Crushed Fantasy

I have been using anti-aging creams since I was in college. They didn't work. I still aged. Albeit with softer skin, but I still turned 50 ... um ... 52.

Getting older is the best thing because if you're not getting older you're either dead or a vampire, which I guess, technically, is dead, too, but they have better housing options.

If you look closely at my hair, you'll find a few gray ones popping out occasionally. Depends on how long it has been since my last trip to the hair color aisle at Target. I've had brief thoughts of just letting the gray come out and not fussing about it, just to see how gray I would get. Did I mention they were brief?

I'll admit that I smile whenever a high school classmate tells me how I look the same as I did when we were in high school (sans the Farrah hair). When a classmate doesn't recognize me, I usually write it off to their poor memory.

This week, I've had to give up my non-aging fantasy as the one, hard truth of aging was staring me in the face. Specifically, they were "on" my face.

I had to get my first pair of glasses with bifocals. In the spirit of full disclosure, I could have had bifocals for the last ten years, but I found ways to cheat. Regrettably, my ability to cheat finally came to an end as I determined wearing two pairs of glasses at the same time is just plain weird.

The new glasses have the progressive lenses, which isn't just one distance or the other. Different parts of the lens give you long, mid and close-up vision. It just take awhile to figure out where that part of the lens exists.

Until then, I will resemble a bobblehead as I continually adjust the position of my head to find that visionary sweetspot.

No flowers, please.

I think sending flowers for a funeral is a dumb idea. If you didn't send flowers when they were alive, why are you doing it now?  I can hear the skeptics saying, "But the flowers are for the living."

Really? You are sending something that will wither and die in a few days to someone who has just lost someone. Is that supposed to cheer them up?

I believe in our shallow parts, we think the number of bouquets of flowers that show up at the funeral home represents how important or beloved or connected our loved one was. Maybe we need that physical reminder because our grieving minds cannot hear the word of sympathy and love that are being spoken.

I'm not saying don't send something, but think about sending a plant instead. When my dad passed away 18 years ago (yesterday), several friends sent plants instead of flowers. Each of us kids took one or two home. When you walk through the front door of my sister Sue's house, you'll see a very healthy, 18-year-old spider plant hanging in the entry way. My plant was a peace plant that lasted about five years. (People with ADD are generally not good with plants or candles - tend to forget about them)

It's also important to remember that a $100 funeral bouquet in the big city (Minneapolis/St. Paul) turns into a very large funeral bouquet when ordered from a small town florist (Albert Lea). When my dad passed away in 1994, I was working for Fairview Health System in the Cities and my brother Dennis was working for SciMed (Now Boston Scientific). Both of our employers sent flowers for Dad's funeral in Albert Lea. You couldn't miss them at Bonnerup's (the funeral home), they were huge.

Now that I've convinced you that shouldn't send flowers when I die (I won't send flowers to your funeral if you won't send them to mine...), I just want to leave you with one more instruction. (at least for now, I'm not planning on dying anytime soon, so the list might expand) Please, please, please do not use my 1979 high school graduation picture for the obit. I don't want people to think I died with Farrah hair.

When will I have my heart attack?

That sounds like a silly question, but in reality it is a pretty important one. 

I was surprised to learn that a 37-year-old former co-worker had a heart attack last month. She blessedly survived, but hearing the news just set me back on my heels. Jen is a healthy, active (i.e. marathon runner) mom of two and I would never imagine that she would have a heart attack.

Me? Have a heart attack? That's just far too easy to imagine. I've been thinking about it since I was 11. 

[Flashback sequence] During an exam with a new pediatrician, he was concerned about the slow pace of my heart. I had to do a stress test right away and that freaked out my mom. He couldn't find anything wrong with my heart and I'm sure mom's heart must have stopped several times during the visit.

Immediately after the appointment, we stopped by my dad's office (which was right next door to the clinic) and, after hearing the story, he chuckled and told mom that I have the Harty heart; my heart just didn't go as fast as others. His mom had the same issue as did her mom. It's a family thing.

As any 11-year-old will do, I shrugged it off and moved on.

I think I was in junior high (1970's) when the cardiologists at Mayo Clinic found a blockage in my dad's aorta. They didn't operate because they felt the surgical mortality rate was too high. From that point on, our family started waiting for something to happen.

In 1988, my dad had emergency quintuple bypass surgery at Saint Marys Hospital and for the next six years, we had many trips to Rochester.

In April 1994, my dad suffered congestive heart failure and passed away. In the weeks leading up to his death, his diabetes was out-of-control and that also contributed to the heart failure.

In doing my family genealogy, I was able to view the death certificates of many of my ancestors. Both my Grandma Harty's (my dad's mother) and my great-grandmother's (her mom) death certificates listed the same cause of death: congestive heart failure with complications from diabetes.

So that's what Dad meant about having the Harty heart. Oh, joy.

So what have I done about avoiding my family's legacy? Actually very little because who has heart attacks in their 40's? I figured I would start worrying about it in my late 50's. 

I guess I have been lying to myself. It's time for me to be pro-active and learn about heart disease, get off my duff to start exercising, and start eating right to avoid diabetes.

All things considered, I just might be over-due and running on luck.

P.S. My former co-worker has started a blog about her experiences and recovery, you might want to check it out. She's a fabulous writer.

I Used to Love Politics

I used to love politics, but now I loathe the culture of politics.

And this election cycle has done nothing to renew my passion for the sport... ah... um..., no I'll stay with sport.  Just a very bloody and violent sport.

Our culture and/or society has become so extreme, almost radical. If I tell someone that I'm a Democrat, they automatically assume that I'm far left.  I can't have a decent political debate with anyone any more because few are willing to talk about the issues with an open mind and they spend most of their energy trying to devalue what the other person is saying. 

I would love to see one political ad where the candidate tells you what he/she will do rather than rip into their opponent. They should say what they mean, mean what they say, but they don't have to say it mean. I despise the fact that corporations are throwing money into the campaigns and trying to sway the electorate. I think it just adds to the corruption. 

www.nataliedee.com

Political Science was my minor in college and I pictured myself having a career in politics - not as the candidate, but the political operative. I think I got that from my Dad. He was involved with local politics, but enjoyed the back room politics more than being upfront.

I had an internship in Representative Tim Penny's Mankato office and determined that I like the action of the campaign versus the governance process. (I would guess that is my ADD since campaigns are constantly moving and changing.)

I worked on several campaigns while in college and in the years following. I eventually got a real job out of financial necessity, but enjoyed many conversations with my Dad as we watched the early CNN political talk shows (before they turned into snipefests). 

I'm still a political junkie as I will be watching the election returns this Tuesday night and listening to the analysis and missing my Dad. The first time I realized how much I enjoyed talking politics with my Dad was the night of the 1994 election (when Newt and his boys took over).  He had passed away the previous April, but there were several times that night that I wanted to pick up the phone and call him. 

I don't think my Dad would be enjoying politics anymore either. 

My Mother the Journalist

My mom was a stay-at-home mom because in the 1960's almost everyone's mom was a stay-at-home mom. She didn't work outside of our home until I was in high school in the late 1970's.  If my mom had been a career woman, she would have been a journalist or a historian.

Why? Because this woman wrote about the day-to-day activities of her kids decades before there were Mommy Bloggers. I had a wonderful evening last night learning about the first five years of my life through my Mom's notes. It's important to remember that I'm the fourth of four kids, so the fact that I had any baby pictures at all is amazing, never mind that I can tell you that I cut my first tooth November 28, 1960, that I stood up alone for the first time on January 24, 1961 or that my first visit to Como Zoo was August 6, 1961. And I wouldn't go on any rides.

Dennis, Christine, Susan & ME (guess we didn't have booster chairs)

June 12, 1961 my mom was thinking I had the three day measles; the next day she realized it was just a mosquito bite. I don't think she would have been a good doctor because besides thinking a mosquito bite was the measles, there was the time she brought me along when she took my sister to see Dr. Demo and he put ME in the hospital - that pesky cough she noted that I had for two days prior to the visit was the croup. So I got to spend Halloween 1963 in the hospital. Don't feel bad for me because my siblings went trick-or-treating on my behalf - "This extra bag is for our little sister who is in the hospital tonight..." I got more candy than all of them combined!

But it was February of 1964 that showed my true individualism and refusal to follow the crowd:

1/2/1964 - Christine has the mumps

1/12/1964 - Rick VerHey has the mumps

1/20/1964 - Sue has the mumps

1/26/1964 - Peggy VerHey has the mumps

2/2/1964 - Dennis has the mumps

2/25/1964 - Mary has the shingles

Yes, the entire neighborhood has the mumps and I get something completely exotic and extremely rare for kids. I wouldn't get mumps until 1976.

I was a talented child - September 17, 1964 - "Mary knows how to whistle" (my uncles - her brothers - taught me).

And I was an annoying child - May 16, 1965 - "I took Mary to church and she whistled in church."  Yes, but was I at least in key? I'm sure that it was from this point on only my dad would take me to church. And we'd sit up in the balcony.

Thanks Mom for giving me my childhood history!  You could have left out the editorial that I was "not very nice in church" for cousin Catherine Ann's baptism.

I Really Did It!!

Yesterday was a huge day for me as I ran my first 5K race.  It was the Father's Day 5K run.

It was a day for achieving goals. I'm all about baby steps and breaking down your goals into small pieces.

Goal #1 - If you're going to train for a 5K, you're going to have run one. Register already! 

Goal #2 - Actually get out of bed and go to the race course.

Goal #3 - Finish the race.

Goal #4 - Try to run it in less than 50 minutes.

I didn't register for the race weeks in advance; I registered Friday night for the Sunday race. I needed something to get me to the race and it wasn't a car ride. I needed to feel accountable to someone. So, I asked my friend and co-worker, Kelly, if she would be available Sunday morning to come to the race - cheer me on and provide advice. (Kelly is a runner/marathoner.) She was very supportive and enthusiastic and asked if it would be okay if Nathan (her main guy and another friend and co-worker of mine) also came to the race. Absolutely!

So, when I woke up Sunday morning. instead of playing my usual mind games and talk myself out of something, I focused on the fact that Kelly & Nathan would be there. I had to be there - no excuses!

When I got to the registration table to pick up my bib, I saw my name on the sheet of runners. It suddenly felt very real and it seemed strange to see my age listed on there as 50. I just don't feel 50. And then I realized that at the age of 50, I was running my first race. HA!

Kelly & Nate showed up and kept me walking and distracted until the race started. It wasn't a big group of runners, being the day after Grandma's and at the same time as the Stillwater marathon. I was thankful for that. I think I would have felt overwhelmed with a large group! 

When the race started, I was trying to figure out my pace. I did most of my training on the treadmill, so I wasn't sure how to determine if I was at the pace I wanted, about 4 mph. I ran and I walked and I jogged and I walked and I speed walked and I walked. I was talking to myself the entire time - not out loud as I'm sure the rest of the runners would wonder about me. 

The race was around Como Lake in Saint Paul. Almost twice around the lake is the 3.1 miles and it is a wonderful place to run - spots with shade and mostly flat with only one area with a slight incline. Now that I know about it, I'm going to have to go there at least once a week to do more outdoor running. 

I was so nervous about the race, that I completely forgot about my fear of running in front of people who can see me!  (Harry Potter's invisibility cloak would be an ideal gift for me.)

I kept the pace pretty well through most of the race. There was this 82-year old racer there doing it as a speed walker. Got a bit stressed when he passed me. For about a 1/2 mile we were playing leap frog. I was like, "Oh, no, I am not going to get passed by an 82-year man!" He was a motivation for awhile and then I realized this guy does all these races and is most likely in better shape than me.  

When I was lapped by the real runners (and winners) and I was okay with that. When I got lapped by them the second time, it was a bit of blow. Then I realized they had already finished and this was just their cool-down lap. My cool down lap was walking to my car to drive home. 

Many people have told me that having people cheer you on during a race provides great motivation. Now I understand. Having people cheer for me as I was coming around the first time made me kick a bit harder - I was motivated to get out of my walking mode and back into the jogging mode.

At the end, again having people there cheering for me, I kicked up the pace and got ready to cross the finish line. As I was coming in at the finish, I could see the official clock. I broke into a huge smile when I saw 43 minutes on the clock. No way! I was going to finish in less than 50 minutes, less than 45 minutes. I crossed the finish line at 43:28. 

I had imagined that I would cross the finish line and drop over or go all jelly legs. I didn't. I wasn't even out of breath. I just wanted to know where the water was! Got a bit of water and then a banana sounded like the greatest treat that God ever created! Luckily, they had plenty. 

During the race, I kept looking behind me and I didn't see anyone. Was I the last one?? I thought there were some walkers that would be behind me, but I couldn't see anyone. About a minute after I crossed the finish line, more people started crossing the finish line. "I wasn't the last one." Kelly just laughed and said, "Of course not."

Several people who knew it was my first race (I suppose because I was telling everyone) came over to congratulate me and one woman wearing a half-marathon t-shirt said, "see you at more races."

Today was also my first hit of the dopamine that runners talk about - my 5K runner's high. Kind of liked it. 

Wait, I have to go backward in the story here, not just pre-race, but pre-leaving-my-house. I had laid out the clothes I would be wearing the night before. (I never do that for my regular days!) I wanted to be able to get dressed and be ready to go. 

I put on the outfit and then determined I didn't like how it fit. Seriously? It's 10 minutes before I need to leave and I'm trashing about my fitness clothing. I found a gray top to wear, but it was wrinkled. For one brief second, I thought about ironing it. I'm about get it sweaty and I was thinking it would look bad? 

So, of the four goals that I had set for myself, I got all of them! I would like to do a couple more 5Ks this summer and perhaps start thinking about a 10K later down the road. My friend Lisa left a message on my Facebook wall asking me I wanted to do the TC Marathon 10 mile this fall. Baby steps, Lisa, baby steps.

Marathon? I don't think I could keep my concentration that long. With my ADD, I'll lose interest and just go wandering off...

If someone would have told me when I was turned 40 (when I was at the highest weight and the most unhealthy I had ever been) that I would be running at age 50 (when I never had before), I would have laughed. If they would have said, I would do a 5K race, I would have insisted they do a drug screen. 

It was just so damn cool!

(my first race t-shirt!!)

A Saturday at Target

I've just returned home from a semi-unplanned trip to Target. It wasn't the original destination of the trip, but like the siren's song attracts sailors, the lure of Target just sucks me right in.

Don't get me wrong, I LOVE Target. It is an outstanding Minnesota-based company and when I lived in Houston in the mid-1980's, I would go into a Target when I was homesick. And I look rather fantastic in red.

Now Saturdays at Target are equal parts shopping, trying the samples and people watching (although if you want high-end Saturday samples, you go to Byerly's). I didn't try any samples because when you're journaling "if you bite, write it," samples will mess you up. In the true tradition of Target, I went in for the basics (milk, meat, veggies) and walked out having spent $75. (My check-out clerk, Adam, told me that every third person he rings up says the same thing to him.)

Nearly every time I go grocery shopping, a rant goes through my head, "Why doesn't anyone package things for single people?"  I'm making spaghetti tonight, so I wanted pasta sauce. I wanted to find a small jar since I don't make pasta that often and the remaining sauce usually becomes a biology project in my fridge.

Then there is the toilet paper issue. Not only am I single, but my home lacks storage space. What ever happened to the four packs of toilet paper? The smallest size I could find was a 12-pack of the double rolls (equal to 24 rolls of paper!).  This whole issue is why most single people do not have Sam's Club memberships. 

Target was a hopping place. There was a large group of people picking out Father's Day cards - guess they won't be mailing their cards. The highlight of today's expedition was a mom with her two young daughters. It truly put a smile on my face. The girls were about four and six and they were so excited to help their mom shop for the lasagna they were making that night. The kids weren't whiney or misbehaving, just enthusiastic. While working with the older one, the younger girl starts wandering down into the freezer row. Her mom is calling her name to come back, but she's looking at every thing around her and was in her own world, happy as can be. ( may have recognized myself in that child)

While Adam the clerk was ringing up my $75 worth of goods, the women at the checkout behind me commented how this Target is her favorite because she used to work here, only the Roseville Target she worked at was torn down and rebuilt, but it was special all the same.  I turned around and asked her if it is a requirement that everyone who lives in Minnesota must work at a Target at one time or other in their lives? 

But of course, I couldn't stop there. I had to add that when I worked at Target, they didn't have scanners and you had to punch in the numbers on the price tag (Adam looked confused at that point - 'what's a price tag?'). AND not only did we have to punch in the numbers, BUT back then Target keypads were set up like telephones, not like a traditional 10-key! My "10-key by touch" skills were pretty wasted by Target and I lasted only a couple of months.

I didn't have to pick up a Father's Day card at Target.

Remember my Couch to 5K Challenge? It is a nine-week program to get you ready for a 5K race. Although I started the challenge back in early April (more than nine weeks ago), I haven't gotten past Week Five. I've been running (even running outside!), but not very consistently. The original plan was to run a race on the 5th of June, but that got canceled when the race itself was canceled. Then I was looking to June 12th and the Lederhosenlauf 5K that was serving beer & brats at the end of the race. Unfortunately, I was telling myself that I wasn't ready and kept putting off running my first 5K. 

Tomorrow, I'm registered to run in the Father's Day 5K around Como Lake. I have my friends Kelly and Nathan coming to cheer me on and take pictures (as proof!). I don't have a time goal since it's my first - my goal is just to finish before they start dismantling the finish line.

The race is marketed as a chance for fathers and their kids to run together. I figured it was a good choice because my dad isn't here anymore. 

My dad died of congestive heart failure complicated by diabetes. My Grandma Harty died of congestive heart failure complicated by diabetes as did her mother. 

I have three generations of reasons why I'm running this 5K.

Saving Private Ryan

Did you watch the Oscars Sunday night? I didn't. It's another change in my personality that really intrigues me. In the past, I never missed a single award show - People's Choice, Grammys, Emmys, Tonys, Oscars, American Music Awards, etc. Today, I don't even pay attention to who is nominated.

I remain a fan of the movies, television and theater. So instead of watching the Oscars, I watched a movie - seemed appropriate.  I watched the amazing Steven Spielberg movie, "Saving Private Ryan." It is emotional movie in many ways, but for me the scene that destroys me is the final one in the cemetery in France. Not the rows and rows of white markers representing the thousands who died, but seeing James Ryan - the title character - standing before the grave of the man who saved him.  He is standing there wearing a golf polo shirt with a powder blue golf jacket over it, looking very much like my dad. It was his official uniform for the last 10 years of his life. 

My dad was a World War II Veteran who served in the Pacific. He was very proud of that service and rightly so.  He would rarely talk about his time in the Navy and I never pushed him for information. I so wished that I had.

When I first saw the movie in 1998, it had only been four years since my dad had past away. While I shed a tear or two during the movie, I started to sob uncontrollably during the final scene as the character was now my dad standing there in his golf jacket.  Since we had met at the theater, Dan walked me to my car, but I was still crying. I told him that I would be fine and that he should go home. I would cry for another 20 minutes sitting there in my car.

So, I watched "Saving Private Ryan" this past Oscar night, now 16 years removed from my dad's death. I still cried pretty hard, but when the scene was over, my crying was over, too.  I wonder if I cry today more from the emotional memory of how that  final scene impacted me or because I still see my dad in his golf jacket.

I can't think of any other movie that has impacted me emotionally like this movie did. Do you have a "Saving Private Ryan" movie that causes you to react differently?

What would my dad have thought...

It will be 16 years this April since my dad passed away. I have great memories of him and we had an awesome relationship. We both loved to talk about politics and current events. We were never at a loss for conversation.

Everyone has childhood memories of those "lines" we would hear from our parents over and over again. My mom always said "You go to hell for lying as much as you do for stealing," when she thought we were fibbing. (Of course, being the truly lippy teen that I was, I eventually started replying back to her with, "Oh Mom, there are so many other reasons I'm going to hell, I think lying is the least of them.")

There was the one line I heard from my Dad each time I would bring home my report card from school. I got mostly B's and C's (and there were a couple of F's in high school chemistry classes), but there were also the teacher's comments and my Dad was just repeating what they said, "If you'd only apply yourself."  In other words, you would have better grades if you would just apply yourself and stay focused. The teachers would comment that I was too often distracted and impulsive.

It was frustrating because I knew that I was "applying myself," at least the best that I could. Whenever I was reading textbooks, I would have to re-read paragraphs over and over again because somewhere in the middle of the paragraph, my mind started to think about something else. My eyes were looking at the words line by line, but at the end of the paragraph, I would realize that I had no idea what I had just read because I hadn't stayed focused. My reading comprehension sucked.

If you only looked at my grades, you would have put me as an average or below average student. But if you caught a glipse of my test scores on the Iowa Basics Tests (standardized tests for the 60s & 70s), you would have thought someone else took the tests for me. None of my scores were below the 90 percentile and there were a couple of times, I got a 99 percentile score. It was just something that my Dad couldn't reconcile, thus the belief that I wasn't applying myself.

Today, people ask me why my parents and teachers didn't realize I had a learning disability (ADD) back then; I give everyone the same answer: "We didn't have ADHD back then. We were just behavioral problems."

I was finally diagnosed with ADD in 2002, eight years after my Dad passed away. And when it all clicked as to why I struggled back then, that I wasn't dumb or lazy and that I just couldn't learn in the same way as others did, I wondered what my Dad would have thought, if he would have been as relieved as I was.

A year after my diagnosis, I started Graduate School. I had discovered that I didn't learn using traditional study methods and I adapted myself to a new way of learning.  When reading a book, it would take me three times longer than most because comprehension of what I just read only happened when I re-wrote the idea of the paragraph it in a notebook. It was the first time I had ever read a text book in its entirety.  Ever!

When I got my final grade from the my first class and it was an "A," you would have thought I had won the lottery. I put that report card on my refrigerator at home. When I finished my Master's program, I had a 3.98 GPA (those two A- really ticked me off).  I know my Dad would have been proud, but also sort of redeemed by the knowledge that he was right - His daughter had it in her the entire time.