Betty Boop and Jean Naté

For 35 years I have had the most incredible honor of having one of God's hand-picked angels as my grandma. To many of you, she was Mrs. Martinez, elementary school teacher and an inspiration to your early childhood. To our family she was so much more. She was a wife, mom, grandma, great-grandma, teacher, counselor, the foundation to which our family is firmly rooted.
She taught me that persistence is the key to success in life, and though you might not have the right answer the first time, the red marks crossing out your errors will eventually fade and what remains is the lasting knowledge and satisfaction of having found the right answer.
She taught me that kindness is the greatest virtue, and no matter your personal feelings toward a person, smile and treat them with kind words and you will be a thousand times rewarded.
She taught me that even though you may not always believe in God, He will always believe in you and through Him all prayers are answered, whether it's the answer you had hoped for or not.
Above all this, she taught me the importance of family. Under her wing, my family has been a constant source of pride. There is not a single person in my family that has not been shaped in some way by her hands and her heart, and because of this, they are the most amazing people I have ever known. Accepting of everyone, once you are a part of our family, you know it.
To her former students and my St. Mary's Stars I would like to leave this little bit of comfort: She loved every single one of you. She believed in every single one of you. If ever there was a time that she expressed frustration with you, it was absolutely not that she didn't like you. It was because she knew your potential and she knew that you weren't trying to reach that potential. Please remember her warmly as she remembered each of you.
To my family, thank you, thank you, thank you for being the most incredible people. We have definitely suffered another great loss, but I know that her strength lives in each of us. I only hope that our future generations understand the meaning of family and come together as we always do in the face of adversity.
And finally, Grandma, if you can see this now, please take my love with you. Thank you for so many wonderful memories and stories I can pass down to my own children and grandchildren. I know that in your final days you endured much suffering and I am so grateful that God finally heard our prayers and released you from it. As difficult as it is, as are all goodbyes, I know we have to let you go, but I will think of you often. Whenever I see Betty Boop I'll know you're there. Whenever I catch the familiar scent of the Jean Naté perfume that was your signature, I will find comfort in the memory of your perfect embrace. I find happiness now knowing that you are finally reunited with Grandpa after so many long years apart. Be with him now and forever and keep watch over us always. I love you, Grandma. Rest in peace.
Enid E. Martinez
10/31/1930 - 01/30/2013

Moving... on Up?

"I'm alright, I'm alright.... It only hurts when I breathe."

The idea of moving back to California isn't a new one for us. In fact, it's been mentioned many many times, especially in the last 5 years. Talk of Colorado or Nebraska or even Wyoming came and went. Not because they're bad places or particularly undesirable but because we just can't deal with the cold. The cost of heating seems a fair exchange for the higher cost of living in SoCal. I mean, really. $1500 every winter just so we can be warm or even survive a harsh below-zero few months? Not worth it.

I understand the concerns of friends who don't want us to move. Really, I do. But the fact that winter is so damn expensive and the season changes trigger my asthma in ways I never imagined possible makes a move necessary. There are so many reasons for us to go and only around three for us to stay. And I feel bad. I do. Sometimes I feel like changing my mind and just staying where we are. Don't take that leap of faith. Don't move on. But really.... when is the inhaler not going to be enough? When am I going to find myself hospitalized because I can't breathe? Is that worth risking to stay?

It's not just that. I have a family too. And one week every three years isn't enough. I need to be home.

Cheese...bur...ger

If you've got kids and have been forced (or forced the kids) into watching Cloudy With a Chance of Meatballs, then you know EXACTLY how that title is supposed to sound.

Last night T and I were discussing our eating habits. We stumbled onto Ellen D's vegan blog, and briefly considering going vegan. For like the two seconds it went from brain to mouth. We decided there are two reasons we can't, at least not right now. First, I love cheese. I don't love string cheese so much anymore (thanks Leprino), but Cheddar, Muenster, Pepper Jack... just yum! T's reasoning was that she likes her steak and chicken too much. Fair enough. So we decided to change things up a little. Right now we average two or three veggies dinners a week. That's not too bad, but why not up the ante and make every night veggie except one or two?

I decided to enlist the opinion of little man. What does a four-year-old know? Suprisingly... A LOT thanks to his older brother. Apparently one night when adult ears weren't around, he decided little man needed to know where meat came from. Imagine the fun I had when he ran to me, thrust his half-eaten cheeseless cheeseburger (wait for the story on that one) in my face, and demanded to know if he was really eating a dead cow. Well... yeah. Why sugar coat it? He's a smart kid and he'll figure it out anyway. Then came the question I was waiting for: BUT WHY DO WE HAVE TO EAT DEAD ANIMALS???

................................

Hmmm....You can't very well eat them alive. Okay, you could, but that would be mean and you'd probably go to jail/incur a fine/have horrible guilt-plagued nightmares for the rest of forever. Besides, we do because people have hunted for a very long time, and we've liked meat for a very long time. No, we don't eat dogs. Or cats. No, we didn't hunt that cow. We didn't even raise that cow. Some guy on some huge farm grew that cow and had it killed so that it could be ground up and made into a hamburger (cheeseless cheeseburger) so we wouldn't have to see the face of the animal we were eating. The problem is this: he loves meat - for the most part. He loves cheeseless cheesburgers. Yes, I KNOW that's just a hamburger, but try telling him that. It tastes different. I don't know. He'd cry if it had cheese, but then he'd cry if it was called a hamburger. Drama queen.

Anyway, after months and months and months of telling him "yes, that's a dead _____," I asked him last night if he'd like to eat less meat and more fruits and veggies. YES!!!! But more fruit more than anything. He's a kid. He likes sugar. What can I say?

So that's the direction we're headed. Less meat. More fruits and veggies. We already do veggie tacos every week. What are a few more days without meat going to hurt? Besides, maybe with meat more out of sight, we can focus on the fact that he's now eating dead PLANTS. And that's okay. Because they don't have faces with sad eyes wondering why in the world you'd want their meat for a CHEESEBURGER WITHOUT CHEESE!!!

I'll Stand By You...

I'll STAND by you.... Won't let anybody hurt you... I'll stand by yoouuu--ouuu....


Of course I exaggerate, but this has been a really trying week for me work-wise. I mean, my usually impervious ego was bruised repeatedly. And after a week and a half of being badgered, it really looked like I was going to lose the fight. And I did fight. As much as my little temp heart dared without fear of getting fired or "laid off."


A little background: Months ago a bunch of temps in different departments (and in my department) were getting laid off. I was nervous, but what can you do really? So I kept my head down and made my work count. Boss-who-doesn't-want-to-be-boss decided to train me on a new boot. It was going to be my baby. If I had only known then how frickin needy it was going to be....  

I was the only cutter working on this particular boot and the leather was bad crappy THE WORST SH*T I HAVE EVER SEEN! To put it mildly. I began an impossible mission: to cut over 1000 pair single-handedly while turning poo into gold. Seriously. These boots retail for almost $500 a pair. I worked like crazy on those first boots. It was exhausting. And finally they decided to give me a helper. A whiny helper. One of those people who complains about everything no matter how much better it gets. I was patient with her. I listened to her complaints. I sympathized with her struggles with bad hides. I cursed ever being stuck with her under my breath.

Everything went well at first. We were being too picky with the leather. We could let more stuff that didn't look perfect go. So we did. Then the problems started. See, this leather is CRAP! Did I mention that? I just wanted to be clear. First of all, it's not sealed with anything. It's tanned and that's about all. So when I was told to label the backs of a particular part, I did so with abandon. I labeled them BIG! (Actually, I labeled them "IN" and "OUT," but that's neither here nor there.) And the ink leeched onto the good side of the piece under it. Oops. I spent 8 full hours recutting, during which time then-supervisor had the gall to ask me, "Have you learned your lesson?" When did I end up in grade school?

I don't want to detail every. little. problem. BUT let's just say there has been something new every day. Getting to re-cut the other girl's mistakes so I can learn HER lesson? Check. Re-cutting my own inadequate but perfect pieces? Check. Re-cutting my MISSING parts that weren't really missing, but lets just say they were so WE don't get in trouble? Check.

Needless to say by this afternoon I was growing rather weary of the problems with this boot. And then it happened. The girl assigned to re-cut the boots stood up for me. She told the not-boss that there were plenty of good parts that we were having to re-cut, and it wasn't cool. Not-boss took it to the man in charge of quality, and guess what? MOST of the parts were good. Mhm. Thought so. He told guy-who-wants-to-ruin-my-life (referred to later as pooper), and pooper got PISSED! He ran to big-lady-in-charge (referred to later as awesome boss).

Awesome boss started calling people into the conference room. Oh, no!  Don't worry. I'm golden. Yep. Shiny and happy and just a big old glowing ray of sunshine. See, awesome boss sat pooper down and went through the "bad" parts one at a time. Most of them she deemed good or at least passable. The others I know were crap. I know it because I cut them. And when I cut them I was frustrated from being talked to every single day for TWO WEEKS. So I pushed. I cut stuff that I didn't think would go, but what the hell? We would've thrown that piece out whether I cut it or not, so let's see if it would go.

Not-boss came back and told me the story. That really made my day. Maybe even my work. Because even though there are some people that don't want to get their asses in trouble, I got mine burned many times. And over stuff that wasn't my fault. That's not even the point though. The point is that I took my licks. I plowed through when the thorny weeds wrapped around my hands and tugged me toward the door. Just sneak out. I didn't, of course, and I had not only not-boss put himself out there for me, but re-cut girl, doesn't-want-to-be-boss, AND awesome boss at bat. Defending me. Throwing pooper's whiny bs right back in his stupid poopy face. And honestly, THAT feels pretty damn good.

Running as fast as I can....

Well, sort of. This morning I finally decided it was cool enough to suck it up and just get out there. At first I was pretty hesitant. Actually, I laid in bed for about an hour trying to decide if it was really worth it. Then the cat ran across my leg, claws out of course, and blood was streaming down my leg.... (Yes, it really was that bad.) Oh, why not. I'm up. There's no way I'm getting back to sleep. 

So I changed my clothes, laced up my running shoes, grabbed my mp3 player and some courage strength willpower and dragged my tired butt outside. I only walked until I got past the neighbor's house, but then I decided to run a little. I made it two driveways. TWO! Granted, the houses are much further apart than they are in California, but I was beginning to feel defeated. My lungs burned. I had to walk again. *sigh*

When the pain subsided and I could breathe normally again, I decided to run again, setting my sites on a gas line marker a little way down the road. It was actually a good estimate because my stupid lungs flared up again.

This is how it was the whole time I was out. For 1.52 miles I half-assed it around the "short loop" walk that we usually take. It felt like I gave it my all, but I couldn't help but feel I could've done better. I could've run longer. I could've.... Well, I am really out of shape. My fat butt and overly-reactive lungs would tell you that, I'm sure. I'm planning to get out tomorrow morning again. Maybe I'll be able to run a little more and walk a little less. Maybe it'll be the same as it was today. I won't know until I get out there. And I AM going to get out there. Because even though I was out about 25 minutes just doing a pathetic mile and a half, I feel pretty great.

We can do this

If you missed the Facebook status that is the title of this post, it probably seems pretty irrelevant and benign. However, if you did see it, it may have left you scratching your head. What can we do? Well.... for starters we can get off our asses and DO something. Anything.

I was reading some random stuff online because that's what I do, and I thought, "Wow. Wouldn't it be cool if we could go from being lazy to running an all-out marathon?"

See, I've never been much of a runner. Okay, I "competed" in track meets, attempting to run a mile race without any serious training. Of course I never took it seriously. I wasn't a runner. I was a volleyball player. Period. I participated in track, basketball, soccer... anything to pass the time from one volleyball season to another. So it's no surprise when I say that even though I finished those mile long races, I always finished dead last. And not just because I sprained my ankle.

Anyway, we talked about it and it seemed like a good idea at first. Then I started reading more. A LOT more. A marathon is 26.2 miles. If you're a beginner like me, even with 18 horrible weeks of training, that's a very long run. Like 5 or 6 hours. Who has that many hours left in a day after work to just go run? More importantly, who would really want to?

And then there are the horrors of marathons....

 <----This is what you get when you pop too many banana nut muffins to settle your nervous stomach.

 All those cups of water and Gatorade at all those hydration stations are bound to be released somewhere, as she'll tell all her fellow runners back home. --->

 <----.........

                                                     And.
                                                    Your.
                                                Nipples.
                                                     May.
                                                   Bleed.

 EFF THAT!

I chiseled it down to a half-marathon, thinking that if I could do at least half... Well, it seemed logical at the time. And it wasn't a whole marathon so I wouldn't be wasting an entire day running. Plus it's a half marathon so it should take half the time. The problem? Training for a half marathon basically takes the training for a whole one and amps it up. Yeah. THEY MAKE IT MORE INTENSE! What... the.... hell?

Ambition aside, I want to succeed. I don't want to have my sites set on a five hour run when I can really only handle a half hour. And a half hour of running should be enough. After all, don't doctors recommend 20-30 minutes of exercise a day? That'll get it. So that's it. A 5K. But for me, as one who is currently "not a runner" but wants to try on "being a runner" for size, I think that's plenty. And 3.1 miles certainly seems like something we can do.

Oh, and I really want these shoes:

Still Here?

In case you've been living under a rock, the world was supposed to end at 6:00pm local time, wherever you live. See, Jesus cares about your schedule, and apparently He had a wonderful feast prepared in Heaven, since He was taking us away from our barbequed ribs and bonfires. Some (read: all) of us didn't get raptured. *Insert sad faces here.*

Want the world to know you survived the NOTcalyspe? Check out these tees: http://isurvivedtherapture.org/ I know when I can I'm getting one for each of us. Maybe I can even convince them to make some for my dogs and cats, cuz you know, they weren't raptured either. The shirts are twelve bucks, and come in a variety of colors and adult sizes. I'm partial to the black shirt with white survival lettering, but maybe you need some extra attention. After all, you're STILL HERE!!! You might like the purple shirt with the green lettering.

Far be it from me to judge someone for making money off someone else's mistake, but I think these shirts are awesome! I wish I had thought of it. Anyway, the shirts actually support a good cause. These kids: http://www.sunshineacres.org/ didn't get raptured, and need a nice place to eat their lunches. A portion of the proceeds from the sales of these shirts will go to build them a sheltered area outdoors for bug-free, sun-protected summer dining.

In all, a fun way to remember another blunder, and help out some needy kids in the process. I only hope they add some more sizes and colors and types of shirts. It'd really suck to spend my survival in 90 degree plus weather in a black tee, just hoping for my survival tank top.