A Very Special House

Dear Diary,

For as long as I can remember, my grandparent's home has existed. It was white, yellow, turquoise, and maybe even some other colors during its tenure.  In a childhood where I never really felt stable, that house was always a place I felt welcomed and unconditionally loved.  It was my place of stability.  After hearing of the remodel (that I was OK with) and seeing a picture that it was razed (I was in tears), I felt my tummy flip around a bit and really melted down.  As usual, my rock (otherwise known as my husband) reminded me that this is just a place that held many good memories.  Those memories are still there.  I

struggled a bit with that thought, even though I knew he was right.  Then something amazing happened (I hate those ads on Facebook that say this, but I couldn't think of a better segue).

I recently lost my dad to cancer (thats not the amazing part). . .and had a burning need to do something that would make a difference.  I'm just made that way.  I need to do things big, perfect, special, etc.  I tend to over-do everything. . .I think it may even be a family joke.  So, I joined the local Relay for Life.  I created a team of one (myself) and vowed to raise $500 (as my first year at this) and went forward with all my enthusiasm.  Lots of tears were spilled as I went through the process over these last several months.  When I thought I would fail, the other team leaders would hug me and cheer me on.  I felt so taken care of by these strangers I was working with.

I walked a marathon on the weekend of my event.  I sold medals encouraging others to walk a 5K.  I had a booth that gave $100 away to the winner of my fundraising game.  And as I watched my progress approach $500, I was thrilled.  I posted to Facebook that I was close to my goal and both my daughter and sister (from Minnesota, I'm in California) added donations that took me over $500.  I sobbed and gasped as I began to realize what I had.  That day continued on. . .and my fundraising went to $750. . .then $950. . .and I couldn't help but realize that the people that were getting my numbers up so high were the same ones that I met in that very special house.  The people that I grew up around.  The ones I loved unconditionally and now realize they loved me the same way.  So as I am now at $1025 in fundraising, I can honestly say that it wasn't the house that kept me stable.  It was the people that were in it.  The ones that will follow my crazy antics on Facebook and laugh or cry with me, as needed.  Because it's my family that keeps me stable. . .not the house.   Don't get me wrong, I will miss that house, but I've had a much bigger epiphany and I am so grateful for it.

My Vote Counted! Did Yours?

Dear Diary,

I know!  I know it's been a while.  Today, I just need a place to vent.  Here is my experience at the California primary election.  My hubby, a registered democrat, went straight through, got his cards and voted.  Myself, I'm registered as independent.  I get halted at the card station and am told to chose one of five selections.  I was unaware this would happen.  I ask what the difference of each voting choice was and was told I had to choose one and they couldn't influence me by describing anything.  Color me stunned. . .I may as well roll a five-sided-die and see what I get (that was for my gamer kids).  After my refusal to select randomly, one of the ladies turns the five different cards around for me to "accidentally" look at them.  I point to the one that has my candidate on it (and YES, it was Bernie) and say I choose that one.  I am told I must state verbally this choice that I want.  I guess pointing was too general?  I have no clue what to call this choice I needed to make . . . damn those Math and Engineering degrees.  I should have taken English or some other form of Communications.  So, the nice lady points to a location that lists all the possible voters for each card.  I then look at the card I want, find the magic set of words that matches the set of words in that list of five choices I was expected to choose from.  Then the lady tells me I must state exactly what I want.  The words had so little meaning to me, I can't even remember today what they were, but I finally got my card and was able to step up the to voting station.  Meanwhile, the hubby had finished.  Who knew being independent would be such a struggle?  I've never had an experience like this in all the years I have voted.  So tell me, what if I hadn't had someone willing to go the distance to help me out?  What if I had accepted my crap shoot of a card based of the roll of the die?  What if I wasn't strong willed enough to demand that card I wanted?  What if I spoke limited English?  Now, tell me, do you think some votes were lost for my candidate of choice?  I don't doubt it one tiny bit!