dogs – Page 3 – FibroM.E.-Awesome

The Day I Tried to Punch a Fly in the Face.

Published on November 5, 2012November 5, 2012 by Mary Gelpi11 Comments

I could tell you a lot of things about my life right now. That once again it’s 4 am and I can’t sleep. That once again Monty has gas but I love him too much to kick him out of the room. That the Chinese doctor told me not to take my pills today and so I haven’t. I feel the effects of it. I have some fear about it. Some hesitation. But I have the same fear of a life dependent on pills, so either way it’s fighting demons. I don’t mind being awake when the world is sleeping. So many days I’ve missed out. Slept through. Called in sick. Night is my time to take life back. I could tell you my music of choice at night when I can’t sleep–lately it’s Tchaikovsky (Swan Lake) but tonight it is Radiohead (In Rainbows) and I’m deciding whether to keep squinting hard and trying to force sleep or to give up. Give in. But since the only cure for insomnia I have found is waking up, I give in.

When I open my computer to begin, a fly immediately lands on the screen, undoubtedly drawn to the light of the monitor. When I scroll the little mouse arrow under him, he jumps. Flies away a second. Then he comes back. I play “tag” with my computer mouse and a fly for probably way too long and smile at this activity. What makes me smile more is that we have this big joke in my family that my dad would be reincarnated as a fly. He used to do this hilarious impression (often at fancy dinners, with no shame) of a fly, rubbing it’s little legs together the way they do. Half of the people laughed because it was funny and the other half probably laughed out of discomfort or something. He was such a nerd. This was his dinner entertainment. I wonder if this fly I am playing computer mouse tag with is my dad. Then it starts rubbing its spidery little legs together the way my dad used to when impersonating them and I smile bigger. Because these are strange anecdotes at 4:14 in the morning and I’d prefer to be getting sleep. But then again I would have missed the fly. The fly and all its mystery.

There are a lot of fly stories concerning my deceased father. Like at his funeral when my sister started crying and one landed on her shoulder. Most people would call these things silly, coincidental, random or meaningless. And that for sure is the easier belief. Faith requires energy. But it almost seems like doubt steals it. Sometimes it appears more attractive to trust nothing and be skeptical of it all. But there are incredibly real moments in my life, where explanation just doesn’t work. It’s beyond science. It’s beyond religion. It’s more along the lines of intuition, instinct, and of course, an awakened state of consciousness. It is really amazing what we can see and access when we are awake. But I think we’re mostly sleeping.

In early September I was beginning to really resent my situation. I was physically feeling worse and worse. Everyday activities were becoming harder and I was having to rely on people more than ever. I was beginning to resent the fact that I needed help, which is, insane. I should have been thanking every star in the sky that I had help, but I was too busy being upset that my life didn’t look like what I wanted it to. I was really irritable one day. I was short with everyone. I felt angry, sad, and misunderstood. I needed help but I didn’t want to ask for it, so I resented those who tried. Fed up over something stupid, I took Monty on a walk. We walked up “the hill” that presumably was what put me over the edge after walking up it once a day for a week and then facing a monumental crash. Anyway, at the top of the hill was wide open space for Monty to run and for me to think or yell or curse. On that day I let Monty run while I unloaded some words at the universe. I cursed and yelled because no one could hear me. Except maybe some cars that drove by slowly, and at least they had a story to tell later. (Yeah this girl was flipping off the sky and cursing about fibro-vagina or something?) Pretty soon, this fly landed on my face. I swatted it away and it immediately landed back on my nose. Again I swatted. Again, it returned. I was in such an aggravated state, I wanted to punch the fly in the face. I remember thinking those exact words: I want to punch this fly in the face. When I say the fly would not leave me alone, I mean it. For at least five minutes I let Monty run, let my tears fall, and relentlessly swatted away this fly while also trying to punch it in the face. As if that’s even possible. Fed up, I told Monty that due to a CERTAIN INSECT THAT WILL NOT LEAVE ME ALONE, we had to walk home. Monty looked at me like the psycho that I was, and then we started back down the hill. The fly followed.

I started to cry. All I wanted was peace. I was so upset and felt so alone. My life felt out of my hands and I had become completely reliant on others. I’m always the guest on someone else’s couch. When will I sleep on my own couch? I’m always going to be sick and helpless. These were the thoughts that were circulating. As you can see, they are pretty negative. They weren’t helping me. They were the cyclical mental thoughts that dig you deeper in the hole. The fly continued to dart at my face and I continued to flail my arms in what I think were actual attempts at punching it in the face or more simply, just killing it altogether. But to passers-bye, dear God, I must have looked insane. Finally, near our complex I began to calm down. It finally occurred to me; our little joke about my dad returning to earth as a fly. As I remembered I yelled “Seriously dad this is NOT the time!” So now I was punching the air and talking to a fly which I was beginning to believe was my dead father. Want to be friends?

The truth is, that was the time that I needed to be bombarded. The most effective thing that fly did was make me stop. And examine. And get to the truth of my experience. I had been feeling so alone. But the truth was I had love from all sides. I had family to carry me when I couldn’t do it on my own. It was just time for me to humbly accept that not everything was going to be on my terms, and that’s OK. You can still be happy down another path. Once you stop fighting it. That fly relentlessly flew at my face for at least 10 minutes, while I relentlessly tried to kill it. But by the end it had gotten through. Something told me, something from inside, that fly was a reminder. That life wasn’t over. That I wasn’t alone. That I shouldn’t be so irreverent about living. I was still here. Still breathing. And so I still had purpose.

I approached our front door, now smiling at the events of the last 15 minutes. I had tapped into a different energy. A better energy. All thanks to that really, persistent, annoying fly. Whoever he may be.

Health, Happiness, The Fly.

The Importance of Catching Balls.

Published on October 27, 2012 by Mary Gelpi8 Comments

The other day I didn’t have a lot of energy (shocker) but Monty did (shocker). I was throwing the ball for him inside the living room and noting what an expert catcher he is. Like the dude jumps crazy high and catches basically every ball I throw. So I started recording him. Because I have time to do crap like that. Then it was such a beautiful day outside I said screw it, if I can throw a ball in here I can do it outside too. So I brought him outside and recorded all the different ways in which Monty catches a ball. Then I made a movie out of it and put it to some fun music because video editing is another one of those things you can do from bed, and again, I have time to do crap like that. Woo woo. So, below is the result. I guess I realize that Monty makes me happy in so many ways and even watching him jump to catch a ball makes me laugh. Now we all get to watch him. And the angels rejoiced.

Health, Happiness, Monty

*Note, you can’t currently watch this video on a mobile device like your phone because of a third-party licensing issue with youtube…Booo, I know. I’m working on it.

It’s OK To Ask For Help. Help!

Published on October 16, 2012 by Mary Gelpi7 Comments

It has taken me a long time, a very long time, to admit what I am about to. It’s not a very big deal at all, but I’ve spent a long time fighting the very notion of it, and in the end it’s completely true; I am totally reliant on the help of other people right now. I need help. I can’t do life on my own. It’s been this way for a while and though many times I’ve picked myself up by my own bootstraps as they say, and I’ve done all I could to live a life that is mine and have a struggle that I conquered, it just isn’t the case. And why that would be so hard to admit or accept for me, I have no idea. It must be the ego in me. It doesn’t want to admit I need help, but the simple truth is, I do! A lot of it. It’s all so silly. Sometimes life is hard and sometimes you need help. It’s OK to ask for it. And if someone offers it to you, you should accept. The world is full of good people and many of them are happy to help someone out in need. We’re in this together people! Independence is important. Solitude is a gift. But there are 6 billion people on the planet and I don’t think we were put here to suffer alone. This is where and why love exists, and I am seeing now that I need to channel my old fire for autonomy into pure grace and gratitude that I have people who are willing to help me when I’m down. Even when sometimes I don’t deserve it. When I have nothing to offer back. When I resist it. They give it anyway, and I am incredibly lucky for that, for them. It’s really time for me to let go of the anger that I can’t do it on my own. (I think they call this surrender.) Little by little, I feel my pride give way to acceptance. It hurts. It’s hard. It doesn’t always present me in a very pretty light. But there is freedom in admitting you need others, and I’m getting there; slowly letting go of a life path I had in mind that didn’t work out the way I wanted it to. Well boo hoo. It happens. The universe had other plans and here I sit in California listening to coyote puppies howl outside and trying to understand grace. I know it won’t always be like this. Things don’t stay the same. And the truth is it doesn’t matter whose couch I’m on or which family member I’m bumming off of. The key to my happiness is just being where I am. I really need to let what was, go. Let what could have been, go. There is just this, just where I am now.

The model citizen in this whole experience is easy; It’s Monty. Two years ago he happily rode in the backseat with me after the day at the hospital–let me use him as a pillow on the hour drive home to my parents house. It was a gradual move-in, but Monty seemed like he knew we were there for the long haul and quickly embraced our new house. (He was right.) I remember waking up one morning to find my mom feeding him cantaloupe off of a fork and laughing. Marc took him to the prairies with him and they quickly became partners. When I was too weak to play he slept. When I was sad he would fart or do something equally meaningless but would somehow lighten the mood. When I decided to go to Colorado, he got on a plane with me and we went, and he didn’t lose his temper when we were delayed for 6 hours in the Houston airport. He played fetch with a rubber band and then he waited patiently. When I came to California he came too, swam everyday and had a really good time. When we moved into an apartment with my sister and brother-in-law with not a lot of space, he made himself at home. I’ve always wondered what Monty in a bad mood would be like. I’ve never seen it. Every day is literally the best day of his life. He wakes up so excited. Could I be like that? It seems worth it to try. I’ve never seen Monty stub his toe and then yell “mother fuckerrrr!!!!” like I did the other day. Or complain about the agenda or the situation or his crappy pebbly food. It’s like all he does is love and embrace everything. His energy is really good to be around and I don’t take it lightly. I know I’m a little obsessed with him and people say “It’s just a dog, Mary.” But what does that really mean? I’m just a human. Monty seems to have something figured out that I don’t and I don’t see the problem with learning from another species. Some things, they just get. Anyway, it’s fun having him along.

He is just another part of the “Help” I’m receiving. The best part about dog help is that you don’t really have to ask for it, they kind of just know. So whether it’s Monty keeping me company in bed, my sister carrying me up the stairs, my mom counseling me through dark stuff, or a million other ways in which I am being helped by other people, I am finally comfortable admitting that I need it and I need them, and that’s OK! We have a tendency to want to do it on our own, but I promise it will be easier when you don’t go at life alone. Especially through the rough times. Maybe one day I’ll be able to return the favors to my friends and family. Pay it back. Or forward. Technically I’m in debt to a few family members like a jillion dollars but one day I tell them, I’ll pay our bills and take us all to Hawaii. Or I’ll do the house chores for them when I’m on two feet again. Or I’ll just keep being the lifeless girl on the couch who tells jokes every now and then. At any rate, I’ll keep trying, and I’ll continue accepting the help from the troops who were called in. As hard as things get, it’s nice to recognize that I’m not in it all alone. Dare I quote the Beatles “I get by with a little help from my friends?” Oopse, I just did. Well there you have it.

Health, Happiness, Help!

You Can Make Your Own Cheese?

Published on October 12, 2012 by Mary Gelpi10 Comments

Good morning world! Guess who’s up at 7 am?! I haven’t been up this early and actually felt alive in a long time. I woke up in pain but I wasn’t weak like I’ve been and the best part was this; I woke up just in time for the sunrise. It’s funny that such a phenomenal event like that happens every, single, day, and how seldom we actually see it. Or stop to watch it. My immobility in the last few weeks has left me observing the worlds tiny gifts that I didn’t used to see before. Like yesterday I watched a spider web glisten in the sun and was like whoa, that’s beautiful dude! Because my life has become so contained, I’ve been seeing the small things surrounding me, and suddenly they seem just as big as the things I used to strive for- independence, health, conquering the world. Those kinds of things. It reminded me of something Mark Nepo said in an interview that I wrote in my notebook. He was talking about finding “the special” in everyday life and how important that is to happiness. “Become easily pleased. Find what’s special in everything. Everything glows. There are more distractions and distortions now than ever. The challenge is how do we balance–how do we hold at bay all the voices that are forever crowding in, and hear the voice of own soul.” The answer, he said, lies in stillness, reflection, and “spiritual aerobics.” I liked hearing that. And I find the special little things often outside when I’m on a walk with Monty. A fallen birds nest or a bright red door or marshmallow clouds, a little kid with a suitcase or an old man with grocery bags. Whatever it is, it’s easy to miss. But I notice that when I’m quiet I am surrounded by extraordinary things. You don’t have to travel across the world to see incredible things. It’s more about a change in perception than location. We have a tendency to think happiness is “just over there,” beyond the next hurdle, over the fence. I keep hearing that happiness is something already within you and I see now, it’s just about accessing it, activating it. It’s gettin deep in here yall!

This week marked the beginning of a new project: GOOD NEWS IN PLAID! Woo woo. This project started pretty unorganized and is still coming together. But I have to say, I feel better after I report good news. I like hearing other people’s good news. And I enjoy avoiding politics, terrorism, disease, and murder. Who knew? In the beginning I was like why am I doing this? I don’t even feel like moving! But then I was like, wait, I have nothing else to do. I might as well report good news. And it’s something I can do from bed, or the floor, or the couch. So I’ve been recording myself (and Monty) everyday reporting a few pieces of positive news from my own life and other people’s. Yesterday, 32 people left comments reporting their good news on Facebook, so I recorded myself reading everyone’s little bits of good news..without reading through them first. Then I showed it to my sister and realized it was a 10 minute long video and one of the more awkward things you’ve ever seen in your life. So she recommended I edit it down to like 5 bits of good news instead which is probably a better idea. I try to disregard the ridiculous parts of the video where I look and sound like a moron–like when I ask “You can make your own cheese??” (You’ll see) My sister laughed for a good ten minutes at me for that one. But it’s just about positive energy and good news, so I’m sticking with it. It’s also really hard to find the music you want on YouTube, so this video ends super cheesy and the music sounds like something that would come at the end of that movie Precious or on a Cadillac commercial. But anyway, Keep the good news coming…I love hearing it and reporting it, and I think everyone agrees that the world could always use more good news. Below is segment 2 and 4. You can see all the videos at goodnewsinplaid.wordpress.com. I’ll continue to post 1 a day.

In other news, I started seeing two new doctors. One is a Chinese doctor who practices traditional Chinese medicine and is the most delightful man you’ve ever met in your life. Doctor Xu (pronounced Sue)It’s a whole different approach to health, but a lot of it makes sense to me. It seems to work with your body instead of just supplementing pills for symptomatic relief. And since this illness manifests itself in entire body system malfunctions, it feels like a good approach to take. After looking at my tongue and nails and asking a few questions he said “OK, I fix you. Two or three months. I fix you.” He makes his own chinese herbs and creates a tea out of them based on getting your body back in balance and “lighting your internal flame.” Haha. Whatever that means, I’m up for it. He also helped my sister out a lot when she was experiencing chronic migraines and often sick after college. So now he gets to try to heal her sister. His Chinese herb teas taste like what I imagine a bird’s nest ground up in a blender with some carrots thrown in would taste like. But if it means getting better, I’ll try anything. He also does acupuncture which I really like and cupping which feels awesome. But it leaves you looking like you’ve been attacked by a circle monster. See?

The other doctor I am seeing is a Russian woman who practices naturpathic medicine. She believes that I didn’t get rid of the lyme disease on the first go-round and so I am still fighting that with “co-infections” and that’s most likely why I feel like I’m dying. :) Anyway, she has a plan, and Dr. Xu has a plan, and I’m trying it all. Open to anything. Maybe with a combination of Western, Eastern, and Russian Naturpathic medicine, I will get to feeling like a human being again. As my mom says, “All the kings horses and all the kings men will put Humptey Dumptey back together again.” It all sounds good to me.

Health, Happiness, Humpty Dumpty

A Call For Positivity.

Published on October 1, 2012February 17, 2015 by Mary Gelpi19 Comments

Good morning world, it’s been a little while. It’s 4 am in California and I have to say I’m OK feeling wide awake despite the indecent hour. I feel like I’ve been in a sedated state, in and out of consciousness for the last week–more out than in– and it feels good to finally feel alert enough to touch base with myself again. I have never been this sick before, at least not for this long. It’s beginning to make my other sick days feel more like mere child’s play. They’re nearly laughable when I think of them now.

I move when I can, which isn’t very often. It’s difficult to do basic things for myself these days and it sucks to have to ask, but that’s where I am, so I’m trying to make peace with it. Walking is really difficult and the weakness gets overwhelming. It sort of feels like trying to walk underwater–like someone smothered all of my joints in honey. Anyway, being stationary for such a long period of time isn’t super fun (for me or for Monty) and sometimes the mental housekeeping can be harder than the physical. It’d be nice to lose myself in the distraction of anything physical…tennis, shopping, drinking with friends, a road trip or camping! But it’s all out of the question, so I am left to my consciousness and the quiet of days as the world around me spins on without pause. I know it’s vital that I stay positive; that I don’t succumb to the fear and despair lingering between wakefulness and sleep, and that I surrender to where my life has me for now, and that I remain precisely clear about the difference between that and giving up. I am always going to pursue the healthiest routes and happiest choices, but I also need to just exist where I am- which right now, is immobilized in my sisters apartment. When I try to move around I am worse the next day, so it’s bed rest for me. Not much of a choice anymore.

The good news is, I have help. My sister has been doctor for a while now, while my brother-in-law insists on eating when I don’t want to. My mom flew in on Thursday so now the help has help and I am lucky for all of it. And Monty too of course. He’s a mental help to us all, and when things get sad or heavy somehow he finds a way to make us all laugh. I think he’s anxious for me to be back on two feet but he’s patient as always. He’s taken to my sister and brother-in-law, like he knows they’re the ones with the energy. They’re the ones who will throw him the ball. So he plays fetch with them and my mom and when he comes back in he trots straight over to whatever piece of furniture I am using as a bed and curls up next to me; content until the next time he needs to go out. He is a constant reminder to be in the present moment. That is something that dogs just get and humans mostly miss.

I am going to be very honest and say that emotionally I’ve been kind of a wreck. I’m not a huge crier but for some reason when I fall into these weak, dizzy crashes, tears just roll down my face. I don’t even necessarily feel sad when it happens. It’s like this strange cause and effect I don’t feel I can control. So, I let the tears come. I try not to harp long on any negative thoughts or fearful worries; they are not only useless, but detrimental at this point if I give them too much pause. My mom told me “You can’t afford the privilege of a negative thought right now,” so I try to stay away from them. If they come, I let them, and then I let them leave. I am beginning to learn the art of detachment. Or I’m getting a crash course in it. I don’t know that I have another choice, and I must say I’m getting pretty good! I’m writing about this because I know that so many people have felt what I am feeling now, and many of them have not had support systems behind them. I want anyone to know who’s sick or troubled and reading this that it’s OK to want to punch the wall, scream really loud, curse the car door and earth, the universe, or God. I have done all of these things in darker moments, and sometimes a good scream or cry is necessary. It’s OK. Sometimes if I’m too tired to yell, I just flip off the sky. As if the clouds brought me to this point. It’s like the most passive aggressive protest I can demonstrate, but since my arms down to my fingers are weak, I don’t leave it up there very long, which usually leads to cursing. Haha. But what I also know is that anger and screaming and crying and cursing…it just doesn’t get me anywhere in the right direction. It doesn’t move me along. It’s really easy to be mad at a situation; to be pissed off or sad or claim unfairness. But where that gets you is stuck further in the predicament you were already in, just now you’re a miserable person in a shitty situation. It’s just plain more interesting to be a happy person in a shitty situation. Try it! When people ask how I am I say “Terrible! And it’s the best day of my life!”

My goal now is to stay as happy and positive as I can, which so far has been extremely hard. But I’m going to keep at it. I’m letting negative thoughts come and go and I follow them up with something better. Something true. I constantly remind myself of what I have; love, a family that gives a shit, good doctors, good friends, and the best dog in the world. A few examples; my friend Kaitlin aka Matt Damon texts me our inside jokes throughout the day, often consisting of lines from Billy Madison, Orange County, or philosophical thoughts on the Golden Girls. Sometimes a one word text can make me laugh, and that feels like a step in the right direction. My brother Nick sends me interesting and positive reading material or funny pictures of the baby. My Stupid Friend Jess sends me her favorite facebook statuses of the day, which are always terrible. And hilarious. My mom and sister let me cry when I need to but are always encouraging, reminding me of the truth, and that is so necessary at times like these. And me, I’m kind of just hanging on. I don’t really feel like I’m driving the car to my life right now, but, I can at least control the music. Is this metaphor too much? Anyway, instead of playing like, Coldplay and Radiohead, I’m trying to play happier and motivating things. The Black Keys, Vampire Weekend, The Rolling Stones, and Ke$sha. Come on, that Tic Toc song can make anyone dance. We’re out of the metaphor now, I actually like listening to that song.

So, that’s where I am. It’s a really rough time, but I know it isn’t forever. And I know the answer to it all is not in anger or sadness or self pity, even though these reactions and dispositions are often the easier, default choices. It’s funny how conditioned humans are to respond this way to stress in life–and how absolutely worthless it remains. You’d think after 2000 years of civilization we’d have gotten it by now. Even the dogs get it! Anyway, as I sit immobilized, a heat pack on my muscles and the smell of BenGay circulating in the air, I’m beginning to retrain myself. My body is crazy weak, so I’m going to work on a stronger mind. I know that every situation is an opportunity to grow, and I guess it comes down to whether you want the experience to leave you larger or smaller than you were before. My hope, of course, is to walk away wiser and stronger. And while it’s the harder path to take, I know it’s not impossible, and so many others have endured far worse and done just fine. In the meantime, I gotta stay positive. So send me funny stuff! Among the 25 pills, laughter is still my best and favorite medicine.

Health, Happiness, Hanging On.

Sometimes You Gotta Say Yes.

Published on August 29, 2012August 29, 2012 by Mary Gelpi12 Comments

Even when you don’t feel like it. Even when it hurts. When it would be not just easier or more convenient to say no, but less painful, less exhausting, perhaps even, the healthier option– even then, sometimes, you gotta say yes.

As my role as the “sick girl” has slowly developed over the past few years, I’ve noticed how often and how easily I’ve begun to say no to things. And that’s mostly for the sake of my livelihood. I don’t have the endurance to do the things I once did, nor do I have the resilience to bounce back if I overstep the boundary. There’s an invisible line with illnesses like this; one that not even the sick person can see, and it doesn’t make a sound when you overstep. Not until later, when it’s too late to take anything back. So, you pay for it. And you start to feel your way through it, constantly guessing whether you’ve gone too far or done too much. It’s about as easy as pin the tail on the donkey in the dark, with booze. But this solid body of mine, as broken as it is, it always lets me know if I’ve infringed on that boundary. Always.

The last few days have been crappy. Not Colorado crash crappy, but, crappy. There have been a few 26 and 27 pills a day, days. Which I’m learning how to be OK with. Even sick days, where the most you do is brush your teeth, are OK too. They have to be. It’s interesting what this illness turns you into; a spectator where you once a participant. I often feel the quick pace of the world spinning and everyone rushing by with their busy lives, and then there’s me…just kind of, ~~standing~~ lying there. I miss being busy. There’s something comfortable about always having something to do, someone to see; there’s an importance about it. I notice now how different my to-do lists are verses my to-do lists a few years ago. 1. Wash clothes. 2. Pick up prescriptions. 3. Buy new notebook!

I’ve begun examining my life a little closer lately, and am putting a lot of thought into how I spend my time. It’s really crazy to think that I can sort of do what I want given that I don’t have a full-time job or any REAL responsibility besides my health and my dog Monty. (Although I don’t know, one might call my constant correspondence with the Walgreens pharmacy a full-time job in and of itself. For real though.) The thing is, since I can’t hold a full-time job right now, I don’t have any income. So that’s the first damper on “Doing what I want.” The second damper is, duh, I’m incapacitated most of the time. If I had my way, I’d be going, and doing, and meeting, luncheoning, and painting and creating and…you get it. Saying YES a lot. I’d be one of those busy people with alphabetized spice racks and really organized DVD collections. And I’d run half marathons for fun! BLECH. Scuse me, I just puked thinking about running a half marathon. Anyway, that’s not my life. Most of the time I feel too exhausted for showers and everything I buy at this point is on someone else’s dime…so it’s really teaching me a lesson in humility, appreciation, and grace. Every night I pray that I will be able to pay back everyone who has been so gracious in taking care of me. And I solemnly believe that day will come. One day.

In the meantime, I have a lot of something that many people don’t: free time. And whether I’m sick or not, it’s up to me how I spend my time. I find myself feeling bad a lot about not having a full-time job and not being able to support myself. I was used to having a job and independence define me. But, I think that’s pride and the ego getting the best of me and I constantly have to remind myself that if I could, I would. But right now, it’s not where I am. So how about instead of feeling shitty on top of feeling shitty, I try to make better use of my time. I decided I’m going to read as much as I can, write as much as I can, and start looking at this free time as a gift instead of something that “happened to me.” A lot of people would love time off from work, to be a spectator, to read for the sake of reading. To be honest, not having something to do is harder than you’d think. We’re kind of a culture that tends to define ourselves by our work. I guess I’m redefining both my purpose and the definition of that word. Is it still considered work if you’re not getting paid?

This week has been rough health wise, but today I was sick and tired of being sick and tired more than I was actually sick and tired. SO, I said, screw it. I took a bath, got dressed, and went to the park with Monty. Not because I felt like it, not because it felt good even, but because I needed to get out. Sometimes I do the things I would do if I weren’t sick, just for a little while. I can go outside. I can throw a ball for Monty and finish reading my book. I felt shitty the whole time, but mentally I needed it. Chances are, I’ll pay for it tomorrow. But it’s one of those weeks where I felt like I would be paying for something tomorrow whether or not I did anything today, so I went for it. Every once in a while, it’s nice to feel like things are on my terms. It’s my way of giving the illness the middle finger. And you know what? It felt good! Screw you sickness. Today, Mary Gelpi SAID YES.

OK so maybe I am really over-glorifying my little trip to the park. But, I have to keep myself in check. It would be really easy for me to say no to anything that required leaving the house or socializing with people. I can feel the crotchety 80-year-old inside of me getting way too comfortable. I remind myself that I am 28. I need to stop being so opposed to meeting new people. (Dude, I hate meeting people. Also, I’m terrible at it.) I have to be OK with going places sometimes, because I think our souls like a change of scenery. I need to not automatically say no, even though my experience gives me that tendency. Sometimes I will pay for it, yes. But there’s a price to be paid for constantly saying no, too. So I’ve got to find the middle. I’m still young, and I need to start acting my age. Before I know it I’ll be drinking Ensure and wearing Oopse I Crapped My Pants. And then meeting people will be REALLY hard!

You know what else I did today? Bought a new notebook. That’s my favorite thing to buy. I’m very particular when it comes to notebooks. It takes me a while to pick one out and I sit there in front of the shelf of books running my fingers over pages, opening and closing it, taking measurements and looking like a crazy all the while, but I like to take my time. I can’t have things like paper texture or wide rule lines interfering with my writing. Anyway, I found a good one after going back and forth between two for 10 minutes. This is typically what I do when I buy anything. I’m very indecisive. So I’ll buy one, and then go home and think about the other. It’s terrible. Anyway, I’m trying to work on that. So I’m going to do some writing. And then some reading. And then I’ll do it again tomorrow I guess, in a park, and throw the stick for Monty. Because that’s what my life is right now, and it won’t always be that way. Maybe it’s not about being important. Maybe it’s just about being.

Health, Happiness, Yes.

*To all my family and homies in New Orleans, my thoughts are with yall. Although I’m pretty sure most of you are drunk and having an OK time. Stay safe.

Dude. Solitude.

Published on August 5, 2012 by Mary Gelpi21 Comments

Sound the bells. I survived the Colorado Crash of 2012. I’m alive. Woohoo!

Yesterday I finally started feeling back to my normal sickley self, not my deadly sickley self. And it feels good to be able to be out of bed for more than an hour a day. That tends to wear on a girl…at least a little. I can’t believe what a disaster my Colorado vacation was. It’s funny I’m still referring to it as a vacation. That’s like taking someone to the DMV and calling it a date. It was really hard for me to enjoy my time there because I was in constant recovery, catch up, and crash mode and the cycle didn’t break the whole time I was there. I had to say no to things and miss out on things which I’m typically “OK” with but this time I felt real sadness and anger about it. I wanted to blame someone, I wanted a reason, I wanted to “talk to the manager” about this. I wanted it to be somebody’s fault and somebody to fix it. But, that’s not how it works. These are the things that teach us grace and surrender and sometimes getting the lesson is the most painful part. By the last night I had broken down in tears just exhausted from being exhausted and feeling like the Debbie of all Downers. This illness tends to turn its victims into high maintenance fun suckers when it’s at its worst, and nobody likes to be around that. By the end I was tired of who I was on that trip and what I required. But my brothers talked me through it and we decided that next vacation we take, we aren’t making an itinerary. We’re not overcommitting to engagements and we’ll try to just take each day as it comes. We’re going to try to effectively do nothing–something I’m pretty spectacular at and most people are still getting the hang of. I’m happy to teach my ways. I’m doing nothing right now!

As hard as the last two weeks have been, I feel like it is all starting to pay off because now I find myself in Paradise. My sisters in-laws left yesterday morning for a three-week trip to Africa. When they told me about their voyage months ago my first question was what they were going to do with Mikey–an enormous yellow lab and king of the household. When they threw around options I casually mentioned that Hey, I have nothing to do in August (or any month ever for that matter) and I could watch Mikey for them if they preferred he had a dogsitter. A few days later they took me up on the offer and even allowed me to bring Monty here too. So now, after all the exhaustion, noise, chaos, itineraries, plans and breaking of plans, I find myself in a beautiful California home with two loveable drooling teddy bears, and I could not feel more at peace having arrived. When I wake up in the morning, there is silence, and there is no itinerary to follow. DO YOU KNOW HOW GREAT THAT IS!?!?

Truthfully I have always treasured my solitude. If I were a Country Singer, I would write a song called “Solitude Has Always Been a Friend of Mine.” Anyway, it happens at least a few times a year that I require almost total isolation and dream of being locked up in a cabin somewhere and cut off for a little while. It’s like my souls version of food cravings. I have always enjoyed small endeavors on my own. Sometimes I like to eat at restaurants alone, or see movies or go to the bookstore. I love not having to keep up a conversation and going at my own pace, which is usually pretty slow. There isn’t anything so commonplace and exhausting to me as small talk. I have no patience or energy for idle conversations anymore. I don’t like having the “What’s new with you?” conversation. I don’t like to hear how your job is going or how your brothers band got a new drummer. And I don’t like to share news from my neck of the woods either–obviously because I don’t have any. “Yep, still sleeping on peoples couches. Well bye!” I realize this probably makes me sound like an old curmudgeon, and maybe I’m starting down that path at the ripe old age of 27, but there is something about those forced conversations that sometimes even the mere thought of them drains me. They just feel so inauthentic on both ends and since my time out of bed is so precious anyway, it’s hard for me to spend it on a conversation that we’re having to fulfill some duty–or because we feel like we should. This is why having a dog as a best friend works out great for me. No elevator talk.

The other part is, while writing is my passion, it’s kind of a lonely practice. You can’t do it well with people around. And you kind of have to “strike while the iron is hot” which is typically for me sometime around 3 in the morning. The act of writing is not nearly as satisfactory as the result, and many times the process is grueling. Anyway, the only living thing that can hang out but not disturb me is a dog. Two dogs even. So Monty and Mikey have been great companions. We eat, sleep, swim and write and there’s no itineraries or talking about our jobs. Wanda left me a note welcoming me to help myself to any and everything and to write a book while I’m here. Think I’ll take her advice.

Health, Happiness, Solitude.

Help and Thank You

Published on August 1, 2012August 7, 2012 by Mary Gelpi21 Comments

It’s been almost 7 days and 12 hours that I’ve gone without internet and I am gently reminded just how much a product of the multi-tasking, turned-on tech generation I am. I think going this long without wi-fi is my generations equivalent to camping. I’m pretty sure they call this roughing it. And I’m pretty sure my parents would call me a pansy.

This is an easy problem to fix, as most public restaurants and coffee shops have free wi-fi these days but since I’ve basically spent the last seven days IN BED or using some other piece of furniture as though it is one, I haven’t been able to take my little coffee shop trips like I’d planned.

I’m not exactly sure what’s going on, but since the day after I arrived here, I’ve been crashing about an hour after I wake up. Apparently my adrenal glands aren’t functioning properly and I’m bottoming out after I wake up. And not just “Gee I’m sleepy I think I’ll lay down for a bit” kind of crash. (Since becoming sick I have no idea how a power nap works. I just know 15 minutes could never ever ever ever be enough when I’m in a crash.) It’s more like hitting a brick wall where the only thing to do is go back to bed. If that sounds depressing, well, yeah, it is a bit. But there is no such thing as faking it. I made it to dinner at my cousins Shawns house after three days in bed but didn’t feel like I could keep my head up to play cards after dinner. And we ALWAYS play cards after dinner. That’s what you do in Colorado. That’s what you do when grandma is around. And that was just one of many things I’ve had to miss out on since arriving, which is very challenging emotionally for me. I’m the youngest of four, so basically since birth it’s been my prerogative to just not miss out on anything. But that affect right there is one of the hardest parts of this illness, many times even harder than the physical pain itself.

A few nights ago after spending the last two days straight in bed, I felt like I started to lose my mental strength. My siblings had left to go visit with old family friends who I’d really like to have seen but I just couldn’t make it happen. When I’m sick like that I’ve always felt it’s best to be alone since I’m not a ton of fun to be around and basic “sounds” really bother me. But then after everyone left, I got sad and wanted them to come back again. All of my siblings are here and we have taken over my grandmas little house. My brother has been sleeping on an air mattress in the middle of the living room–and this has really worked out for me, because I basically get to be in bed while simultaneously hearing to the conversations and sounds and chaos that ensues when more than one Gelpi is in a room together.

The truth is, I find myself looking for an answer to all of this and there often isn’t one. There are a lot of questions I have about my life that most of the time I am able to let go unanswered. But during those times like a few nights ago, I can’t escape the questions so easily, and I feel anger about them because it simply doesn’t make sense to me. I was angry that most of my vacation has been spent lying down. Angry that I was missing out on my favorite activities. Jealous of other people’s health. Angry that I rarely get to see all my siblings at the same time, and now here we are all together but I can barely get out of bed. Marc Nepo says it’s our job to make sense out of our pain. So that is what I tried to do the other night as I did the only thing I promised I would do that day–take a bath. Big day for Mary!

During dark times like that, I don’t often have big revelations or hear the voice of God. I just let myself feel the pain and then remind myself that tomorrow is another day and say some prayers. There are two prayers I say when I’m all out of juice and all together they make up three words. And here they are: “Help” and “Thank You.” When I’m too tired to spell it out for the universe, (and let’s get real, I shouldn’t have to spell it out for the universe) those are the prayers I say, and honestly it feels like enough. The help prayer is for strength and the thank you prayer is for my family, particularly my siblings. They have taken phenomenal care of me since arriving, and my sister Amelie has been force feeding me protein every two hours. Even when I’m cranky and don’t feel like moving, talking, or eating. They bring me home leftovers and pick up my prescriptions and lie to me when I ask them if the party I missed out on was any fun. Each of them is an invaluable gift to me. Sometimes I think about my life and think maybe I’ll never get married. Maybe I won’t find “The One” or my soul mate or whatever they talk about on Sex and the City. And then I watch us at work together and it hits me that maybe I don’t need that. Sometimes my mom and siblings feel like all the soul mates I could need. (Monty too of course) That being said, I’m sure they’re all hoping that one day I’ll be able to sustain myself and won’t require an air mattress in the middle of their respective living room floors and I am hoping for that day too. But there is just a lot of love between us and often I feel like my glass is overflowing with the stuff that matters. And pain and exhaustion aside, that feels pretty good. At the end of the day, you ask yourself; do I have what I need? And I do. I have modern medicine and the smell of my grandmas house, 10 more minutes of free wi-fi and unconditional love and the answer is clear. Today was hard, but I had enough.

Health, Happiness, Enough.

City Girl in Mountain Town

Published on July 25, 2012 by Mary Gelpi7 Comments

Monty and I have arrived in my other hometown- Grand Junction, Colorado. Never heard of it? Don’t feel bad. I remember in my seventh grade geography class everyone feeling a little defeated when we opened our books and saw that Grand Junction wasn’t even marked on the map. It’s grown a lot since then, but it still feels much like the small town it felt like as I grew up here. It’s hard to explain but there is a certain look to Grand Junction. It’s almost distinctly indistinct. But when you wait at the gate in the airport to come here, it becomes slowly evident just where you’re going. Suddenly there are a lot of teva sandals and drawstring cargo Capri pants–on women and men. I’d call the fashion here “Mountain Casual” with a few embellishments here and there. The thing is, it’s a very genuine town. There’s nothing really excessive or fancy about it and that’s how they like it. If Fisher Island is a red Ferrari, Grand Junction is a light tan, mid-sized sedan. A Ford Taurus maybe. I love coming here because while there are new additions every time I arrive, (like The Olive Garden or Lane Bryant) it always feels the same. It has this smell that has never changed–a mix of cut grass and wet clothes in the washer machine. In a word; clean. Even the water has a certain taste to it-also very clean. For comparative purposes, New Orleans water has a particular taste from the tap too- something like garden hose mixed with chlorine and mud. And that is one reason you don’t drink water from the tap in New Orleans. Not unless you’re a real risk taker.

Growing up here I kind of despised the place. I dreamed of big cities with bright lights and tall buildings that stayed open past 10 pm. Cities that had stores like the Gap and Abercrombie and Fitch. In my young mind, what made a city cool and important was whether or not they had tall buildings. Grand Junction has one tall building; Alpine Bank. It’s ten stories. I’ve gathered that most youth have a love/hate relationship with the place they grow up, especially if that place is particularly marketed as “A great place to raise a family.” And Grand Junction is just that. Very little crime. Quality, free public education. Beautiful scenery and four distinct seasons- none of them extreme. No earthquakes, hurricanes, tornadoes or blizzards. It snows roughly 5 times throughout the winter, just enough to make it a novelty and exciting. I recently heard that Grand Junction made the top 10 list of US cities in which to retire, which may help explain why being a teenager here is less than exciting. But I look at it now with fondness. It may not be the cultural capital of America or boast the best cuisine, but it’s a beautiful, clean place with really good people. By this point in New Orleans, the heat achieves a whole new set of adjectives. In June it’s terrible and unrelenting. In July it’s suffocating and oppressive, unfair even. It will stay that way until late September. So we’re in a mountain town now that actually cools off at night, and it feels good to be back.

Monty and I are staying at my grandmas house. I love staying here because much like the town, it always looks, feels and smells the same when I walk in the door, and there’s some kind of comfort in that. It’s the most organized and clean house and it’s always been that way. Everything has a place and often a label; your toothbrush, playing cards, scrap paper and “hand cream.”

Also nothing is wasted. Nothing. (I’ll expand on that next time) I gave her my word that Monty would stay off of the furniture, so when he pawed at the bed last night with the look on his face like “Are you going to scoot over or am I just going to have to slowly push you off like normal?” I told him “Sorry buddy, not at Grandmas’s house.” He seemed to understand that sentiment because he grunted and then laid down in the hall under the swamp cooler. Oh, that’s another thing. Swamp coolers. The whole goal of keeping a house cool in Louisiana is to keep the moisture out of the air since most days are boasting at least 90% humidity. Here, it’s a desert climate, and you’ll notice large boxes on the tops of all the houses. Those are the swamp coolers. They keep the air cool by actually pumping moisture into it, the exact opposite mechanism of the south. And there’s our science lesson for the day.

On an another note, I’ve basically been crashed every day since arriving here. We flew through Dallas and a huge storm kind of threw flight schedules out of whack resulting in a lot of cancelled flights and a whole lot of angry people. At first I was stressing because I was worried about Monty getting impatient. Then as we sat there I realized, impatience and irritability are much more human traits than dog. Monty had no idea that our flight was leaving hours later than scheduled, or didn’t seem to mind anyway. He laid there like a champ, like this.

And he brightened the moods of a lot of other delayed and restless passengers. As one lady noted, “He’s therapy for us!” and then she scratched his belly for the next ten minutes. We didn’t end up arriving until midnight that night and overall travel time ended up taking nearly 12 hours. So my body has been angry at me for the last 3 days and I’ve done very little but rest and eat hearty dinners with my large extended family. Today is the first day I haven’t crashed immediately after waking up, so here’s hoping. I went to bed at 8:30 last night. It was still light outside. What a crazy life I lead.

Until next time.

Health, Happiness, Mountain Towns

15 Fights Every Couple Has

Published on July 18, 2012July 19, 2012 by Mary Gelpi18 Comments

1. The “You Spend Too Much Time With Your Friends and Not Enough Time With Me” Fight. It’s not that I hate your friends, I just think they’re stupid and don’t really want them around.

2. The “You’re Terrible With Money” Fight. Did we really need these $20,000 life-size Rock ‘Em Sock ‘Em robots?

robot-boxing-machines — Yes, yes we did.

3. The “I’m Allowed to Talk Shit About My Family but YOU BETTER NOT” Fight. Excuse me, nobody calls my sister a slut but me.

4. The “You Drink Too Much/Smoke Too Much/Work Too Much/Play Video Games Too Much/Sleep Too Much” Fight. You do all the wrong stuff, too too much.

5. The “ANYTHING Regarding Facebook” Fight.

Who’s that slut who wrote on your wall?

Why haven’t you changed your relationship status?

Why aren’t I in your profile picture?

Why are you still friends with that person?

Why won’t your dad accept my friend request?

Who is Brittny and why did she poke you 2 years ago? Defriend her. NOW.

6. The “You’re Always Tired When It’s Time for Sex But Wide Awake When the Kardashians Come On” Fight. Come on, you know you love Scott.

1337700409_scott-disick-zoom — Nuff said.

7. The “You Give Terrible Presents” Fight. Awesome. Another candle. Thanks babe.

8. The Failure to Agree on a Show You Both Like So You End Up Watching Stuff Neither of You Really Likes Fight. Oh look, No Reservations is on again.

9. The “I Shouldn’t Have to Ask You To” Fight. Because you should be able to read my mind by now.

10. The “You Have Terrible Phone Etiquette” Fight. There’s this thing. Called a phone. Try it out…

11. The “If You Like It You Better Put a Ring On It” Fight. Because nothing sets the mood for an engagement like the threat of a breakup. Or physical harm.

12. The “I Was Lying When I Told You I Didn’t Want Anything for My Birthday and You Should Have Known That” Fight. You could have at least gotten me a card. God.

13. The “You’re Nicer to the Dog Than You Are To Me” Fight. Well he’s a better listener!

20-cute-dogs-with-glasses-006 — Tell me. Everything.

14. The “I Went Through All Your Shit and Found Something That Makes Me Not Trust You Anymore” Fight. You never told me you ran track in high school.

15. The “If I Didn’t Pick Up After You, Our Apartment Would End Up on Hoarders” Fight. Why do you put your clothes next to the laundry hamper?

Health, Happiness, Coupledom

A Salute to Step Dads

Published on June 17, 2012June 17, 2012 by Mary Gelpi6 Comments

Interestingly enough, I have celebrated Father’s Day in my 27 years with 3 different father figures; My deceased dad Doug, my deceased step-dad Roger, and now my live and well step-dad Marc. (Don’t get any ideas, Marc.) Each of these figures have witnessed me at a different time in my life. I only had my dad until the age of 12, but I have never felt ‘cheated’ by losing him at a young age. I feel that the first 12 years of a child’s life are critical. My parents taught me from the day I was born what unconditional love looks like, and sometimes that included tough love, but I must say, even that was pretty rare. I learned what a happy marriage looks like, the dynamics of a large family, and that challenging times can be the ones that make you closest. We had our fair share of them. I truly look at my childhood with endearment because while maybe that chapter only lasted 12 years, they were filled with love, happiness and togetherness. I also had my two older brothers, Nick and Doug, both who took on a father role to me in my dads absence, and that has made an incredible difference in my life. To put it simply, I was made to feel that I mattered as a kid, and I think at a fundamental level that is what most children require in order to turn into secure adults. So Happy Fathers Day to Doug, Nick, and to my dad; I guess you knew that 12 years was all I needed and that I’d be left in good hands. You were right!

In chapter 2 comes the introduction of my first step-parent; Roger. Roger didn’t share so many traits with my dad except one vital one- he loved the crap out of my mom. Roger had a difficult life that had its fair share of pain and hurt. I could tell when he spoke about his childhood, it wasn’t the same as mine. I don’t think he was always shown unconditional love or made to feel that he mattered, so when he confronted that kind of love with my mom and her four loving yet obnoxious children, he didn’t always recognize it when it was there. As much as he took warming up to our family, I took warming up to him. It’s always an adjustment when new members join the gang. The whole dynamic shifts. My mom changed, the living situation changed, even our dog Bacchus changed. So it was challenging for me at age 16 to try to plant my feet in something solid. But after two years under his roof, it actually started to feel like home. Underneath his cautiously built walls was an incredibly loving, sensitive and generous person that after a while I was finally able to know and really enjoy. I used to call home during LSU football games and he’d be rooting them on and happy to talk to me. Somehow through all the muck, we were able to find each other, and it turned out to be a pretty great relationship. I would have never, ever, guessed that Roger’s role in our life would be a quick one too. My mom and him were only married 5 years when he died suddenly of a heart attack. I know I know, this sounds depressing. But both my mom and I feel that while we were a part of Roger’s life for such a small stint, it may have been the most vital. We were able to show him some of that unconditional love we’d both been a part of, and I think when he died even though it happened to be alone in his hotel room, it was the least alone period of his life. I feel assured of that. So Happy Father’s Day to you Roger; it wasn’t always easy and it didn’t last long, but I think we both showed each other a thing or two that ended up making a big difference.

Chapter 3; present day. Marc is my 3rd and hopefully my last father figure. When my mom and Marc married a few years ago, I figured we’d get to know each other over the years, but to be honest, since I was older and away from home, I always figured he’d be more my ‘mother’s husband’ than something like a step-dad. But wouldn’t you know it, at age 26, I end up too ill to work, unable to keep my apartment, and move myself and my dog back in with my parents–back to the house I thought I’d never live in again. It was not something I wanted or readily accepted and for that first month or two, I wasn’t exactly joyful to be around. Meanwhile right under my nose, I wasn’t considering that a sick girl and her dog moving back in with her parents wasn’t necessarily easy on them, either. But day after day, I was taken care of there. I wasn’t told that they were doing me a favor, I wasn’t reminded of the gift I was receiving and nothing was ever held over my head. Once again, I was shown how powerful a love like that can be. Marc didn’t owe me anything really, I was his wifes kid after all. But that is not at all how it played out. He turned out to be a lot like a real dad. I found myself saying “my parents house” and really feeling like I had two parents, not a mom and her husband. The point is, terms like “step-dad” and “blended family” have kind of become meaningless for me. It’s simple; blood doesn’t make a family, love does. And there’s plenty of that going around. So, Happy Fathers Day to YOU Marc! Thank you for playing your role so well to me, and being such a great grandpa to Monty. I’ll pay it back when you’re old and can’t feed yourself. ;)

Health, Happiness, and Happy Fathers (or positive male role model) Day!

Go Ahead, Cry It Out.

Published on June 2, 2012June 2, 2012 by Mary Gelpi23 Comments

Crying Babies - Cute Paintings (4) — There there…

You know, you’d think as someone who takes 25 pills a day, I would have a pill for everything. And when it comes to aches and pains, muscle spasms, migraines, restless legs, or insomnia..it’s true. I’ve got a pill for most things. I carry around my pharmacy in a medium-sized black bag with birds on it. It’s like my second purse, but probably more important. But in the depths of that entire bag, among all the bottles of pills of every color and every shape, there is no pill for crying. Sometime’s life is really hard, and you just have to feel it. In two words; it sucks. It’s tiring and seemingly unrelenting and comes and goes in waves but just like everything else, it won’t last. It isn’t forever. And sometimes that’s the only thing to get you past the moment.

Sorry about being all depressing, but I’m going through some hardships right now and I told myself I’d write good, bad or ugly, so here’s sticking to goals. I won’t get into all the details but I am going through a breakup, thus the random waves of crying that come on like sudden nausea. It’s awful! It’s also funny, because truthfully, I was never much of a crier. If I felt the urge to cry I held it back, and I especially didn’t like to do it in front of people. I didn’t cry at my dads funeral. Maybe it’s because I was 12 or maybe it’s because seriously, his funeral was somehow a joyous occasion and I don’t really know how to explain that except that we sang happy music and felt proud that his life filled up an entire church. It wasn’t until my step-dad died, unexpectedly in the middle of college, that I turned into a crier. There was no holding it back anymore. It was tragic and it happened fast and left the family a little lost, especially my mom. It’s funny because my mom was never much of a crier either, but after Roger died, the same thing happened to her too. Sometimes we’d sit in the office, trying to tackle another post-death obstacle like canceling Roger’s phone (which somehow took FOUR MONTHS) and we’d sit there just sniffling and wiping tears away. Truthfully, there wasn’t always something wise to say. A quote about God’s plan or everything happening for a reason really falls short when you’re in the very raw place of grief. Sometimes all there is to do is cry or be a shoulder to cry on and remember that it won’t last. But what I’m trying to get at is this; it’s OK to cry.

I don’t know how our society or culture became this way, but it feels like somehow we view crying as a weakness. And when someone begins to cry our first impulse is to try to get them to stop. “Don’t cry,” we’ll say. Or “It’s OK” or some other vague comment that is usually untrue. The problem is crying makes other people uncomfortable–we’re a people of solutions, and crying means that someone is in pain or hurting some way, and we want them to stop. That’s the nice thing about dogs, they let you cry and cry and they don’t judge you for it. The thing is though, crying is not only natural, it’s good for you. It’s acknowledgment and acceptance that yes, this moment or time is rough. It’s challenging or painful. And the truth is, you just have to feel it. You have to exist in the grit of it. It hurts. But it also means you’re awake. I thought after 2011 that I would literally run out of tears. There was one day that I cried on and off most of the day and finally by 9 I thought wow, I think I’m all cried out! Then a commercial about abandoned dogs in New Orleans came on and I burst into tears. Nope, wasn’t all out after all!

My point is, that instead of telling someone to stop crying or to be strong or to move on, we should try the opposite. We should encourage them to cry. Tell them to go ahead and sob it out. Hold their hand or offer your shoulder or pass the whole stupid box of kleenex if that’s what it’s going to take. But don’t try to stop the process. Sometimes life is sad, and it’s OK to acknowledge that and it’s OK to cry about it. Babies do it. Women do it. Men do it. Even elephants do it. Just like laughter is an expression of something funny or entertaining, crying is an expression of sadness or loss, it is honest, and to repress it is only going to make it hurt more later. Simply put–let it out. Shakespeare said “To weep is to make less the depth of grief.” That being said…Waahhhhhhhh.

Kidding. I’m not crying right now. I’m watching the Golden Girls with Monty and accepting that this is a tough time but I’m going to survive. If I could recommend a new class for college it would be called Breaking Up 101. I have thought this for a long time, because breaking up is one of the hardest experiences and worst pains you can feel, even if it is the right thing to do. But we’re conditioned to think that if you feel this bad, then something’s not right–you shouldn’t do it. So then it follows, if you’re miserable from a breakup, then maybe you made the wrong decision? The truth is, there is never a good time to break up, it hurts like hell whenever it happens, and it’s going to screw with your life for a while. Aka…you might burst into tears while watching Say Yes to the Dress or you might suffer an identity crisis and start wearing brightly colored wigs like Kim Kardashian did. But that’s kind of how it goes. It’s tough, but it won’t last.

Anyway, that’s what’s going on in my life…how are you? Haha. I hope this doesn’t sound too tragic. Everything and everyone will be OK. I am assured. Mostly. But I still get waves of tears and random things that set them off, like an old photo from college or coming across my old business card from when I used to have a real job and my life was more..clear. Sometimes I feel like I’m floating on a raft in the middle of the ocean and am just drifting in no particular direction at all. It’s living in the “grey” of things. But it’s OK. I’m going to cry and then I’m going to stop and then I’m going to pick up the pieces and keep going. Because that’s the thing about life..it goes on.

Health, Happiness, and BOO HOO!

*Photo Credit: Jill Greenberg

Happy Stuff: Making a Bad Day Better.

Published on May 25, 2012May 25, 2012 by Mary Gelpi26 Comments

Yesterday was a tough day. It was one of those days that you sit in a room by yourself in silence and then out of nowhere this question makes itself known; Who am I and what am I doing?

This isn’t such a rare thought for me to sit on, but spend too much time sitting on it and you’ll be no one and do nothing. The question arose in me because this week has been rough for me health-wise. And when it’s your fourth day in pajamas- no matter how awesome your pajama pants are- it makes you consider your existence in that essential kind of way. I’m like, dude, why am I here? And feeling like a human wasteland is just not a good feeling. But also, it’s more a thought derived from our egos and it is mostly untrue. In a clearer head I know that my existence matters and everyone who is alive matters. That is true. One of the shitty goals of the ego is to make you feel separate– from earth, from society, and from God. The truth is that we’re connected to all of these things and that our existence matters.

So there I was feeling all down on myself and I’m like you know what? This is crap. I’m not going to sit here and feel sorry for myself. I’m going to do something happy. And strangely I felt this weird desire to run. Strange because mostly I hate running. But if I had energy, I would have put on those professional looking running clothes that my sister and brother wear when they go jogging and feel the wind in my face. But the truth is, I’d probably tire myself out getting dressed before even getting out the door. Plus it’s so hilly here, I’d probably vomit after the first hill. My fatigue level has been rough this week, which I think contributes to those existential crisis moments of Who Am I and What Am I Doing and Am I Going to Live on my Siblings Couches Forever? But you have to cut life into slices. Sometimes you take it by the week. Sometimes by the day. And yesterday, by the hour.

Sometimes you have to reach out for help, so I texted Gabe “Life is hard!” and he texted back, “Yeah, it is!” And I remembered, oh yeah, everyone’s life is hard. Haha. Then I was like, OK, I need to bring some happy energy into this room. And the quickest way I know how to do that is through music. So I started looking for energetic happy music to start. I was g-chatting with my friend Emily and I was like ‘Dude, I need some good music. Happy stuff. What movie has a great soundtrack?” And Emily responded “Beauty and the Beast.” Which made me 1. Laugh out loud. 2. Play that song “There must be more than this provincial life! and 3. Remember why I love Emily so much. So then I was like OK, more music. And I kept listening to different things and put together a playlist of upbeat stuff. And I don’t know how, but somehow Tom Jones “It’s Not Unusual” made its way onto the playlist, and if you can imagine a scrawny girl in her pajamas blaring the one and only Tom Jones and dancing like an idiot to that weirdly catchy tune, well then, maybe I’ve made you smile. Because soon I was laughing at myself and what a hilariously tragic day it was.

Next, I took out my favorite sharpie pen and decided to do arts and crafts, because it’s fun and, well that’s the only reason. The thing is, I’m pretty terrible at drawing and painting. But, I enjoy the process of creating. And in the last two years there is one thing I discovered I’m decent at; drawing straight lines. So I have all these pictures at my mom’s house, a few in frames and a few in a folder, of white paper with black vertical lines. Mostly because it’s all I can do and also it requires focus and patience and time, not unlike actual good artwork. And there’s something fulfilling about it. The more lines you draw, the more disorienting it becomes on the page as you continue. Like the lines in your peripheral vision become blurry and then start to move on their own. It’s weird. And fun. I show you.

Then You Draw Them Till You Feel It’s Done

And that is the art of drawing straight lines. If you’re thinking ‘What is this hippie shit?” I hear that. It’s mostly meaningless. But I like how long it takes. And that it’s simple and looks that way but also requires patience and focus and something about it makes me usually feel a little better. SO LAY OFF ME AND MY LINES OKAY?! Jokes. This one is for sale for 1 dollar and is titled “Welcome to America.”

After that, I received an email from a stranger who told me she reads my blog and that it makes her laugh and she felt the need to reach out and tell me that. I was like dude, the Universe works quickly! I was doubting myself and then this stranger writes me and tells me to keep it up? Cray cray. Thank you for that email Annie wherever you are. Whatever convinced you to write me, pay attention to it, because that just happened to be something I needed to hear at the time that you sent it. Yay for serendipitous universal connections!

And then after that, I came across a video of a rather large dog riding a bicycle and I was like, holy cow, dogs are incredible. And if this doesn’t make you smile you may want to check yourself because there is a very real possibility that you are a robot. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, it’s just good information to know about yourself. Just watch.

A Dog Riding a Bicycle

And if that didn’t do it for you, then maybe you’ll appreciate this dog that dances better than you.

And if THAT didn’t make you smile, maybe this picture of a really cute baby I know will.

Something about this photo just makes me happy every time I look at it and I’m pretty sure it’s her feet. But who can say. Anyway, after the drawing, and Tom Jonesing, and dog cycling and baby photos, I felt a little better. Then I thought of the many ways this day could have unfolded; it’s very easy to fall into a sad day and stay that way. It has happened to me countless times. But I am realizing just how big our role is in the outcome of our days. I had a friend in high school say to me once: “Do you the know the difference between a good day and a bad day? ATTITUDE!” And I remember wanting to punch something when I heard that, but also, it’s kind of true isn’t it? Perception plays a huge role in our lives. If we look at life as against us, we’ll find opposition. If we look at life as for us, we’ll find peace. There will be good and bad days for the rest of our lives. There will be reasons to laugh and reasons to cry. But when given the choice on mediocre days, and we do have a choice, choose the laughter. It’s more fun that way. And most importantly, pay attention! The universe gives us signs and symbols all the time. It is up to us to piece it all together.

Health, Happiness, and More Happiness.

Couch Crashing.

Published on February 28, 2012March 1, 2012 by Mary Gelpi19 Comments

There is something I’ve become pretty good at over the last year that I would’ve never really expected, being a sick kid and all, and that thing is adaptability. Since giving up my apartment last March, I haven’t had a real home that I consider all mine since. All mine: that’s a phrase we humans love. I have jumped from house to house, state to state, with a small bulky suitcase and a bag full of pills for a solid year now. I’ve turned into a professional couch crasher. I have found that I encounter home in many places. That studio apartment that was all mine was just one of them. I remember cramming the last of my remaining boxes into my corolla and turning in my key to the landlord last year. It was a terribly sad day. Currently I’m writing from Tampa, Florida, nearly a year since that day, and I am suddenly feeling the freedom of not owning anything anymore. For so long I was trying desperately to keep everything I had, like a squirrel stumbling around hanging on to too many acorns, because they were all small symbols to me that my life was together and I was together and I could do it on my own. But finally letting those attachments go (and accepting what was true) has opened up a new freedom. Basically everything I need I can fit into this green bag I bought a couple of years ago. Except Monty of course, he doesn’t fit. But he made the 10 hour drive to Tampa, and is an incredible teacher of what it means to be adaptable. See?

I don’t know how long I will be here or where I will go next. At some point I plan to go to Colorado and stay with my grandma for a while. And at another point I’ll make it to New York because my brother and sister-in-law will be having their baby in a few weeks. I don’t have a distinct plan. Which is very much my style because about 95% of the plans I make do I ever follow through with anyway. So in this new style of life, I just sort of go where the wind takes me, and on my own terms. I am lucky to have such loving and welcoming people in my life who have all said in their own way “Sure, I have a couch you can sleep on.” Of course they don’t mean permanently and I never intend to stay forever, but there is sort of an unspoken agreement between me and my hosts: Stay until it’s time to go. Last year I spent two months in New York at Nick and Estee’s. (The soon to be parents) Then I spent a month in California at my sister and brother-in-laws house. Then a little time in Miami for Nick and Estee’s wedding. Then it was back to my parents house, and floating around on couches in New Orleans, recovering, writing, and living a non-traditional nomadic life. I have finally grown accustomed to living unplanned, undecided, and out of a suitcase.

I still look forward to the day when things are settled down, when I finally have a home base, and when I can answer this question a little more easily: “And so what do you do, Mary?” I love that question. And by love I mean despise. How does someone like me begin to even remotely answer that question? Usually I say “Oh, I live with my parents and yell at the TV when they watch Bill O’Reilly. Sometimes I take showers. What do you do?” I think now I have a better answer. I’m a nomad. But instead of wondering in fields, I crash on couches. At this point, it actually does feel like my vocation. Like I’ve been called to wonder around the world for a while, and figure out how to live well even though I’m not. It’s certainly been a learning experience, but I know I still have a long way to go. Like my mom always says, Just do today. Today I’m in Tampa, it is sunny and warm and Monty is fetching sticks in the bay. Somehow after the journey here, I still haven’t crashed. I woke up with a pretty killer migraine this morning but the medicine took care of it and I don’t have that typical Feel-like-I’ve-Been-Hit-By-A-Truck-In-the-Face feeling. So I am grateful for that, and trying not to harp on it for long. Sometimes I fear if I think too much about it the good feeling will go. So I’m not questioning it, I am just grateful.

I think more than any physical place, my notebooks have been my home. Writing often reveals to me what is true and real before my own mind can recognize it in the world. I know that writing is a way for me to find truth and tell the truth. It might be why I get anxiety just before I sit down to write, but after I finish, I feel better. Lighter. And if I’ve written correctly, I always walk away with more clarity, more light in the room than before. So I won’t concern myself too much with what house I call mine for now. Maybe home is more an internal thing than anything else. For the time being, home is on paper, and deep within.

Health, Happiness and Nomadic Tendencies.

The Day My Dog Sh*t on Park Avenue and I Didn’t Have a Bag

Published on February 11, 2012February 11, 2012 by Mary Gelpi23 Comments

The following is a true story. For realsy.

It was August of 2008 in New York City and unbearably hot. And that’s coming from a Southerner. They were calling it the heat wave of the century. At least I was calling it that. People were basically stripped down to nothing and when you breathed you felt the heat expand in your lungs. The cement made the already hot air electric. It would burn you at times, only letting up for about an hour between 2 and 3 am. Walking outside was what I imagine the last two weeks of pregnancy must be like; simply uncomfortable. That being said, I was REALLY hungover.

There’s something about being hungover that makes heat…hotter. I basically just want air to be blowing at me when I’m under the weather that way. I used to stand in front of the freezer with the door wide open for far too long and just let the cold air rush past my face in some weird attempt at relief and to try and make the hangover go faster. Like it’s some guest I can get scoot out the door. But everybody knows…you just have to sweat it out. I still can’t believe we’re capable of growing seedless watermelons but we can’t figure out the cure for a hangover. That being said, Monty really had to pee.

Every dog owner knows that on the day after partying, the dog totally gets shafted. “Sorry buddy. Mommy blacked out last night and now my everything hurts and so we’re probably not going to play fetch or do anything remotely fun today.” I feel awful when it happens. I hardly drink anymore because, well, I feel dead all the time on my own. But there were those days. There WERE those days–When moving was all-too-painful and your pores smelled like candy and vodka and your hair was inexplicably sticky? It was one of those days. Monty needed to do his business. New York was exploding with heat. And I was deathly hungover.

I was staying at my brothers apartment. It was on the third floor, so I mentally prepared myself for the walk down the stairs I was about to take. I walked cautiously and told Monty “Go slow buddy. I could DIE at any second.” He seemed to notice I was out of sorts and behaved a little better on his leash. I pushed open the ridiculously heavy door at the end of the stairs and the sun and the heat and the smell of New York pour in and engulf me and I kindof throwup in my mouth. I swallow hard, blink my eyes forcefully a few times, and hold my head still while my eyes catch up with reality. I turn right, begin the walk down the sidewalk and Monty wastes no time. He spots the first tree, lifts his leg, and I contemplate letting the semi driving down the street run me over. He passes. And business number one is done. Great, keep going. There’s a spot that he loves to poop a few blocks down, but I’m wondering if I can make it that far. My life is in Monty’s hands. Or butt. I have to get this over with. “Just go anywhere buddy. Really, it’s fine to go on the cement.” But Monty is a Southern dog and is still getting used to shitting on cement. I can tell by the look in his eyes when he does it, it just doesn’t feel right. Maybe it’s the human equivalent to driving on the left side of the road in England. Or putting ketchup on a filet. Something like that.

As we walk on, my stomach starts to turn. Ah, the viscous waves of nausea that accompany the hangover. Will I puke? Or will it pass? The mystery of it all is fantastic. I look away from the sun and think of lemons. I always think of lemons when I am nauseous. I’ve done this since I was little and it’s the only thing that helps if I concentrate on it. Lemons lemons lemons lemons lemons lem…aaaaaand now my mouth is watering. The turning gets faster, the saliva is circulating in my mouth and I know it’s go time. We stop at a tree, I get on my knees, and share my insides with the streets of New York. Awesomely, my throw up tastes like gatorade. I find that Gatorade is the best thing to vomit. It tastes the same coming out as it did going in! I like the red flavor but really any of them will do. As I’m crouched over, puking, Monty tries to start licking it. “NO!” I yell with as much energy as I can get behind that word. Then I ralph again. I hear high heels walking towards me. I know she’s classy. I can feel how pretty and put together she is. She smells good too. “Hey, are you OK?” she asks as she hands me a kleenex. Is this rock bottom? I think so, but I can’t be sure. “Yeah, I’m fine. Thank you.” I don’t make eye contact. I feel so ashamed. I wish I were wearing high heels and expensive perfume and walking somewhere important. Instead I am upchucking on a sidewalk and my dog is trying to eat it. WHEN WILL I GET IT TOGETHER. OK, so the best part about puking is how good you feel after you puke. I take a deep breath, continue our walk, and bear the heat a little more easily. On to number 2.

We’re approaching Monty’s favorite spot, and we’re both getting excited. I can tell, he’s been waiting for this for a while. My relief after vomiting is short lived and by the time I get to his special spot, all my symptoms are back. Awesome. Monty does his business and I pick it up with a torn grocery bag, and it strikes me that picking up dog shit off the sidewalk with a damaged bag is NOT the grossest thing I’ve done today, and that is concerning.

We turn and begin the treck home. I am going to make it. Monty and I are both going to live and I smile at the idea of getting back to the apartment and not moving again until tomorrow. But suddenly, something is happening. I can feel it. I sense something with Monty. Why is he wearing that excited look he gets when he’s about to poop? He already did that. He’s sniffing at another tree and won’t come when I pull the leash. It can’t be. No. No no no. Not a DOUBLE POOP DAY. SHIT. DOUBLE SHIT. It’s a strange phenomena that happens once in a blue moon. The double poop. You never know when it will happen. But almost always when it does, you’re not carrying the bag with the extra in-case-of-emergency poop bag. SHIT. I am on Park Avenue. I am the human version of a car accident, and my dog is pooping and I don’t have a bag. Thanks Monty, thanks a lot. He wags his tail. My stomach turns and the road dizzies.

I have no explanation for what happened next, but it really did happen. There is a sudden breeze, and I close my eyes and just let the somewhat refreshing movement of air run over my face. It had been static air in New York for so long it felt like. Suddenly, a breeze. I feel calm. I try to think if this is a poop and run moment or what my plan of action is. Just as I contemplate options, I feel something grace my ankle. I look down and see that a Duane Reede bag was blown right onto my foot. The wind carried it from who knows where, and basically delivered it to me and this train wreck of a situation. I can’t believe it. I look around and make sure I don’t see a dude in a glowing white suit say “You’re Welcome. By the way, I’m God.” I don’t harp on it too long because that breeze is dying down and of course, my stomach is turning. I disgard Monty’s second helping. We complete our walk and make it to the apartment, up the stairs, and onto the couch. I don’t move for the next 12 hours. I play that moment of the bag hitting my ankle over and over. And that was the day my dog shit on Park Avenue and I didn’t have a bag.

And then, suddenly, I did.

Health, Happiness, and Always Take a Second Bag.

Sunday Funday

Published on February 6, 2012 by Mary Gelpi21 Comments

I wrote a thousand different things in the last few days. I don’t like any of it. So I tried my creativity in the medium of film. Enjoy…

An Experiment.

Published on January 11, 2012January 12, 2012 by Mary Gelpi44 Comments

*Contrary to feeling like death right now, I’m going to try an experiment. Here goes.

I woke up this morning and I felt great!! I had so much energy, I didn’t know what to do with myself. So I began by taking a six-mile run and watching the sun come up. It was beautiful! The birds were chirping and the sun coming up over the horizon allowed me to see the true beauty of nature in the world. By the sixth mile, even Monty could barely keep up with me! He’s so lazy sometimes. I need to get him into shape. I felt like I could’ve run forever.

When I got home I cooked up a great breakfast. Cage free scrambled eggs with soy milk, a fresh fruit salad, and a protein shake. It’s my favorite breakfast. I read the paper and shook my head at the state of the world. We really need to get our shit together. By the end of breakfast it was already 7:30! The day was really flying by. Monty took a nap and I told him he better shape up or ship out! No more doggie treats for him. He’s gained weight!

Next I organized three closets in my house. Boy did they need it! I color coded and alphabetized all the things I was giving to good will, and even sorted the things within the boxes into subcategories (kitchen appliances, tools, decorative things, shitty Christmas presents still in their packages, etc.) By the end of all that closet organizing, I found myself sneezing a lot. Ugh, so annoying. Allergies are the worst! But, I didn’t take ANY pills! You know what I did? Vacuumed my entire house. Then I went to the Sharper Image and bought one of those air purifiers. Since it was only 9 am the mall was virtually empty, so I did a little shopping for myself. A girl CAN’T have too many shoes, right? Girls out there, you know what I’m sayin’!

When I came home I took a wet rag and wiped down all the surfaces in my house, including furniture surfaces, baseboards, fan-tops, and counter tops. Then I made some herbal tea my best friend Sally gave me a while ago, which is supposed to help prevent cancer and is known to be good for allergies. By now it was 10:30.

Next I went outside and tended to my garden. I’m growing a bunch of root vegetables as well as tomatoes, squash, lettuce, and South African JuJu beans. I did some weed-eating and general maintenance. I even hand painted a sign out of some old wood in our shed that said “Mary’s Garden.” It looks great. Sometimes I think I should have been a painter. Next I went inside, hand-washed all the vegetables that were ripe from the garden, and made an incredible home-grown salad. But you know what’s even better than home-grown salads? Home-grown salads with friends!

Organic mixed salad greens in a white bowl. — DON'T worry. It's organic.

So I called up my besties, Sally, Cindy, SueSue and Peggy. Well, I know that’s only four, but I didn’t have enough veggies for ALL of my friends (too many to count) so I only invited those four. I love my friends. I have so many of them. And they all love home-grown salads! We talked about Chloe Kardashians new hair color (ew) and the crappy state of the world and how somebody really needs to do something about that. Sally and Cindy then had to go to their Jazzercise class but SueSue and Peggy were free so we all went to my favorite salon, got mani-pedis, and drank bubble tea! I’ve been feeling edgy lately so I painted my toenails dark purple. I’m so crazy sometimes!!!

By the afternoon I rode my bike to the farmers market to pick up fresh gluten-free bread and some other things that I can’t grow on my own. (One day!) I also bought some beautiful tulips that were being sold there. I decided they were too beautiful for any old vase, so I biked to a glass-blowing studio down the street to create my very own one-of-a-kind vase for them. Sorry, but none of the other vases would do! They’re sitting on my table now, and may I just say..DAMN. Pardon my french. Next it was time to make an appearance at an engagement party for one of my other besties and I wore my new 4 inch heels with my new dress. I also had the perfect set of hand-made earrings (made by yours truly) which couldn’t have matched any better. Not to toot my own horn, but, BEEP BEEP I was looking good! We drank wine, ate wonderful food, and it felt really good to stand around and talk to people about what they’re doing with their lives, tell them about mine, and then make tentative plans to get coffee and stay in better touch. It’s gonna be a busy social season guys, get ready!

Finally by 10:30 I was ready to leave. Call me a dork, but I love to get in my jammies and watch reruns of the West Wing before bed! (Rob Lowe, so hot. Don’t get me started.) Anyway I finally made it home, saw the tulips on the table, and remembered how precious life is. I have a great life. But boy am I sleepy! Tomorrow I have Hot Yoga at 4 am, so I better get some rest. Can’t wait to see what tomorrow has in store!!

HEALTH, ENERGY, AND BUBBLE TEA!

Mare

**Just to reiterate, this was all made up. I’ve been crashed the last few days. This was just an imaginative experiment in pretending. If I tried to go on an actual six-mile run I would vomit then die.

For the Love of Dog.

Published on December 19, 2011 by Mary Gelpi45 Comments

There are few people so understanding, so unconditionally loving, so uncalculated, forgiving, accepting, and such masters of the moment as are dogs. This is why my best friend is not a human, it’s Monty.

The last week has been a rough one for me physically. After the thrill of that post going viral, the prospect of new possibilities, and two anatomy finals, my body finally caught up, and crashed. The night of my last final I crawled onto the couch feeling a little dizzy and a little shaky. I spent the next three days there. I’ve been sleeping 14 hours a night and still waking up exhausted, feeling easily that I could sleep 14 more. Through the roller coaster of emotional highs and physical lows, there has been one constant, and that has been Monty. The day the blog went viral, we danced in the kitchen in a circle. His paws on my hips, I was laughing with excitement, and he was just along for the ride. I remember thinking, ‘He has no idea why suddenly I am dancing and my parents are opening champagne’ and yet he danced anyway. We were happy, so he was happy. If that’s not a lesson for human beings I don’t know what is.

After a couple of days of dancing and laughing came the inevitable crash. Finishing my final on Monday evening, I fell asleep that night at 8 pm. I woke up on Tuesday around 11. I was dizzy, heavy, and weighed down. Monty woke up slowly with me and I took him on our morning walk. Half way around the block I was feeling that inescapable fatigue crawl over me, and I knew all I’d be able to do that day was lay down. I whistled to Monty and we started back home. We’d only walked maybe a block, but it was enough for him to do his business and mark his territory on four different plants. Once inside I ker-plopped onto the couch and he followed. He laid his head on my legs and we slept another few hours. It was like he knew that’d be the extent of our physical activity that day, and he was OK with that. A dogs intuition is nothing short of amazing.

The rest of the week including today, has been a lot of sleeping and not as much fetch and tug-of-war as he deserves. And yet he seems happy. It’s as though whatever the moment throws at us, he embraces. Tired? We sleep. Energized? We play. Hungry? We eat. Happy? We dance. And there is no remembering or holding onto anything, and there is no anxiety or worry about tomorrow. There is just, this. And he does this, so incredibly well.

Sometimes when I lay awake at night thinking about what the answer to life is, this is what pops into my mind: Pupppies! It makes me laugh. But have you ever played with a puppy and not smiled? It’s impossible. Continuing on, even as I write this, Monty is curled up next to me on the couch, quietly breathing. We woke up two hours ago. He isn’t mad that we aren’t going to the park today, even though that was the plan. Sometimes on sick days I just lay petting him, watching his belly go up and down, and I feel at ease. That is what he seems all the time–at ease–and isn’t that how our life should be? When we’re at ease, we are open to good things. Once we tense up, we close ourselves off.

Anyway, I dedicate this to Monty, and best friends everywhere. I often wonder what humans would be like if we were more like our canine counterparts. Not in the sense that we would sniff each others butts, but what life would be like if we became masters of the moment. If we lived without ego. All of us. That sounds like a nice place to be.

I’ll end this with some tribute pictures of Monty..aka The Monster!

Arph and Arph and Arph Arph Arph! (get it? that was monty doing the sign off…you get it..)

n23409964_42504345_9771 — kiss for monty.

27751_943488504545_23409964_52930037_4426402_n — throw the ball. throw it!

154838_10100172778512505_23409964_56597862_3987671_n — mm hmm.

Curse words.

Published on November 22, 2011January 6, 2012 by Mary Gelpi18 Comments

Let’s talk about curse words for a second. Because I love talking about those fuckers. Oopse!

Don’t you love how someone will say “What a BITCH! Pardon my french…” It’s like, that..was not french…and you don’t actually sound very sorry for saying it. I wonder how that started. But not enough to actually google it. Anyway, I bring up the subject of curse words because I used a bunch of them in my car this morning as I was stuck going 35 miles per hour on the Causeway. (For you Yankees, the Causeway is the longest continuous bridge over water in the world, and runs across Lake Ponchartrain connecting the North Shore to New Orleans. Fun facts yaaay.) So this morning there was thick fog, and that means the normal 65 mph speed limit (which is actually more like 75 mph, let’s get real) was dropped to 35 mph. It seems like overkill to me, but I’m trying to talk about curse words here so why don’t I stick to the DAMN subject. I was headed to New Orleans to take my nursing school entrance exam, and at the rate of traffic I was never gonna make it. Thus, the curse words ensued…

I don’t know what the satisfaction is in saying curse words, but it seems like whatever point you’re making, it adds the perfect amount of emphasis. It makes funny things funnier and angry things angrier and unimportant things seemingly more important. For example: Who ate all the corn flakes? Vs. Who ate all the Fucking Corn Flakes? See how that works? Anyway I started thinking about curse words and a conversation popped into my head that I had with my grandparents around the dinner table a few years back. The conversation had died down a bit and out of the blue my soft-spoken, conservative grandpa asks me “Mary, would you ever let a boy talk dirty to you?” I started to choke on my meatloaf immediately and washed it down with lemonade. I clear my throat. “What do you mean?” He went on to tell me that on the golf course that afternoon, a couple was playing near him, and the man kept cursing in front of his wife. “Even the F word,” he raised his eyebrows at me. “You wouldn’t let a man talk like that in front of you, would you?” I shook my head no, I lied. But for what it’s worth, I prefer people not to curse. Unless you’re alone in your car on a bridge. It was right after this that my Grandma (also named Mary, I’m named after her) said something extraordinary. “You know, I have Never used that word in my life, and I never will.” I know what you’re thinking–she’s lying. But if you knew her, you’d know that 1. she doesn’t lie and 2. it’s totally believable that she’s never used it. She’s as pure and innocent as they come. It really struck me when she said that. I had said it that morning just brushing my hair.

Another memory pops into my head concerning curse words. My dad was another one of those pure souls. Never did drugs, hardly drank, and never cursed. He hardly even raised his voice. He was similar to my grandma in that way. And he didn’t refrain from those things in some kind of stick-in-the-mud fashion. He was a TON of fun. He was a lot of people’s best friend. (At his funeral there were six eulogies. Six.) Anyway, it was about a year after he was diagnosed with cancer that the six of us were getting ready to go out to dinner. He had just gotten home from work at the grocery store. We rarely ate out, so it was always kind of an occastion when it happened. We were all waiting outside our enormous Chevy Grey Van (with carpeted walls) when my dad went back inside to get something. When he opened the front door, our 110 pound labrador retriever burst through, wiggled through my dads hands and took off down our neighborhood street. My dad, the smiling, mild-mannered sweet man, transcended. Something snapped. He was NOT going to let Bacchus get away with this. Off he went, running, no— sprinting down Wilson Court, still in his suit, with his tie flapping behind him, yelling after Bacchus. “You son of a bitch!” he yelled. At one point he began picking up rocks off the street, hurling them toward the dog. “You son of a bitch Bacchus!” Zoom, another rock. The dog, barely visible at this point, was miles ahead of him. Bacchus may have been a fat son of a bitch, but he was fast. My dad never stood a chance. The four kids and my mom stood in front of the van stunned with our jaws dropped. Who was this man? When he got to the stop sign, he gave up, slowly turned around and started the defeated walk home, panting. The five of us watched. I remember feeling uncomfortable because I had never heard him curse before, but suddenly I noticed, my mom was laughing, followed by the other three. One of those group laughers that starts small and bubbles into breathlessness and strange sounds. Something about it was incredibly refreshing. By the time he made it back he was laughing of too, of course. Through his diagnosis and the grim prognosis-6 months- he had always kept it together. Finally, our fat fast dog running down the street got him to lose it, just a little. Just for a moment. It was great.

I thought about these things as I finally made it to the end of the bridge. Turns out my test wasn’t until 9, not 8:30 like I had thought. So I was going to make it. All those F bombs for nothing. Maybe next time instead of saying that word when I’m upset, I’ll say what my grandma says: Fiddle Faddle.

Health, Happiness, and $%@!

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