness I am given from people who haven't but a short time to be on earth. 

Instead of letting your heart feel burdened by the what ifs, the should haves or the why nots.......remember the tomorrows. the hugs from those who appreciate your presence. the deep down goodness and honesty that is all around us. 

Mostly, live right now and appreciate the people who show you genuine kindness. Personally, I feel that's the most precious gift we can give.

I wrote this for my mom's memorial and decided it meshed well with my thoughts I scribbled above.....

One day while I was in 1^st grade, I was certain I had convinced my teacher that I was having a medical emergency and was going to need my mom to come pick me up immediately. To my dismay, my teacher knew better than to send me to the office because unfortunately, I forgot I had described the same outlandish medical emergency earlier that same week. 

Growing up, my mom and I were inseparable.  My family loves to remind me of the incessant crying my eyes did as a baby. They say things like, “Cortney, you cried and cried unless your mom was holding you. No one else could hold you. You only wanted your mom, and you wanted her always.” All babies need their moms and crave their touch. I guess I just needed it a little bit more than others.

            Moms are like super heroes; you never expect them to need help because they are always spending their time helping their kids and everyone else who they encounter. Seeing my mom in a position to need a great deal of help has been extremely difficult for me. My mom struggled with chronic depression and addiction for most of her short life.  She never granted herself the time to get real help because she was too busy trying to help me, my family, and anyone else she came in contact with who needed anything. Her heart was always invested in making life easier for someone else.

            When I was little, I found stray dogs better than I could do most anything. I would sneak my dog’s food in my backpack and make sure I fed my new little buddies so they wouldn’t starve. My mom knew what I was doing, but didn’t want my dad to get upset with me for giving out our dog food, so she told me to try and ration what I was giving to the lost dogs. My mom always supported my deep desires to care for all animals, even if it was a hot worm on the concrete that needed water splashed on him.

            I remember my brother and I going through our closets and toys multiple times a year because my mom taught us to always give to the kids who aren’t as fortunate as we were. One Christmas I got a Donkey Kong, lime green edition Nintendo and thought it wasn’t ever possible for something better to ever happen to me.  A few weeks later, my mom and I were at the mall and we saw a truck filling up with toys to deliver to a shelter for kids who didn’t get anything for Christmas. When I told my mom I wanted to give my lime green Nintendo to a little kid who didn’t get one, my mom was so proud of me.  It felt good for my mom to be proud of me.

            When I was 16, my mom and I decided to let the boys eat her specialty, pizza meat, for dinner, and we would go eat at I Hop. We arrived at the restaurant and were seated to find ourselves being greeted by a very pregnant waitress. After sitting and eating, we had talked to the waitress a while and found out she didn’t have any family she was in touch with, but her co-worker was throwing her a baby shower and ,if we wanted, we could come as her guests. Let me remind you, we didn’t know anything about this girl besides what she told us as she served us pancakes at I Hop. As the girl reached in her pocket to get a pen to write down the baby shower information, we noticed her pants were non maternity and were completely ripped and barely capable of being pants. My mom felt so sad for the girl but didn’t know what to do for her. When we left, mom left her a nice cash tip with a note, “buy yourself a pretty new outfit so you’ll have something special to wear to your baby shower”.  My mom taught me how to look out for the needs of other people and always, always, always be as kind as possible.

            As a child, I told my mom that when I grew up I wanted to work at Genos Pizza and toss pizzas all day. She responded, “I thought you wanted to be an animal doctor?” I told her that I could also toss pizzas. She told me that if I went to college and decided I still wanted to work at Genos, I could. My mom told me I needed to make sure I was happy and if I was happy working at a pizza place, then that’s what I should do. Years later, I decided I should do something besides hang out at Genos (even thought I find myself there multiple times a week) all day and get a more long-term job. My mom was so proud of me when I graduated and even more proud when she saw how happy the work I do makes me. Seeing my mom proud and happy has always been an overwhelmingly good feeling.

When I was little, my mom loved to read Shell Silverstein poems to my brother and me. Some of the first words I ever read were from the book “Where the Sidewalk Ends”. As I looked back through this book, I came across one of my favorites, one my mom liked to read.

Listen to the MUSTN'TS, child,
      Listen to the DON'TS
      Listen to the SHOULDN'TS
The IMPOSSIBLES, the WONT'S
      Listen to the NEVER HAVES
Then listen close to me-
      Anything can happen, child,
ANYTHING can be.