Point taken! Here I am.

by Jillian @ http://blueshelled.com . February 23, 2010 . 10:35AM

After a highly exciting weekend at CPAC, and by highly exciting weekend I mean that it will take me a week to get back my sleep, I returned home and am ready to talk about it. But first, I have to do all of the things that people do when they get home.

Take care of my crops on Farmville.

Read my twitter feed.

Check my email.

Go through my Google Reader.

Eat some chocolate.

Blip some songs.

Instant message.

Call my friends.

Ignore my statistics homework.

Cuddle my pets.

Love on my son.

And not in that order. But don’t think for a minute that those crops on Farmville weren’t taken care of immediately. My watermelons are in top condition, thank you.

A lot of my blogger friends have, at some point, expressed remorse at taking a blogging break due to life events. I’m not that girl. I’m just not. My online life is important to me, but it’s not my only gig. Yet, I understand that there are certain expectations and that maybe I’m not fulfilling them for everyone. It’s cool. I came across a review of my site on my Google Reader (still have over 500 posts to read on that baby). Overall, it was quite complimentary and I wanted to say thank you for that.

To be quite honest, I don’t think anyone buys my blog on Amazon.com to read on their Kindle, but the fact that you would endorse me truly means a lot to me. The fact that you want me to write more means even more. Sometimes people need to be told they are missed to be motivated. I appreciate it.

I’ll see what I can do. Thanks again. You made my day.

Even Stevens, do you hear me?

by Jillian @ http://blueshelled.com . February 16, 2010 . 10:10PM

So, my karma has been on the evil side of bad lately.

Frankly, I knew it was coming. I’ve been a bad girl and I was due. When it came, it came and hit me horribly. Without going into all the details, life came crashing down and the effects are long-lasting and hard. Sickness and horror upon friends and acquaintances, hard times, school frustration, you name it. The business of life has been quite a lot to bear lately.

However, I’ve taken my licks like a woman and not a child and I think that I have just about had enough. Tonight, we’re in the black, karma. In. the. black.

I just went to take a shower. I was stank. Truly. My hair was greasy. I have been inside with the dogs all day due to snow and I just needed to feel clean. I leave tomorrow for a conference and if I don’t shower tonight, my long, thick, wavy hair will never dry in time for me to make my flight. It’s why I take my showers at night unless I want to have a bad 80s perm all day.

After making my way upstairs, I gathered my pajamas and went to the bathroom where I noticed that one of my two major sources of light was out. This wouldn’t be a problem but I needed to shave my legs. I know this is too much information, but bear with me. You have to know this part of the story. I’m 5′11″ and my body is all legs. I need that light to see and, quite frankly, I’d been waiting to shave until the night before the trip so I’d be silky smooth. Ladies, you know what I mean.

With a dubious look to the light, I started the water and figured I’d soldier on. How difficult could shaving be in the semi-dark? I could still see the legs, just not the hair.

This is the part where karma laughs at me loud and long.

We’re all good until the shaving part. I’ve put my conditioner in to set while I shave. With the first stroke, I know I’m in trouble. My blade is dull. It’s the last blade I have left before a trip I’m going on tomorrow and all I have is a dull blade, hairy legs and a dark bathroom. I make the unwise decision that if I shave MORE SLOWLY the blade will still do the work of a sharp blade.

I’m a smart person. This was not a smart moment.

I cannot see the leg, so I shave some areas and not others and then shave over some parts and make then sensitive and tender to touch. Nicks are everywhere.

This is when karma and I become even.

Someone in my house, either the 9-year-old or the 32-year-old, makes the unwitting decision that I need to be put in my place once and for all: They turn the water on. As I’m sliding the dull blade up my leg, yet again, the water goes from luke warm to scalding in about 2 seconds. I jump, the blade skips up my leg and…you can see where this is going.

I still have conditioner in my hair.

I’m hurt.

I’m angry.

And this is not funny.

Eventually the water turns lukewarm and I throw the razor across the bathroom and wash my hair out.

We are even, karma. Even Stevens. Do you hear me? It’s over.

All dogs go to heaven

by Jillian @ http://blueshelled.com . November 30, 2009 . 11:02AM

For Christmas, the year I turned 11, I got the surprise of my life. I’d been waiting for a dog for years. I hadn’t had one since I was little and living on the farm.

The last gift I opened said “This certificate redeemable for one puppy of your choice!”

Oh, the excitement and joy! I knew exactly what I wanted: a blonde cocker spaniel. My mother, who tends to hate animals, stipulated “this is an outdoor animal” while I cajoled and begged and pleaded.

On New Year’s Eve, we finally found him. The most beautiful blonde cocker spaniel puppy there ever was. He hid from everything and because of his introversion, I called him my little “Shadow.” Later, I realized that it was a name mostly reserved for black animals, but I was 11. Cut me some slack.

In a rule that I still think was completely moronic, I was required to spend an hour a day with Shadow. I didn’t mind the hour, but there were days it was freezing outside and this was not an easy task. When it was at the freezing point or raining, I could bring him into a shed we had in the back yard or into the garage. I remember holding him in my lap and stroking his long, soft ears for so many of those hours and, though he was an incredibly hyper dog, he let me.

My time got shorter as I got older and became more involved with school and work. I took my first real job at 15 and I had to “make up” the time on the weekends, when I could. This led to some days where I would attempt to entertain Shadow for four hours at a stretch and he grew weary of me.

As he grew older, the gate in our backyard did, as well, and he grew more mischievous. He began to break free of his jail more and more frequently and somehow, no one had enough time to fix the gate. I spent hours searching for him and thankfully, because he had a collar, we always managed to find him.

Until early one morning over the summer of my 18th year.

The phone rang and woke me out of a sound sleep. It was my grandmother and asked me if my dog was missing. I had no idea and looked out the backyard where I could see the gate standing wide open. We’d had a storm the night before and I had no idea how long it had been open. I swallowed the lump in my throat and said that yes, I thought he might be.

Her voice quivered and said that her neighbor had called and said a dog had been hit in front of her house. It had been grazed by a car and was still breathing, but it wasn’t going to make it. It wasn’t bleeding, but the collar had my name on it. Was it mine?

I couldn’t speak.

My grandmother said that animal control had been called to come get the dog and not to bother coming to see him. He wasn’t going to make it.

I still regret not coming to see him. I was such a coward. He lay there alone.

30 minutes later, I heard a knock on the door. A tall man stood there and gently removed his ball cap. His eyes filled with tears and he said, “I got your dog in my truck. He got hit by a car. He didn’t make it.”

I nodded mutely and stared at the words forming at his mouth.

“He ain’t bleeding or nothin’. He looks fine. You can see him if you want to.”

Tears spilled down my cheeks and I shook my head head softly from side to side.

“I’ll take good care of him, miss. They don’t always take good care of these dogs, you know, but I knew he was special, this one. You took real good care of him and groomed him and everything, didn’t ya? I’ll take care of him, myself. I’ll make sure he’s ok, miss.”

I tried to smile and croaked out a thank you as the tears continued to roll from my eyes. He nodded slightly and backed down the concrete steps. He took one last look to the back of his truck, where I knew my dog lay.

I couldn’t close the door until the truck was out of sight.

All dogs go to heaven. I can’t believe in a heaven that doesn’t have them. They are the most pure hearts besides children and if there is an all-encompassing creator, surely He loves the pure hearts. If He doesn’t, then what kind of heaven would it be? I don’t want to be anywhere that doesn’t have my dogs.

Sometimes I dream of petting long, soft ears…

And I want to thank you

by Jillian @ http://blueshelled.com . November 25, 2009 . 10:48PM

I have a post in my head that says thank you.

However, it is impossible to express what is in my heart adequately to those that have supported me all these years or for those who have supported me for just today. I don’t know how to say thank you in a way that conveys what I really mean to my friends who have been there for me all of my life and those who have just come into my life, in a time of great turmoil and are surely confused by the tornado I call a life.

How is it possible to give adequate thanks for all the good events and the bad that shape a life?

Thank you.

Jewel has a song in which she says “In the end, only kindness matters.” I believe that is true. I have a hard time living kind, but I experienced kindness today and I want to express my gratitude.

I hobbled into the gas station and slowly walked around the store and gathered my items. My nose was red and I was shivering. Leon and AJ were still out in Leon’s car and I was trying to be quick so we could get on the road to head to my mother’s house for Thanksgiving.

I filled my arms and walked to the cash register. As I placed the items slowly onto the counter, the cashier finished her conversation with her co-worker and turned to see what I was buying.

Orange Juice.
Halls cough drops.
A single pack of Dayquil cold and flu.
Carmex lip balm.
and Starburst fave reds (which I hoped I would be able to taste and ended up not even opening).

She looked at me with kind eyes and I didn’t say anything as I saw them fill with pity. “Aw, you must be feeling crummy, aren’t you, honey. Feeling sick?” I nodded and said that yes, I was, and thanked her for asking. As I was leaving, she said, “I sure hope you feel better soon.”

I thanked her again and got into the car for the long ride in which I slept deeply.

That small act of kindness–acknowledging that I felt bad and wishing that I felt better–made me feel better than I had in days. The one on one connection with a stranger that reminds us that we are not alone.

I am thankful, indeed.

Happy Thanksgiving.

Why can’t I?

by Jillian @ http://blueshelled.com . November 24, 2009 . 4:33PM

My aunt passed in October of 2007. I wrote this in June of 2008. I’m still coping with her unexpected death and writing about it here is probably going to upset some people, but my hope is that it will help some people that are struggling with the death of their loved ones as well. If I can do that, it’s worth the fallout. I remember her most often around the holidays, where she is sorely, sorely missed.

June 2008

Sometimes I think I’ve accepted my aunt’s death. Sometimes I know I haven’t. One of the last and best memories I have of her was when she and my whole family (Leon, Adrian, Olivia and Mom) went to Gatlinburg for a week. Besides listening to her snip at my mom while she smoked cigarettes and talked about drinking coffee with Adrian, we also wandered around the town.

I love Gatlinburg for many, many reasons. Mainly, though, when I enter the Pigeon Forge/Gatlinburg area I am filled with a sense of well-being that I don’t usually experience elsewhere. The beauty and serenity of the mountains there fills the empty spots I try so hard to hide in my life.

I didn’t know that the week spent there would be one of the last times I would spend time with my aunt. Traveling makes me irritable, crabby, and hard to get along with. I hate change. I long for a stable routine. What this means is that going on a trip is generally going to make me unhappy and snippy at some point even though I could be enjoying myself immensely.

After a particularly hard day of dealing with one another, we had all settled in at a hotel near the aquarium. One of the features of this particular hotel was its offering of karaoke on the weekends and we were there on a weekend. Anyone that knows Leon and I knows that we like to sing. Neither of us is as good at it as we used to be, but it increases our mood and decreases our stress. We made our way into the smoky karaoke bar area and after being surprised by a co-worker (who had no idea I was going to be there that weekend and vice versa) we settled down to watch some truly marvelous and truly awful karaoke.

Selection was slim as I am no good with “old school” country music and being Gatlinburg, TN, the majority of the music was such. They did have “My Ding-a-ling,” which will crack up several members of my family that remember when Mikey, Jeremy, April and I discovered the song at a young age. I wasn’t going there. We’d just bought one of the Karaoke Revolution games and it had the song “Why Can’t I” by Liz Phair on it. I thought I was somewhat rehearsed in it and wouldn’t feel completely inept, so I signed up to sing it.

I’ve always had stage fright. Even when I was required to be on stage due to extra curricular activities, I barely held it together. I never got solos in choir because of this fear. It made me shaky. Actually, I probably was quite terrible and that contributed to the lack of solo time, but the shaky voice was right up there. I digress.

As I was singing in the smoky bar, I noticed my aunt wander in and sit next to Leon happily smoking a cigarette. What made me laugh was that later she said, “You were so good I had no idea it was YOU on the stage.” Well, ok.

The rest of the week was memorable and I have some amazingly funny pictures. Later, I remembered that Gatlinburg was special to Penny because she got married there. She loved it there.

Tonight, I was thinking about her. Every now and then I put her name in a search engine. The only thing that comes up is notice of her death or memorial. It reminds me that it really happened. I remember how she looked the last time I saw her–but it wasn’t her. Those that don’t believe in a soul have never seen a beloved, fiery-spirited aunt lose her spark. The soul IS real.

I think of her often at night, when the house is quiet and I’m alone with my thoughts. I googled her, yet again, and realized that I was having a physical response to this. I got tense and shaky, but didn’t know why. And then I realized that Why Can’t I was playing on the tv. It was completely random, but I have to wonder about these things. Since that night, I’ve associated this song with her…

My faith is probably not as strong as it used to be. I spend a lot of time wondering about God and Earth and why things exist the way they do. Most of my thoughts center on a place outside of Earth and where people exist when they are gone. My beliefs about death and the afterllfe are conflicted.

So, since I’m human, I put my faith in something that knows more than me and choose where she is based on my heart and not my head.

For me, my Aunt is and will always be in Gatlinburg. She was with me there when we ran in the middle of a thunderstorm up a hill for 3/4 of a mile to get the car with her cursing mom the whole way there while I tried not laugh for fear of passing out. She’s in the aquarium where we made comments about crabs doing illicit things. She’s in the smoky karaoke bar where I sing to her without her realizing it’s me. She’s terrified on the skylift but dealing with it by smoking. She’s resting by the stream that we watched our first day there. Yes. That’s where she is.

Why can’t I breathe whenever I think about you?