Living Happily Ever After
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A Hairy Proposition: Life

Date: November 11, 2010  Author: Andrea Merriman

“Life is an endless struggle full of frustrations and challenges, but eventually you find a hair stylist you like.” (Author Unknown)

As I write, “Hairspray” is on t.v. and it has gotten me thinking of Tracy Turnblat. Now there was a girl with hopes and dreams and challenges. She didn’t necessarily have everything going for her, but she didn’t quit. She managed to make her dreams come true despite her unexpected challenges in life–and never stopped singing about it, or dancing!

Tracy was more than a cute, perky bouffant. She was on to something. In fact,  I think we don’t have to look past the strands of our own hair for the keys to living a happy life.  (And not to tout my credentials or anything, but having had the 60s pixie cut, the 70s “Dorothy Hamill”, the Farrah Fawcett do, Olivia Newton John’s “Xanadu”–ribbons streaming down the side twists of my hair, the 80s bob, the 90s “Rachel,” and my share of perms and highlights, I like to think I know what I’m talking about.) Here’s what I’ve gleaned from…hair.

How can I control my life when I can’t control my hair?” (Author Unknown)

Lesson #1. You can’t control life or the unexpected things that happen. Don’t even expect to. Just know sometimes things beyond your control are going to bless your life, and you’ve just got to “relax” until your hairstyle becomes you again.

“It is foolish to tear one’s hair in grief, as though sorrow would be made less by baldness.” (Cicero)

Lesson #2. Tearing your hair out, won’t improve the situation. Baldness doesn’t always make sorrow sweet, and I don’t think it’s conducive to dating (if you’re a woman.) Scream into a pillow, punch a pillow if you must, but then plaster on that smile (fake as it may be in the beginning sometimes) and press forward. Things WILL get better. And until they do, take it easy on your locks.

“Hair is the first thing. And teeth the second. Hair and teeth. A man got those two things he’s got it all.” (James Brown)

Lesson #3: Count your blessings, especially in the midst of adversity. (I’ve had my bad attitude days of counting only two blessings: that I was still breathing and that I was a mother, but I still found two!) We’re all richer than we realize. And James is right: hair and teeth? Check. You’ve got it all!

“Gorgeous hair is the best revenge.” (Ivana Trump)

Lesson #4: Remember that eventually, you’ll have good hair days, even happiness, again. I think that is the best revenge on the unexpected life–hair-flipping-happiness once more! So when the lice of things unexpected infest you, when through no choice of your own your beautiful, flowing tresses are shaved away by challenges, circumstances, adversity, the actions of others and every other part of the unexpected life, don’t give up. Grow your hair back–better, longer and more beautiful than ever!

“Once you’ve had chemotherapy, there’s no such thing as a bad-hair day.” (Elizabeth Tilberis)

Lesson #5: Keep it all in perspective. I mean, when you’ve lost your entire life, you learn to appreciate whatever life you’re left with or that you can salvage out of the destruction. As my mom used to say, something is better than nothing! And in my experience, the something is even better, in many ways, than what used to be.

After all, “It’s not the hair on your head that matters. It’s the kind of hair you have inside.” (Garry Shandling)

Now if I could only learn to French braid…


Gotta Keep Your Feet Moving

Date: November 10, 2010  Author: Andrea Merriman

I’ve felt a kinship with Arnold Schwarzenegger for quite some time. Since the early 1990s, to be exact.

It began years ago. I was in downtown Denver, at an Eddie Bauer store, looking at a jacket.  A well-meaning young, male salesclerk approached and told me I should buy that jacket, that “The Arnold” was in town and had tried it on just hours before. (Hint: Never tell a woman THAT if you want to make a sale!) Needless to say, I left the jacket as it hung. But knowing I had touched something Arnold Schwarzenegger had, bonded us. At least from my perspective.

So I don’t take his wisdom lightly. Here’s some:

“What we face may look insurmountable. But I learned something from all those years of training and competing. I learned something from all those sets and reps when I didn’t think I could lift another ounce of weight. What I learned is that we are always stronger than we know.” (Arnold Schwarzenegger)

Isn’t that the truth?

When I was 9 years old, my best friend Rachel Cox, got it in her mind that we were going to walk 20 miles together and raise money in a March of Dimes walkathon. I got on my bicycle and pedaled all over the rural roads of Grand Jct., CO, asking strangers to sponsor me in my walk.

Things were safer in the 70s, but still not without their hazzards.

At one house, a giant and ferocious dog chased me down the driveway. I screamed and ran, panic stricken and crying. Thankfully, the homeowner came, rescued me, and sponsored me–probably feeling bad for the little girl with the racing heart, bawling in the driveway.

I survived the sponsorship part of the walkathon. Finally the day came to walk 20 miles.

My parents were out of town. They told me (later, and for the rest of my life) they figured I’d walk a mile or two and go home so they didn’t change their travel plan and just arranged a ride for me to the starting point where I met my friend. I was completely unprepared for the walk by today’s standards. I wore normal school clothes, Keds, I didn’t bring any water or food (kids don’t always plan for the essentials–they’d never even crossed my mind, actually), I didn’t have sunscreen, and while most walkers had adult supervision, Rachel and I were on our own.

At mile one, Rachel quit. For some reason, I carried on alone. (I was pretty shy back then, to this day I’m not sure how I dared continue on by myself.) It may have had something to do with the fact that I wasn’t tired, or maybe I was motivated by the pictures of the poster children I was trying to help, or maybe it was all I’d gone through getting sponsors–not just the dog attack, but even talking to people I didn’t know and asking them to help me; I hated that part of it! Or maybe I just wanted to see if I could do it.

So I kept walking.

I didn’t really know what I was doing or where I was going, but I followed the way marked by cardboard arrows, got my card stamped at each mile’s checkpoint, and watched the stream of walkers lessen until I was mostly alone and felt even more alone knowing my parents were out of town. I wasn’t always sure where to go. Thankfully, I didn’t get lost. I felt a little like I was blazing my own trail and I was a little afraid, but I carried on most of the day.

By late afternoon, an unfortunate thing happened. The walkathon route went right past my neighborhood–just before mile 18–and I gave in to the lure and safety of home. I detoured through Paradise Hills to my house and quit, without even getting my card stamped at mile 18 and getting credit for that last mile I walked.

My feet were killing me.

My house was quiet.

But I had accomplished something.

When my parents arrived home that evening and found out what I had achieved all by myself, they were dumbfounded. They took me to dinner to celebrate–my dad carried me to and from the car and into the restaurant so I wouldn’t have to walk any more that day. They told everyone what I had done.

The prospect of walking 20 miles, by myself, in the 4th grade seemed incomprehensible. But I learned something that day. When I thought I couldn’t go the distance, I did. When I was alone, and afraid, I carried on anyway. And in the end, I learned I was stronger and more capable than I’d ever imagined.

That’s sort of how last year was for me. I found myself facing a challenge so huge I didn’t know how I’d go the distance. I was alone, afraid, but I carried on anyway. There weren’t signs showing me the way this time, I had to rely on inspiration, common sense, the advice of good friends, absolute faith and sometimes, pure endurance.

And in the end, I learned I was stronger and more capable than I’d ever imagined. And I accomplished something I wasn’t always sure would be possible: a new life; happiness and joy out of the disastrous ruination and ashes of my former life.

The unexpected life is its own walkathon. But if you just keep putting one foot in front of the other, even when your feet (and your heart) hurt, eventually you’ll accomplish something great.

“I always tell my kids if you lay down, people will step over you. But if you keep scrambling, if you keep going, someone will always, always give you a hand. Always. But you gotta keep dancing, you gotta keep your feet moving.” (Morgan Freeman)

Keep your feet moving.

The unexpected life.

Looking to Make a Statement?

Date: November 9, 2010  Author: Andrea Merriman
Once a woman has forgiven her man, she must not reheat his sins for breakfast.  ~Marlene Dietrich
I got an email from my former husband last week. In it, he listed the many things he has said and done, all of the changes he is trying to make in his life (from prison), so that someday I’ll forgive him.

I was absolutely blown away by that.

I forgave him a long time ago. I’m not sure exactly when, all I know is that from the moment my unexpected life began, I sought to forgive Him. My children know I have forgiven their father. My friends and family know I have forgiven my former husband. I think the world knows it, too, but somehow He never got it.

I told him  I have already forgiven him; in fact, that I forgave him as quickly as I could.

He sent me another email, told me I have no idea how long he has waited to hear me say that, thanked me for forgiving him and again pointed out everything he had said and done to make my forgiveness possible.

I was blown away by that too.

I have always known to forgive. My parents taught me to say I was sorry when I did something wrong and to forgive others when they did something wrong and said they were sorry. As I grew older, they taught me to forgive others whether or not they said they were sorry, or even WERE sorry, for what they had done. I am so grateful for my parents and what they taught me. Because as an adult, I saw too many people who allowed the actions of others, or their life experiences, to literally ruin them. I saw too many people focused on the wrongs that had been committed against them, too many people with souls cankered by hatred for things others had done and not enough people focused on everything “right” in their lives.

I realized, not for the first time, that life may not be a lot of things–easy, breezy, calm or fair–but life is always a choice. To live or not to live. To be happy. To laugh. To have faith. To hope. To forgive.

Yes, forgiveness is a choice. Forgiveness is a choice we must make, regardless of the choices made by anyone else.

I was stunned that I lived with someone for 20 years and he didn’t understand that. I was amazed that He had watched me teach and train our children, including to forgive others, and he never got it. So I had to clarify a few things with him. I told him that although I was glad he sought to do what was right, my forgiveness has absolutely nothing to do with him or anything he has said or done to demonstrate his sorrow. My forgiveness is all mine; and it doesn’t hinge on what he or anyone else does. I forgive because I believe the world is in great need of its sweet fragrance.

“Forgiveness is the fragrance the violet sheds on the heel that has crushed it.” (Mark Twain)

Forgiveness was a choice I made. And although I did it because it was the right thing to do, I also did it for me–so I wouldn’t destroy the rest of my life or poison my soul, harbor a grudge, or carry the burden of hatred and venom like an unproductive boulder-filled backpack weighing me down because of an unwillingness to forgive.

I don’t believe you earn forgiveness.

You earn money. You earn trust. If you’re wise with your money (and can keep it out of the hands of Ponzi schemers) you may even earn interest. But you can’t “earn” the forgiveness of another.

“I wasn’t satisfied just to earn a good living. I was looking to make a statement.” (Donald Trump)

One of the most important statements we can make in life, unexpected or otherwise, is this: I forgive.

Horse Sense

Date: November 8, 2010  Author: Andrea Merriman

“I love it. The rich smell of horse poop, there’s nothing like it anywhere.” (Fern Michaels, Kentucky Rich)

Life is full of the unexpected. And sometimes you learn lessons in the most unexpected places and from the most unexpected things.

For example, when I was a girl, I learned I didn’t enjoy riding horses. I discovered this tidbit about myself the day I was riding a stubborn horse named “Ol’ Yeller” at my grandpa’s farm. I don’t know that she liked kids anyway, but I know for sure she didn’t like giving kids rides at feeding time.

I was on her back, doing my best to trot around the pasture with her, when my grandpa happened to walk by with her bucket of feed. She knew darn well what it was, and she made it clear that my ride was over. Down I slid into a pile of manure. “Rich” indeed.

Well, you can guess what I did. I wanted to quit. But my dad wouldn’t let me. He got on the horse and ran her up and down the lane a few times, before he made me get on with him for a quick ride, just so the horse (and I) would know who was boss; and that I was not a quitter.

I learned some important lessons that day. You might call it, “horse sense”–gleaned from “Ol’ Yeller” and a rich, brown, fresh, fragrant pile of manure.

“It is not enough for a man to know how to ride; he must know how to fall.” Falls are a part of life. And since you can’t avoid them, it’s best to learn how to fall. Preferably on your feet. But always prepared to pick yourself up and carry on.

“There are only two emotions that belong in the saddle; one is a sense of humor and the other is patience.” I can’t say it enough. In life, choose to laugh and you’ll always find the bright side–and something to be grateful for. As to the other–patience–a fair bit of that is required when things are unexpected. Besides, it’s a virtue!

“I sit astride life like a bad rider on a horse. I only owe it to the horse’s good nature that I am not thrown off at this very moment.” (Ludwig Wittgenstein) Like a horse, the unexpected life can throw us off at any moment. Watch out for manure! And be grateful for the moments you are in the saddle, and not thrust into anything unexpected, like the brown stuff you might slide into should you become unseated.

Lastly, “If your horse says no, you either asked the wrong question or asked the question wrong.” Lol. However, I do believe in trying to learn from mistakes or attempting to find the meaning in experiences. It helps make the unexpected life worthwhile!

Swimming Lesson for Life

Date: November 7, 2010  Author: Andrea Merriman

“It’s been told that swimming is a wimp sport, but I don’t see it.  We don’t get timeouts, in the middle of a race we can’t stop and catch our breath, we can’t roll on our stomachs and lie there, and we can’t ask for a substitution.” (Dusty Hicks)

I spent the first five years of my life in Arizona. We lived in a community surrounding a golf course. Almost every home, but ours, had a swimming pool. And there were no fences. Needless to say, parents taught their children to swim at a very early age.

Swimming lessons are some of my earliest memories. And the one I remember best took place when I was about 3 years old. That was the day my instructor, Mr. Shipley, went beyond teaching me how to save myself if I fell into the water near the edge of a pool. He wanted me to know how to save myself any time, anywhere, and in any water. That must have been why they paid him the big bucks. He was a life saver, literally. But I was too young to appreciate it at the time. I didn’t love Mr. Shipley or swimming lessons. But you don’t always immediately appreciate those things that teach you the most important life lessons.

The day came when he told me to jump off the diving board and save myself.

I felt like Bob Marley must have felt when he said, “Well, me don’t swim too tough so me don’t go in the water too deep.” (Bob Marley)

No way.

My respect for authority was overpowered by my absolute fear of death and drowning.

Mr. Shipley wasn’t up for a debate. He picked me up, walked to the edge of the diving board, and threw me in.

I went in the water; bubbles and blue everywhere I looked. I was terrified of sinking to the bottom and becoming lost forever, so I looked up, at the lighter blue surface of the water, and kicked and paddled for all I was worth. I didn’t want to die. I wanted to live. And somehow I had the impression Mr. Shipley wasn’t going to do anything to help me; it was up to me.

I kept focused on the water’s surface. I didn’t quit clawing. And somehow before I ran out of breath and drowned, I broke the surface of the water. I could hear clapping and cheering from the edges of the pool, but no one jumped in to rescue me; it was still up to me to get myself from the center of the deep end of the pool to the safety of an edge. So I continued paddling.

I got there.

I felt the strong arms of Mr. Shipley grab me, pull me out of the water, and heard him tell me he knew along I could do it.

My swimming lessons with him were over.

I had learned what to do and how to save myself from an unexpected water adventure.

He put me on the community swim team, instead. Where each week I had to voluntarily jump in the water and not only make it to the other side, but get there in good time. By the time I was 4, I was winning races.

The unexpected life is kind of like that. One moment, you’re safely on the deck or diving board. The next, you’re flailing and floundering in the water. But I learned at a young age you’re only sunk when you quit trying to save yourself; when you quit, give up and let yourself sink to the bottom. However, if you keep clawing your way to break the surface of the water (so you can breathe again) you will make it. Hopefully, you’ll even learn to enjoy swimming. But if not, I guarantee you’ll always be grateful for what you got through and for what you learned in the process.

“No man drowns if he perseveres in praying to God, and can swim.”  (Russian Proverb)

Reality

Date: November 6, 2010  Author: Andrea Merriman

“Reality is the #1 cause of insanity among those who are in contact with it.”

My grandpa was a cute, gentle, nice, loving man. He was short, bald, soft spoken, kind to children, served in his state House of Representatives, was a farmer  and wore white patent leather shiny shoes when he dressed up. He was a 1970s Lifesavers commercial come to life. I never knew anyone who didn’t love him.

I was with my former father-in-law, once, and was completely struck by the different grandfather my children had: tall, with thick dark hair, tan skin, a big tattoo, played college football, was a Golden Glove boxer in the Navy, and worked in construction.

It made me laugh. My children certainly were living a different reality from the one I had.

This morning I was reminded of that, again, as my youngest sang me a song, over and over, before I left for work. It went like this (sung to the tune of “The Farmer In The Dell”): “The farmer in the jail, the farmer in the jail, heigh-ho the dairy-oh, the farmer in the jail.”

I told my son I loved his song. And then I explained, “It actually goes like this,” sang it for him the traditional way, and taught him what a “dell” is. But he didn’t buy it at all.

“No, it’s not, Mom. The farmer is in JAIL.” (I don’t think jail was even in my vocabulary when I was his age. Like I said, my children are certainly living a different reality from the one I had! It’s funny, what becomes your reality, based on your unexpected life and its experiences.) We had a discussion about farmers and what good people they are, that they’re working on their farms, not in a jail; but my argument fell on the deaf ears of a preschooler.

Long story short, he wouldn’t change his song. Or his belief.

Last year that little ditty would have panicked me. Today, I simply dropped my son off at daycare and thought, “Hmm, those children are going to learn a new song today!”

I realized I’ve accepted my unexpected life. I’m comfortable, again, in my own skin. I don’t dread the “P” word (prison.) And it feels good.

Not to mention it can be VERY entertaining!

“I am biased to my show as a whole but it is still very entertaining.” (Rob Mariano)

The Magical Adventure Called Life

Date: November 5, 2010  Author: Andrea Merriman

“Adventure: the pursuit of life.” (Daniel Roy Wiarda)

I still can’t imagine what life in prison is like. I imagine there is a lot of down time, time to think, and sometimes my children get letters filled with the musings of a lonely man with time on his hands for thinking deep thoughts. Most recently, it was regarding one of my ex-husband’s favorite memories. At the time, he was very angry with me because of it, so it was gratifying he has finally seen it for what it was. Here’s what happened.

Years ago my family went to Disneyworld. We paid an extra fee to stay in the park until midnight. However, that night it rained. A lot. For some reason, not many people wanted a wet adventure in the twilight hours. The park started emptying.

My former husband was one of those who wanted to give up on the magic. But I didn’t. I told him we could make memories in the rain as easily as fair weather, so I thought we should stay. We stayed, although my children’s dad was mad at me and my unwillingness to leave the park for a good part of the evening.

What a night! Water poured from the sky, and ran, like small rivers, down the streets of the Magic Kingdom. It was so wet, paint from the rides dyed my clothing and our shoes squished when we walked. Our hair was plastered to our heads making us look more like drowned rats than the Colorado residents we were. We even got stuck on one ride when it broke down, on our backs facing the ceiling, with rain and water pouring on us…for almost 40 minutes!

We had so many wild and unexpected adventures that, after an hour or two, even my ex-husband had to let go of his animosity and laugh at all of the crazy fun we were having. We rode ride after ride as often as we wanted without ever having to leave our seats, we laughed, we suffered (a little) and made the best memories–my children still talk about that night.

As we left when the park closed, we noticed even the Disney characters had given up and were nowhere to be seen. We were told there were less than 70 people in the entire Magic Kingdom that night! But we proved you can have fun, a magical adventure, in the dark, in the cold, despite suffering and even when you’re (mostly) alone.

It was a lesson that would serve our family well.

Because eventually, I ended up single after 20 years of a happy marriage. Rebuilding my life after such devastation and total loss–finding a job, moving to a new city alone, raising my children by myself, dealing with daycare and bills and auto repairs and toilets and garbage disposals, re-entering the singles scene and everything else I’ve gone through–is something akin to being trapped on my back, with a flood of water conspiring against me, for a seemingly endless amount of time. It, too, has been an adventure.

But that’s ok, because the unexpected life is replete with adventure. You just have to see the adventures for what they are, opportunities, and make the most of them.

And if we endure, if we’re the last man standing in the Magic Kingdom at midnight, I guarantee we’ll see our unexpected life for what it is: an adventure. We’ll see the good that came of it.

Like every Disney story, there WILL be a happily ever after. You just have to get through the rain, sometimes, to see it.

“Life is either a daring adventure or nothing.” (Helen Keller)

The Importance of a Kind Word

Date: November 4, 2010  Author: Andrea Merriman

“You know, somebody actually complimented me on my driving today. They left a little note on the windscreen, it said, ‘Parking Fine.’” (Tommy Cooper)

Years ago, a young woman I knew, and her parents, were killed in an airplane crash as they flew their daughter to college. They left behind three other children to continue on in a life they never expected. At the funeral someone shared that the mother sent notes to people. It was her “thing.” Her thoughtful way to express her gratitude, love, hope and encouragement to others. I was surprised at that revelation. I had received one of those notes, yet had never stopped to think that others might have too. I remember how much I appreciated that note. And then I realized how much effort, on a daily basis, that must have been for her. But what a wonderful way to live life. Taking a few moments each day to send a little light, in the form of a note, to someone else.

Recently I was cleaning out my closet and found a box. It was filled with cards, letters, notes, empathetic expressions and encouraging words from THAT time. Spring 2009. When my world fell apart. At the time I received them, I was in shock and living a nightmare. I read them as they arrived, grateful for each and every one of them. I appreciated the various methods of delivery–some came in the mail, some were tucked in the crack of my front door, some were placed under the wiper blade on the windshield of my car, some were scribbled on scraps of paper and shoved in my hand as the writer passed me in the hall at church or my children’s schools. However they arrived, whatever they were written on, each lifted me and helped me press on. Then I put them away in a box–saved them for when I moved from Colorado to Utah, alone, didn’t know anyone, and needed of a kind word of encouragement from a friend.

It seemed like rereading those thoughtful notes was the only word of encouragement I got from anyone some days.

Bachelor #5 is really good to write thoughtful messages and cards for any occasion (or no occasion), that truly brighten my day. And not just me. The day my son lettered in Varsity track, Bachelor #5 had a card for him, too. I think some people have a talent for that. But I also believe it’s a talent we all can, and probably should, develop. Especially with so many people in the world confronted by unexpected lives and in need of a kind word.

I’m going to write more notes.

I’m on the other side of my unexpected life now. I’ve risen from the ashes of destruction, I’m past the shock and trauma. I’m healing–I guess you could say I’m in the rebuilding/recreating phase. But I received a Facebook message from an old friend that brightened my outlook on life the same as other notes did in 2009: “Well, the old geezer is checking up on ya! Almost a year since our last exchange. Knowing you from many years ago, I think it’s a good bet that the sun is back in the sky. I have thought of you often…but am certain you have found a way to not only survive but excel, it’s just who you are. So, young lady, dare you to prove me wrong, dare ya! Fill me in on your adventure!”

Besides the fact that he called me “Young Lady,” I LOVE his digital note. I don’t care who you are or what you’ve been through, how can you NOT feel like you’re going to make it when someone sends such a positive note of confidence in your ability to do that? I am so thankful for him, and for the many good people everywhere, who have taken the time to encourage me, verbally or in writing.

I think I’ll send him a note and tell him that.

And then maybe I’ll suggest he read my blog, so he can read my adventure for himself.:)

Glimpse…From The Couch

Date: November 3, 2010  Author: Andrea Merriman
“Have you ever gotten the feeling that you aren’t completely embarrassed yet, but you glimpse tomorrow’s embarrassment?” (Tom Cruise) 

I remember Tom’s couch jumping and the criticism he endured because of it. I just never imagined I’d feel like he had to have felt at some point in my life–publicly humiliated. And then my unexpected life hit.

Not only was I shocked at what was revealed, not only was I scrambling to preserve what I could from the ashes of destruction and create some semblance of a life for me and my children to carry on with, but I was absolutely mortified. I was appalled at the dishonesty and CRIMES that had been perpetrated; I was embarrassed to not only know a criminal but to be married to him; and I was humiliated at having to endure everything so publicly, played out on a national stage.

It was a struggle to reconcile that all of those events were my life.

I couldn’t help but recall the little girl I once was–the little girl who who loved her dolls and looked forward to the day they would become “real” and I would experience motherhood; the little girl who immersed herself in fairy tales for hours on end and had such dreams of a real one in the future for her and everyone else.

I certainly never envisioned the story I got handed. It wasn’t my plan. My plan was for me, and everyone else, to grow up and live happily ever after.

The bottom line? I didn’t want the life that became mine unexpectedly.

And then I thought of my childhood friends: friends with addictions that destroyed their families and their lives; friends who watched their toddlers suffer and eventually die from physical impairments; friends whose parents committed suicide, died of cancer, or were killed in accidents; friends who divorced; friends who never married; friends who wanted children but couldn’t have them; friends betrayed by spouses; friends who died of cancer; friends diagnosed with M.S. and other diseases they live with and endure the effects of on a daily basis; friends who battle health issues and pain all day every day; friends who struggle with employment; friends who lost their homes; friends who suffered financial reverses; the list is endless.

The challenges varied, but almost every childhood friend I knew had been blessed with an unexpected life.

I couldn’t help but wonder what we would all have thought, as children, if we’d been given a glimpse of what was to come. Honestly? I wondered if I would have run at the thought of 2009. I guess it’s a blessing that certain things are unexpected. And that’s when I remembered, not for the first time, a key to living and enduring life and it’s challenges. You have to expect that unexpected things happen. In every life. To every one. So you have to carry on. Every day.

“Not a day passes over the earth, but men and women of no note do great deeds, speak great words and suffer noble sorrows.” (Charles Reade)

Shocking, devastating, heart breaking, hard, unexpected, even embarrassing things. Expected, exhilarating, happy, joyous and wonderful things. But always unexpected. Sometimes they lead to an uncontrollable desire to jump on a couch. Other times, it’s all you can do to get up off the couch and drag yourself forward to face the day.

But the important thing is that you live it and never lose your glimpse of the possibilities contained in tomorrow…if you can just make it through today.

A helpful tip to getting through the day? Don’t forget to utilize your couch if you need to. Regroup on the couch. Then get up off the couch, jump on your couch, sit close to someone you love on your couch (where is Agent M when you need him?), or rearrange your couch. Couches can be helpful in the unexpected life.

“I got up one morning and couldn’t find my socks, so I called Information. She said, “Hello, Information.” I said, “I can’t find my socks.” She said, “They’re behind the couch. And they were!” (Stephen Wright)


Life Lesson From The Ski Hill

Date: November 2, 2010  Author: Andrea Merriman

“Too bad Lassie didn’t know how to ice skate, because then if she was in Holland on vacation in winter and someone said, ‘Lassie, go skate for help,’ she could do it.” (Jack Handy)

You can’t grow up in Colorado without learning to ski. And you can’t be raised by a ski enthusiast (like I was) without skiing practically every weekend of the year that the resorts are open–blizzard or shine. Such was my childhood, such was my life. I just had no idea it was preparing me for the real thing.

I was about 4 years old when I rode my first poma lift and experienced my first bunny hill. I didn’t grasp a lot of the concept of skiing, mostly I just rode my skis between my dad’s and held on for the ride. I remember the day was pleasant and sunny, and I remember what I was wearing: maroon knit stretch pants with stirrup straps on the bottom, and a turtleneck sweater. You may think it’s strange I remember what I was wearing that day, despite my young age. But I remember because of what happened.

“Stretch pants – the garment that made skiing a spectator sport.” (Author Unknown)

When I tired of skiing, I played in the snow and around the lodge while my dad got in some real runs on slopes more advanced than the bunny hill. In my wanderings, I saw a dog that looked exactly like Lassie. I LOVED Lassie and made a beeline for her before my mom could stop me. “Lassie” bit a hole in my ski pants that cut all the way through to my leg; it was then I realized she was no  Lassie. I went home tired, dog-bitten, tear-stained and not entirely in love with the sport–not to mention upset that the ski pants I loved were ruined.

My dad didn’t let me quit. The next year, he took us skiing again. This time I skied on my own. My memory of this ski trip exists solely of following my dad down the hill and falling into the  horizontal “splits” position, face down in the snow. I’ve never been flexible, not even as a child; I was in pain, and I couldn’t move. In trying to help me, my mom and my sister ended up in the same position, splits, face down in the snow. And we had to stay that way for the time it took for my dad to hear us calling him for help; for him to stop and yell encouragement to us to rescue ourselves, and finally, for my dad to side step all the way up the hill to help us when we couldn’t help ourselves.

But again, my dad didn’t let me quit.

It was 1974. I was in second grade. And this time, my dad hired a private instructor named Bruce to teach my sister and me how to ski. I was only seven years old, but I had such a crush on dark-haired, tan-skinned, patient and nice, happy and handsome Bruce. And it’s a good thing I loved him, because I didn’t love what he taught me. I did as he instructed, but I did everything not for the love of skiing, but for the love of Bruce. For example, my entire first day of skiing consisted of side-stepping up hills on my skis! Not fun. But you have to endure the “hard stuff” to get to the ease of the downhill experience.

Eventually I learned to ski. I skied anywhere and everywhere my dad led me. In fact, I was in college (and skiing alone for the first time, without my dad) when I learned ski hills were rated for difficulty. My entire life I had simply followed in my father’s footsteps, or ski tracks, to be exact.

So there I was, in 2009, breezing down the slopes of life when an avalanche hit. I was knocked off the mountain of my life and buried under the heavy snow of a disaster of epic proportions. But I couldn’t quit. I had the beacon of a lifetime of teachings and parental example to guide me; I knew what was expected of me; and I never considered anything but digging myself out of my misery.

Because in life, as in winter, when snow falls, you shovel it. You clear pathways so you can get around and continue to live your life. You endure the storm that brought the snow. You wait out the cold. You have to admire the beauty of the snowy landscape–even if you don’t love the storm that brought it. And eventually, the snow melts and life returns to normal…until the next big storm hits. When you fall, you don’t quit skiing. You pick yourself up, side-step up the hill if you need to, but you always get back on the slopes.

How grateful I am for a dad who taught me how to ski; who didn’t let me quit when the going was rough, painful, or cold; who led by example and made it easier for me by carving tracks down the mountains all I had to do was follow. Who made me expert in navigating rocky terrain. And who prepared me for any and every slope, not matter how steep or the amount of moguls, I’ve ever encountered.

“Skiing combines outdoor fun with knocking down trees with your face.” (Dave Barry)

And I think it’s an apt description of the unexpected life, too.