Mornings: What Are They Good For?

I got up this morning around 7 to make my husband breakfast and pack him a lunch. I'm nice like that. I woke up in pain, as usual. My arms, legs, and neck ache constantly. It has become a normal thing. You just want to spend the day on the couch when you feel like crap, but I forced myself to get up and go to the rec center. I had a good swim, though it was somewhat leisurely. It helped the pain quite a bit, I'm happy to say.

Getting there was a challenge.
The neighbor's Golden Retriever - the one that never shuts up - got loose and I saw him run across the street in my rear view mirror as I was making a right-hand turn. I love animals, especially when they are not splattered across the side of the road, so I parked my car at the post office and got out. He was on another neighbor's porch so I called to him and he ran over to me. He's a friendly little guy... typically. Not so much, though, when you have him by the collar and are trying to lead him home. For about 5 minutes, this is how it went: I would grab his collar, he would snarl and snap and try to jump at me. Then, I'd let go and pet him and talk sweetly to him and he'd be friendly again. Then I'd grab his collar and he'd try to rip my throat out again. The little kids who live with the dog were standing in the driveway watching all of this happen. At no point did the munchkins go and get mommy.

So I gave up. I love dogs, but I have no desire to be mauled by one. Fortunately, another neighbor came out - a much bigger, stronger male - and he dragged Pup back to his home, snarling all the way. When I got in the car, I realized my shirt was covered in mud from the dog jumping at me. Rather than go home and risk sudden laziness, I decided to go to the gym looking like I had been dragged around a construction site by a dump truck.

When I got to the gym, none of the treadmills with built-in TVs were available. I didn't want to watch one of the universal TVs mounted to the wall because my choices were limited to ESPN, some financial channel, and cartoons. If I'm going to sweat it out on the treadmill, I'm gonna do it watching a sitcom or, at the very least, "Intervention." I gave up and went to the pool.

The pool was infiltrated by every elderly person in Central Pennsylvania. That's cool - it's refreshing to see old people taking good care of themselves, but I had to sit in the stands and wait for a lane to open up. Finally one did, and I had a nice, relaxing swim as Josh Groban crooned from the pool speakers.

I have gotten used to locker room nakedness. I used to be incredibly shy, but now I don't care. I've seen a little bit of everything in that locker room and it made me realize I have nothing to be ashamed of. It is still very disconcerting to see women in their late 50's or early 60's who have better bodies than I do, but I'm getting over it. I think my new boobs help sweeten the pot for me. Now I'm just an overweight person trying to lose weight - I'm no longer the really tall lady with the frightening/appalling breasts that scare little children.

Once I reached the locker room, the music selection changed. First, it was Eminem. Then, it was "I Wanna Sex You Up." I don't personally care, but I'm wondering how a family-friendly rec center could get away with playing sex music. There was a little girl and her mother in there changing. I think moms just want to take their kids to the pool to keep them entertained and to drain some of their excess energy. I doubt they want to have to answer awkward questions and explain the facts of life.

CHILD: "Mommy, what does 'sex you up' mean?"
MOTHER: "Oh, Suzy. That just means they want to borrow your kick board."

So now I am home and the runaway dog is barking his head off, and the neighbor baby is screaming. She screams about as much as the dog barks.

I did a lot this morning, and I'm happy about that. It makes me feel productive.
But it blows my mind just how many weird things can happen to you in a few short hours. Pin It

C'MON, MAN!!

Dear Landlord,
I really like you. You are a great guy. I could not have asked for a better landlord. I mean that, man. My last two landlords were low lives and I was starting to think that all landlords were filthy slumlords before I met you. You gave me hope. You gave me a home. You gave me appliances.

The problem is, see, my dishwasher hasn't worked in 7 or 8 months now. I know you know this because every time I call/see you, I say, "Hey, don't forget my dishwasher!" Then you tell me you'll fix it, but I should probably remind you in case you forget. So I keep reminding you... and reminding you. The last time we spoke, you said "the guy" would be over to fix it "the next time he comes through town." When will that be, exactly? That could be tomorrow, that could be the day after Christmas. I need a little more than that to go on.

It's not like I can't live without a dishwasher. This is the first apartment I ever had that came equipped with one. If the place had been infested with cockroaches, I might have still considered living here based on the presence of a dishwasher alone. I hate doing dishes. It's not my fault, really. I was born with what my brother calls the Smart Laziness Gene. Smart is my maiden name, you see, and I believe it refers more to my family's ability to get out of hard work more than our book smarts. I used to think the Smart Laziness Gene was a joke, until the evidence started to stack up. We don't keep files, we keep piles. We don't search for the best service, we search for the easiest. If there is coffee left in the pot from the day before, I will reheat it and drink it just to get out of trying to separate the paper coffee filters to make a fresh one.

So, you must understand, my dislike of and inability to do dishes is really my parents' fault. Aren't our parents responsible for everything?

I am polluting the earth, but I blame that on you. Why wash a plate when you can buy styrofoam ones for $.79 at Sharp Shopper? I want to be "green", sir, but your unwillingness to fix the dishwasher has turned my husband and I into the planet's worst enemy. You know that glacier that broke off and split in two a week ago? Just think - you could have prevented that by simply telling "the guy" to come fix my dishwasher at a certain time, on a certain date. I pray you find a way to live with your guilt. After all, it's not like you went out there with an ice pic or anything that sinister.

I suppose I should thank you for one thing, though. You are the reason I have an abundant and adorable collection of coffee mugs. I don't normally wash them until I am left with no other choice but to a) drink my coffee directly from the pot, or b) buy a new mug. When I open my cupboard, I am assaulted by falling ceramic mugs, but I am quite fond of my collection, and I really must give you all the credit.

In closing, I hope that you will understand how important this matter is. It is not life or death, but doing copious amounts of dishes prevents me from what I normally do, which is avoiding real work. We can't have that, now, can we? I have been a good tenant. I have helped you rid your complex of unwanted tenants - like the ones who used to get drunk and pee in the parking lot. I have kept you apprised of certain situations - like cigarette butts littering the gardens out front, and the guy to my left shooting at bottles in the middle of the night in the backyard. I ignored the fact that, once a week, your teenage son used to mow the lawn around the tree-sized pot plant growing in the middle of it. I never stole any; I never smoked any; I never gave any to anyone... no matter how many times they asked me to.

Please, sir. Fix the dishwasher. The earth's future rides on your immediate action.

Sincerely,
Julie A. Fidler Pin It

The Soothing, Relaxing DRILL of an MRI

Ever had an MRI? It's lots of fun. You lie down on this table and they elevate your legs and stick your head in this hole, pack it in there with foam thingies, and slowly slide you into the machine. Then, for the next 30 minutes, you can't move a muscle and all you hear is the gentle hum of a jackhammer in your ears. MRIs are loud, period. They're even louder when they're taking pictures of your brain.

I had my first MRI in 10 years today. I forgot just how wonderful the experience was - akin to being held down and forced to listen to nails being dragged down a chalkboard. Some people can't handle them because they get claustrophobic. I don't really have that problem, but I was nervous about it anyway. What if I had to sneeze? What if I had an itch? What if I suddenly got diarrhea? What if my restless legs got restless? Every few minutes, a tinny voice would ring out, "You're doing great, Julie!" If I can't succeed at lying down, I really shouldn't try writing anymore books.

The MRI tech told me I'd possibly have my results by the end of the day, but I wasn't that lucky. The numbness and pain in my arms and legs, the numbness in my face, the dizzy spells, the memory problems... the cause is still up in the air. The unfortunate thing about having major medical tests done is that you don't really win either way. If something shows up on your tests, you have to come to grips with a diagnosis and what it means to live life being sick. If nothing shows up at all, you wonder if maybe you've just lost your mind completely. Nobody likes a hypochondriac. Seriously. You'd have to sleep...really weird to make your face go numb. You'd have to sleep on the top of your head, really. I've laid on my head before in an effort to make a migraine go away, but I never slept 8 hours that way. I'd probably be paralyzed if I tried.

The biggie for me is the aching legs. I have had this problem my entire life. As a child I cried myself to sleep. Sometimes Ibuprofen helps, other times NOTHING helps. Sometimes, it's just one leg. Other times, it's both. My feet and legs swell up periodically. I thought working out every day would help. I used to sit at a desk all day, but I walked a good 15 minutes on every break. Nothing helped. Last week at the beach, I swore my leg was swollen, but it really wasn't. If nothing is wrong with me, what is the deal? Do I sleep with my legs bent up under my head and I just don't know it?

I just want the doctor to say, "Oh, you suffer from Sleeps-Like-A-Moron Syndrome. An Aspirin a day should fix it." Not... a brain tumor, MS, no brain at all...

So I'm just waiting.
And nursing the jackhammer damage to my poor, aching head. Pin It

9[11: The Importance of Remembering

I recently had a disturbing conversation with a teenage girl about the events of September 11, 2001. She said she remembered some of it (she was 7 at the time), but that it didn't make much of a difference in her life and, in fact, she didn't really care about it. It was at this point that I started to sound a lot like my grandmother recalling Pearl Harbor. I told her about my own memories - of my mother waking me up to tell me to turn on the television just in time to see the second plate hit the World Trade Center; driving to a local store to buy the last newspaper on the stand (it had only been published an hour before); of sitting in traffic on that abnormally hot day with my windows rolled down, listening to the sound of Tom Brokaw broadcasting from all of the other cars around me with their windows open. I recalled looking through a box in my dining room (I don't remember what I was looking for) and realizing that it was the first time I had ever understood what people meant when they said something felt like a dream.

She sat and listened intently, which she doesn't normally do, so I can only assume it stunned her how much I remembered, and how much it impacted me. What you don't realize when you are seven years old is how much your world is changing around you, at an alarmingly rapid speed, never to go back to the way it was. Kids get over things. What was bothering them one minute is soon forgotten by playing with friends or swinging on the swing set in the backyard. I can understand it not jolting her world like it jolted me. I was a 22-year-old newlywed. She was a little girl, most likely being sheltered from the images by well-meaning adults.

But to not care? That is where I stop understanding her. Thousands of people were going about their lives that day, minding their own business. They were parents, siblings, aunts and uncles. Some of their lives were cut short while they were pouring their morning coffee. Some of them dangled from their 90th story windows having to decide whether it would be better to burn alive or jump to their deaths. While most bystanders were fleeing, fire and police officials were running into the carnage to save those who stood a chance... and many of them died in the process. How can you not care about that?

2001 had been a boring summer. I worked the night shift at a group home and I spent most of my days watching coverage of the Chandra Levy case. In the blink of an eye, the whole world changed. Terrorism used to be something that only happened in the Middle East. We believed we were sheltered from it. We pooh-poohed those who tried to warn us of the impending doom. We never dreamed an airplane could be hijacked in this country. We became afraid - of stadiums, shopping malls, parking garages, and of course sky scrapers. For a (very) brief moment in time, we came together and stopped bickering about politics and we were united in grief and determination to overcome what had been done to us.

It was the best of times; it was the worst of times.

Eventually, the smoke cleared - literally - and our unity fell into disarray politics become more volatile than ever before. These are the things I remember. I still mourn September 10, 2001, before everything changed. There was a time when I was sheltered myself, nearly oblivious to the worst of the worst evils mankind could dish out. I lost what was left of my innocence on 9/11. I don't walk around in fear anymore, but the topic of terrorism is never very far away.

And I am sad not only that some people don't give a damn, but that they will never really remember life before 9/11. It was nice. It was peaceful. It is now history. Pin It

Politically Speaking

It's not even 8 am and I am awake and blogging. I'm not what you'd call wide awake... I'm actually writing to fight the urge to go back to bed. I start every day by checking up on the national news. It has been a habit of mine ever since 9/11. As sick as it sounds, I am checking to see if anything was blown up while I was sleeping. Since the 9th anniversary is right around the corner, I a bit more paranoid than usual. Inevitably, there will be protests this year, while New York City tries to figure out what to do about a mosque wanting to pitch their tent just blocks from Ground Zero.

This is a perfect example of why I don't (normally) like to write about politics anymore. I can't figure out what to think, and it seems to me like I should take a side. I can see every angle, and that makes it hard to put my foot down in one direction or another. I can understand why people would be outraged. No matter how we try to kid ourselves, when most Americans hear the word "Islam" they picture six-year-old boys with machine guns, and terrorists with bandanas over their faces, giving their final will and testament on a grainy video tape before blowing up a nightclub. People don't want a reminder of "the religion that caused September 11."

I can understand the fear. It may begin as a place of peace, but a mosque at the site of 9/11... a holy place of mourning for Americans, and a holy place of victory for Islamic extremists... might very well DRAW Islamic Extremists. I get that.

But this is where it all comes back to what you really believe about people. Have you ever met a Muslim who was just your average citizen, not particularly interested in Fatwas and Jihad? I have. I dated a guy in high school whose whole family was Muslim and I promise you, they are not terrorists. Are we going to trust the average Muslim-American to alert us to any extremist activities going on at the mosque? Or do we believe they're all in this together and they want all of us dead?

If a band of crazy Christians committed a terrorist act on American soil, would we throw a fit if somebody wanted to build a church on the site? Or would we stand firm and put our foot down and say that MOST Christians are not terrorists? How are we so different? Do you think there are no Christians slaughtering each other on this planet? How about Christians killing Muslims? Think it doesn't happen? Oh, but it does. Christians are slaughtering Muslims in Nigeria even as we speak.

Do most Christians want peace, or are they thirsty for blood? The question is the same for Muslims. Back when I was a horrible high school student, I had a very kind but eccentric teacher who once side-referenced me this way: "Don't let one bad spoke break the whole wheel." I never thought Mr. G.'s analogy would apply to Islam in my 30s.

If you remove religion from the mix - something many Americans find hard to do - it's a cut-and-dry issue. America is the land of the free. We founded this country on religious tolerance and freedom. While I do believe this nation was founded on Judeo-Christian ethics, I also believe our forefathers intended this country to be a place where anyone could come and have a nice life. A nice, ordinary, Joe Average life... or more, if they worked hard enough. Take the religion out of the mix, and you have a mosque that deserves to be at Ground Zero just as much as any other religious center. Would we protest a synagogue? A Baptist church?

So, you see, I don't know what to think. This mosque shouldn't be forced upon the people of Manhattan, but how can you turn them away? And if God gives us all free will, who are we to push someone aside and declare them not good enough to share our space?

Yes, sometimes what I WANT to believe, and what I actually DO believe clash violently. Politically speaking, I exist in the middle place. Pin It