Blame it on The Bloggess

I've been reading a great new book by Jenny Lawson, also known as "The Bloggess," called Let's Pretend it Never Happened.


Don't we all have moments like that in our lives? It seems that poor Jenny has had more than her share, at least according to her own account. I have been getting some much-needed laughter (and a few deep philosophical insights as well) from this book since purchasing it for my Kindle last week. Her hilarious tales are admittedly only semi-true, but it's fun just to try and figure out which random situations are true and which ones she made up.

This morning before church I will admit to some procrastinating ... I am emotionally spent after the events of the past few weeks. Doing anything seems like way too much effort. But I decided to finish just one more chapter loaded with her crazy funny stories about working in Human Resources, and some of the unbelievable incidents she related were still rushing around in my head when I decided it was really time start getting ready.

While reading, I had realized in my OCD-ness that I needed to touch up one tiny spot on my toenail before someone at church caught me with an ugly smudge. Although I seriously can't imagine who might possibly be examining my toes. Or why.

But of course by this time I was in sort of a rush and thinking about a million other things (including, perhaps, why someone would email a photo of their genital area to a co-worker, and think they could somehow get away with it). I'm not quite sure how it all happened but suddenly I realized that a nearly-full bottle of bright-ass pink nail polish was all over the bathroom floor.

And the bath mat.

And the cupboard doors.

And myself.

I just stood there looking in horror for several awful seconds before finally deciding what to do. Umm, trying to wash my hands with soap and cold water was definitely not the appropriate thing, but it helped me to gain a little bit of time to think that possibly I could grab an old washcloth out of the closet, drench it in nail polish remover (of which for once I had [emphasis on had] an ample supply), and start rubbing away at the multitude of pink spots on the floor.

I swear, though, that those pink splashes kept multiplying like rabbits. I would go completely over a small area, move on to the next area, and look back to find a half-dozen more splatters of polish. They were all over everything, and I expect to find minuscule pink dots all over my bathroom for months to come. I certainly found enough smudges on my hands and feet during the times I was supposed to be praying.

After all that, I still did get that nail repaired. Suffice it to say that how I managed to get dressed or put on a pair of sandals as I was getting ready to head out the door for church, without messing up that one tiny toenail that caused it all, was a tricky proposition, best left to a not-too-fertile imagination. But please, still don't look too closely at my toes.

And for the record--it's all Jenny's fault if I went to church smelling more of nail-polish-remover than of Chanel No 19 perfume.

Epilogue

Today was the day.

Unbeknownst to her, Savannah started a new life this morning. But like most everything else related to this saga, nothing went exactly as it was planned.

David and I drove down to Ohio Tuesday night to spend time with Alyssa, Noah, and Savannah. When we arrived, her aunt, uncle, and cousin; grandfather; and great-grandparents were also there, along with two of Alyssa and Noah's long-time friends. It had the air of a party except everyone there appeared to be in desperate need of a super-size bottle of Murine. Ourselves included.

Savannah seemed delighted to have a lot of people exclaiming over her, taking her photo, telling her how sweet she was, and generally catering to her every need. She was full of smiles and definitely knew that she was surrounded by people who love her.

As everyone else left, we settled in to spend the night. We tucked Savannah in late, and went outside to chat. I had really wanted to snuggle with her all night even though I knew that was probably counter to Children's Services recommendations. Honestly, I absolutely didn't (and don't) care one whit what they thought. But I let Alyssa put her in her own crib as usual. While the four of us were outdoors by the fire, a few bottles of beer and wine were consumed. A few walks were taken to the lake. And some of us were up way past our own bedtimes.

Fortunately I was the first one in bed at 1:30 a.m., and consequently I was also the first one awake at 5:45 when I heard Savannah crying in the next room. I walked in the room and immediately knew why she was awake so early. After the quickest diaper change possible under the circumstances, I took her in bed with me to snuggle for a while. She calmed down immediately although it was obvious that she wondered, as she sleepily looked around the room, what in the world she was doing in a big bed with Mimi.

Was going back to sleep a possibility? Not so much. After a half hour or so, we went and hung out on the couch with her soft blankie wrapped around both of us and she settled down again for another 15 or 20 minutes before making it evident that she was awake for the morning. We sat together quietly, tucked into the soft blankie I'd bought for her birthday, and read "I am a Bunny," which was also Chase's favorite board book when he was a toddler. She would clap every time I counted the birds, the butterflies, the flowers, frogs, and leaves on each page. We played Pat-A-Cake. We sang Eensy Weensy Spider. And finally, when it was clear she was done sitting quietly, we went to the kitchen and shared some Kix for breakfast.

Each moment we spent together this morning seemed so bittersweet. Of course we have done all these things dozens of times in the past. But I knew today would be the last time I'd probably get the chance to do any of this. Savannah, however, did not know. So she was perfectly happy to play these same games over and over and over again. And listen to the book a half dozen or more times. It's a good thing I memorized all the words to "I am a Bunny" eight years ago. Because most of the time, I could barely see the words on the page, or the face of the precious little girl in front of me, through my tears.

When she wanted to go outside, we got photos of ourselves in the long morning shadows. It was lovely. Call me selfish if you will. But I am so grateful for that hour or so that I had with her before anyone else was up this morning. It was totally ours, and a beautiful memory that I can savor forever of this sweet baby who has brought so much joy into our lives for the past year.

All too soon (even though it was now three diaper changes later), Alyssa's phone rang. It was the social worker announcing that she was on her way out to transport Savannah to her final visit with her biological mom. The appointment was at 10 a.m. in downtown Toledo (about 15-20 minutes away), and it was about 9:50 when the social worker arrived.

Without a car seat. I cannot imagine why a woman with a Master's Degree who works at a Children's Services office, would come to pick up an 18-month-old toddler to a visitation appointment without making sure in advance that there was a car seat available in which to put that child. While yes, Alyssa and Noah actually have two car seats, they were never provided with one by the agency--one was borrowed and the other was purchased by them (and had been left in the car that was at the shop for repairs today).

This necessitated the social worker to make a trip to the nearest Wal-Mart. Talk about adding insult to injury. Those of you who know me well will realize how much I hate that store, for various reasons ... and now I have a new reason to hate it: YOU ARE COMING TO TAKE AWAY OUR GRANDCHILD AND YOU AREN'T EVEN PROPERLY EQUIPPED? I think that's reason to call the whole deal null and void. Not to mention by this time it's nearly 11 a.m. and her visitation time with her mother is nearly expired. Another one of many epic fails for LCCS. You call this acting in the best interests of a child? Any child, not just our granddaughter. You all suck.

The silver lining is that we did get that extra hour with Savannah. Of course we cried just as much the second time as we did the first time, so that may have tarnished that silver lining just a bit. But in this situation, an hour is an hour. We took what we were given and called it a mini-miracle, possibly orchestrated by our personal angel, Alma.

After the social worker had struggled with the car seat for another 10 minutes (sorry, none of us offered to help her at all), the most difficult moment had arrived. She was buckled in. While still fiddling with the straps around Savannah's shoulder, the social worker mumbled, "Thanks" and "You've done a good job" to Noah and Alyssa. What an insult. She didn't even look at them while saying any of this. She had her BACK to them while we were all standing behind her and she was looking into the vehicle. She turned on her heel and still without looking them in the eye, offered that they could kiss Savannah goodbye as she got into the car and prepared to pull out of the driveway. I walked up to the car and waved in the window at Savannah and blew her a kiss. As I walked away, the social worker rolled down the window and called out, "She can see you now."

IDIOT. BITCH. Savannah could see me before. She had already smiled and blown me a kiss back. But I went back anyway and blew her one more.

Amid all my sadness I am simply furious at the way my children have been treated through all of this. Those who have suggested I report this stupid woman to her supervisor, don't realize (nor did I, until I mentioned it to Alyssa) that this woman's supervisor is the person who scheduled the recent hearing without allowing Alyssa and Noah any time to arrange for representation of their own (and, consequently, Savannah's) interest in this fiasco. Who insisted that POLICY rather than love, common sense and compassion will dictate the course of Savannah's future. So, what good will it do to report anyone? They. Don't. Care. Their policy is being followed. I hope they are happy. And I hope and pray that this sweet baby will not be unhappy even as it begins to dawn on her that this time, she won't be coming back to the only home she knows or the people she believes to be her mommy and daddy.

I will reiterate that Alyssa assures me this new family is very kind. I am sure they do care about Savannah, even though they have already established a bond with her baby brother. I pray that their hearts will expand to include Savannah in that circle. And they are open to Alyssa and Noah keeping in touch as well, which provides a measure of comfort, even if it doesn't really make us feel "better."

The four of us spent another quiet hour in contemplation after Savannah's departure. As one of my good friends has pointed out, there is now a Savannah-shaped hole in all of our hearts. Eventually, we will have to try and figure out a way to fill that hole up, but for the time being it remains. And it hurts. A lot.

I can't say enough about the wonderful outpouring of support we have received from family and friends in the past few days. Perhaps you all can imagine how many times I have already gone back and read and re-read the beautiful messages sent to me on Facebook, via email, text, and private messages. I will share them with Alyssa and Noah as appropriate. But right now--I need to say thank you, thank you, from the bottom of all of our hearts, for reaching out with the love, compassion, and common sense that LCCS seems to lack. For assuring us that it is OK to be sad. For giving us a shoulder to cry on. And for reminding us that, eventually, we'll find a new normal in our lives.

And most especially, for helping us start to fill up the huge hole that this tiny little girl has left in our hearts.

 Mimi and Savannah--July 11, 2012

So here is the scoop ...

I have avoided for some time writing about what is going on in our family life these days. It's been too emotional, too complicated, and quite honestly, I am feeling uncharacteristically speechless about what has been happening to us over the past several weeks. This blog post will be my feeble attempt to keep our family and friends up to date and informed.

On my birthday last year (August 24, 2011), David and I became grandparents for the third time. Our daughter Alyssa and her husband Noah had been encouraged for several months to consider foster parenting with the supposed end result of adoption, through Lucas County Children's Services (http://www.co.lucas.oh.us/index.aspx?nid=131). Just days after they completed an extensive training program, a precious 8-month-old girl, Savannah, was placed in their home.

Of course, we were all thrilled. At the time Alyssa and Noah took her in, Savannah was the equivalent of an over-sized newborn baby. Born two months prematurely, Savannah had been born with the effects of drug use as well as having obvious symptoms of neglect during her lifetime. But her beautiful eyes and her winning personality soon captured all of our hearts. Her appearance at Ian & Shelby's wedding took many of our friends and family members by surprise since we hadn't shared the news widely (abiding by LCCS foster-care rules).

By the holidays it seemed evident that Savannah would not be returning to her birth family. As expected, her birth mother was making little to no progress on the reunification plan. Alyssa and Noah had been told early on that they had been chosen as Savannah's foster parents because this was the probable outcome. The birth mother was given by the court six months from placement (2/24/12) to straighten up and fly right. 


That didn't happen. Nor did the expected parental termination. Some people obviously understand how to play the system. My kids apparently have never learned these skills. What they had learned over those six months was how to become parents to Savannah. She had been blossoming under their care. She was going to regular play groups with other foster children. She learned how to walk; she learned how to trust; she learned some basic sign language. She is thriving physically, emotionally and developmentally. She has a wide network of grandparents, great-grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, and friends who love her dearly. (Look at this face ... Can you blame us?)

But evidently none of that matters to Lucas County Children's Services. What apparently is important is that she is placed in a home that wants to take her and a brother that she doesn't even realize she has. Yes, after losing Savannah, her birth mother conceived another child. Alyssa and Noah were offered the "opportunity" to foster this unknown new baby, but realized that this could quickly become more responsibility than they could handle. They respectfully declined. 

Finally, on June 19, a hearing was set to finally terminate parental rights, four months after the original deadline. By this time, the new baby had been born and taken in to LCCS custody, but placed with another foster family. Alyssa and Noah continued to believe that their bond with Savannah and the fact that she didn't know this baby (nor any of the nine *additional* siblings and half-siblings that her birth parents had assembled over the past few years), might carry some weight with the court. However, on June 18, a special hearing was set without benefit of the presence of social workers who had known of the situation with Savannah over the past 10 months. In that brief hearing, Alyssa and Noah were effectively stripped of all of  their rights as foster parents and potential adoptive parents. 

On Wednesday, July 11, Savannah leave Alyssa and Noah's home. She will have her final visit with her birth mother. And then she will be placed in the foster home that is currently hosting her "brother." 

This is so wrong on so many levels. Over the past three weeks, an 18-month-old baby has been tossed back and forth between two homes. She visits a house where there are other children and adults who are strangers to her. She has NO idea what is going on. Of course she seems OK for the moment, since after these visits she is returned to the home she *knows*. But when she returns, she is suddenly attached to a pacifier she hasn't needed for months. She cries uncharacteristically. She's clingy and doesn't want to deal with anyone but her mom and dad. Have you ever dealt with an 18-month-old? What child at that age wouldn't react this way? 

However, at this point, barring some kind of a miracle, Alyssa and Noah are only going to be her "Mom and Dad" for two more days. What is going to happen to her when she's no longer returned to the place where she learned about love and trust? 

LCCS says they are looking out for the best interests of the child when they place "siblings" together. They are ignoring the obvious here. Yes ... some day, Savannah will want to know about her birth family. No one with any sense would deny her that information. But that does not mean she needs to be placed with them NOW. They have forgotten that the best interests of a child include being raised by people who love her. People who have grown with her. A couple who deeply want to have a child. Even if it's only ONE child. 

I am sure that Savannah's new family are good people. I have no doubt that they mean very well. Certainly, not many people who take on the responsibilities of foster care are bad (although we do tend to hear about the bad ones more often than the good). They'll learn to love Savannah--she's easy to love. But they don't *know* her. They don't understand what she's been through. They will love her infant brother, but I doubt they can possibly bond with Savannah the way that they can bond with him, and I'm sure they won't bond with her like Alyssa and Noah have done. 

Our entire family is grieving right now. This is a different kind of grief than any of us understand how to deal with. When someone is sick, or depressed, or even dying, people tend to know what to expect and how to act. But this is uncharted territory. How do you comfort someone who is going through this kind of sadness? I haven't figured it out yet so I certainly don't expect anyone else to do it. 

I haven't given up hoping and praying for that MIRACLE, and I won't until I see her leave on Wednesday. But at this point, I'm resigned. It will probably happen, and my heart will definitely break at that moment. Prayers have not produced the result we hoped for. I keep remembering Father Tim, of the Mitford books, praying the prayer that never fails, "Thy Will Be Done," and try to take heart. Not that it's easy. This week, I'd like *my* will to be done. And I don't want to settle for anything else. 

I would like to thank each and every person who has reached out to us in the past month. Family, friends, church family, co-workers, Facebook friends ... many people have supported us in many different ways. And we have appreciated each one of you and the sincerity with which you have offered your thoughts. It's been very difficult to respond to all of the messages, emails, texts, phone calls, letters, and more. Like I said, it's been emotionally charged and extremely complex. I would like to respond to everyone individually but I will probably forget some of you ... please know that I love you all and even if I forget to say thanks at this time, I will NOT forget your kindness to our family. 

David and I are going to Toledo tomorrow (Tuesday) night to spend time with Alyssa, Noah, and Savannah. I am taking a child-sized prayer shawl that I've been knitting for the past couple of weeks, and I hope her new family will respect that and share its story with her. Your thoughts, prayers, and personal messages to us and to them will be appreciated and remembered always. If you would like to contact Alyssa or Noah, please message me through the comments or via email, and I'll send you their email addresses.

Thank you.

Marsha & David,

Alyssa & Noah

Arianne, Chase, & Peyton

Ian & Shelby

Stuart

and Savannah

Whatever happened to common decency?

Sometimes, I just don't understand how things work.

I was taught that if you were honest, aboveboard, and friendly, people would respect you. They would try to accommodate your requests or your needs. You could count on things getting done if you were polite.

Nowadays, it seems like unless you're an asshole, you can't get things to go your way. If you figure out how to work the system, you can get ahead. If you behave in a way that I would consider normal and decent, people think you're a wimp. You get no respect. People walk all over you. And no one bats an eye.

Shoot, who was it that said, "Nice Guys Finish Last"? They were right. They not only finish last, they get trampled by the crowd of Bad Guys who barged across the finish line not caring what happens to the people they left in their wake.

Yes, it's true. I'm feeling a bit cynical tonight. Or this week. Or maybe it's this year.

Where have we gone wrong?

My mother taught me these things when I was growing up: Be nice. Be considerate. Be cooperative. Play fair. Try to get along. Give other people the benefit of the doubt. I taught my daughter these things and my son-in-law's mother obviously taught him the same.

Here's where has it gotten them. They have played by all the rules for more than 10 months; demonstrated themselves to be excellent parents; done everything that has been asked of them. But in a little more than a week, their foster daughter will be yanked out of their home, in large part because they have been responsible and overall acquiescent, while Children's Services, the biological parents, and a host of other people are playing games and demanding whatever the hell they think they deserve. Whether or not they actually deserve anything.

Here are my son-in-law's words, slightly abridged: 


"I keep coming back to that thing I always say ... it is silly for me to expect anything  from society in general and our government in particular. If you work hard, pay your taxes, take care of your family, and live like a responsible member of society, prepare to be shit upon. Because it will end that way for you every time. The proof is right in front of us, right now: how many breaks has (biological mother) gotten? Too many to count; far more than she deserved and way than she actually took advantage of. How many breaks did we get? The same number we required: NONE.

"And that has been my mistake all along. Someone asked us what we thought of the social worker. We didn't say much, but then he ranted about how he took a morning off to meet with her, and she called at the last minute to cancel. He apparently told her, 'I took time off work ... you will be here.' And ... the social worker showed up. I guess she cancelled or cut short whatever was encroaching on *their* appointment, and showed up, because he demanded it. And I realized ... she canceled on us numerous times, and we stood for it. We stood for everything they dished out, thinking it would win us consideration. The opposite was true. The opposite is almost always true."

So, yes, we are speaking out of our own pain at this point. We are losing a beloved member of our family. For no reason other than "policy." A flawed, pointless policy, I might add. But it's *their* policy and *they* have

It seems totally unfair ... it IS totally unfair ... but there's little we can do about it.

Save the What?

Shirley Temple Black. Linda Ellerbee. Gloria Steinem. Richard Roundtree. Kate Jackson. Melissa Etheridge.

Fred Gwynne. Donna Reed. Steve Jobs. Patrick Swayze. Jack Benny. Michael Landon. Luciano Pavarotti. 

What is the link between these celebrities who were all found in a very elementary Google search? The first six listed are survivors of breast cancer while the next group of seven are victims of pancreatic cancer. Interestingly, I couldn't find a list of celebrity breast cancer victims in a search; nor could I find a list of pancreatic cancer survivors. 

October is a month when many people try to raise awareness of breast cancer. And quite frankly, I usually can't wait until October is over. 

I know that's probably considered heresy. After all, shouldn't we all be in support of Breast Cancer Awareness? Shouldn't we all get our our 'mammies grammied'? Doesn't everyone want to Save the TaTas?Don't we all <3 our boobies? Haven't we all posted a cryptically stupid Facebook status to 'raise awareness'? And don't forget to warn people to check their 'bumps for lumps'! 

The answer to the first question is absolutely YES. Breast cancer is real; it demoralizes, disfigures, and even kills women (even though Google seemingly doesn't want to tell you about that). But in answer to the remaining questions, I would answer: don't devalue your awareness of an ugly disease by referring to them as boobies, ta-tas, lumps, hooters, tits, jugs, or any of the other132 slang names found on listaholic.com. 

On the radio this morning, the talking heads were discussing a high school cheerleading squad who wanted to "raise awareness" for breast cancer and purchased "Save the TaTas" shirts to wear at their games and/or competitions. The principal said no; these t-shirts are not appropriate for school. I have to agree. By using such a slogan, the girls are buying into the male-dominated stereotype that breasts exist solely for visual or sexual pleasure and not for feeding babies. Cheerleaders elicit enough prurient interest already. Don't give them more to work with. These slogans also feed into the big business model that tries to sell us pink ribbons, pink dog shirts, pink hair products, pink stuffed animals, pink buckets of chicken, pink mixers and more. Where is all that money going, anyway? How much is actually going to help women (or men) who have breast cancer? 

Face it, people. Breasts (and the women who wear them) are not a commodity. Breasts are a functional part of our bodies. Just like an arm or a leg, or a lung or a pancreas. I'm all for awareness of breasts, and of breast cancer ... as long as it's for the right reasons. But I'm tired of breast cancer being over-hyped when people are getting diagnosed--and too often dying--every day of plenty of other types of cancer. 

I realize that I am very fortunate to not be speaking from firsthand experience in any of this. Maybe I'd feel differently about all this pink-ness if breast cancer had affected me directly. Or maybe not. I hope I don't ever have to find out. 

If you or a loved one have had breast cancer, or if you've lost someone to breast cancer, please know that I do not wish to insult you; I am sorry for your heartache. I don't mean to diminish that in any way. But I'm concerned that all the hype and all the pink-ness is somehow taking advantage of the very bitter struggle against cancer and creating yet another profit-making opportunity. And perhaps not one that actually benefits the cancer patients.

If getting involved helps you cope with the fight against cancer, I'm all for it. Many people find some comfort in the Breast Cancer 3-Day, or the Susan G. Komen events, or Relay For Life. Maybe you have a pink ribbon magnet on your vehicle, or a ribbon pin on your lapel, and I respect that as well. 

I participated in Relay for Life last summer. There were plenty of pink ribbons there, but there were also purple, and black, and gold, and green and ...you get the picture. I walked that day in honor of a dear friend, who has since lost her battle with pancreatic cancer; in memory of my dad, who died of lung cancer almost 40 years ago; and in honor of my husband, a lung cancer survivor. I also held in thought my friend and cousin, a 15-year breast cancer survivor. My friend who still struggles with periodic concerns over her T-cell counts 10 years after a bout with breast cancer. A friend's son, who was diagnosed with Lymphoma earlier this year. 

But you know what? More important than walking, or running, wearing a ribbon, or attending a cocktail reception is being there for the people you love. Feel like you need to do something? Call a friend who is battling cancer. Go and sit with them if you're able to. Bake a cake. Send them a magazine you think they'd like. Take them to treatments if you can. Make a prayer shawl, if that might bring them comfort. Sometimes, doing something tangible is way more important than raising money for a "cause."

The bottom line is this: every kind of cancer is despicable. It doesn't matter if you're famous like Farrah, Gloria, Steve or Luciano. Cancer also affects everyday people named Alma or Tom or David or Rita or Harry or Oliver. 

No one deserves that kind of pain. And it sucks, literally and figuratively.

Focusing on what's important ... and it's not the drama.

You know how sometimes you can read a quote that you’ve seen several times before, but at that particular moment it really speaks to you? That happened to me last week when someone posted the following tidbit on Facebook:

“There comes a time in life when you have to let go of all the pointless drama and the people who create it; and surround yourself with the people who make you laugh so hard that you forget the bad and focus solely on the good. After all, life is too short to be anything but happy.”

Wow. That really hit home I have had mega-drama swirling around in my head for several months now. Some drama in life is inevitable, of course. But far too much of what goes on in the name of business, organizations, politics, or even family life is definitely of the “pointless” variety. And I have decided I need to separate myself from that as much as possible, because … yes, life is too short to be anything but happy.

If that seems a bit Pollyanna-ish, perhaps it is. But I have to say that in the midst of drama and yes, even sadness over the past few months, I have still experienced a great deal of joy. And I prefer to keep it that way rather than let the sadness drag me down.

Drama can be addictive, though. You get caught up in it and you start thinking about it all the time and you start talking about it to anyone and everyone. It becomes a part of you. And it’s also contagious. Like a nasty virus, you start spreading it everywhere you go.

Five years ago, I had a co-worker named Jessica. We weren’t close so I didn’t hear her complain, but she obviously had her share of burdens. She was quiet and never shared much about herself with me. I knew she was a single mom; she had a couple of teenage kids; she probably struggled with money like a lot of us do. Like me, she was unhappy with her job, but she was grateful to have it so she kept on working, despite the drama and the contention and the fact that she obviously would’ve rather been just about anywhere else.

One day, Jessica didn’t show up for work. The office was buzzing, as an office does when there’s some drama afoot, with theories of what crisis had happened to her that day. We later learned that her young son had found her unresponsive in bed; she never regained consciousness. She was probably 10 years younger than me, and all I could think about was how sad she was and I didn’t want to be that way. I realized how short and precious our time is here. And we never know how suddenly it can be all over.

Rather than end up in a similar situation, I left the job that was stressing me out and creating all sorts of negative drama in my life. It wasn’t an easy decision, even though I knew it was the right one, because it was downright scary to be leaving the security of a decent-paying job with benefits. It was also something that had almost become my identity. (I’ll never forget the time my husband introduced himself saying, “I’m married to the Enterprise.”) But the daily drama was too intense. I realized I had caught myself up in it and was making too many personal sacrifices just to stay on that enticing stage.

Throughout my life, I’ve tended to be a chronic volunteer. My husband claims I don’t have the word “no” in my vocabulary.  I get passionately dedicated to a cause and I just can’t stop saying “yes,” even when that cause starts to incite more drama than I need at any given moment. And so it is at this point in my life, that I realize I need to separate myself from some of the commotion in my life and focus myself back on my faith, family, and friends.

It seems that there are people who seem to feel better if they can create drama and discontent around them. In fostering that drama, they can eventually destroy an ideology and even, sometimes, the organization that was built around that philosophy.

It’s that pointless-drama thing, and yet it’s hard for the people who feel a commitment to certain principles or causes to simply let go. Sometimes you want to stick around to take a stand or make it right or fight the injustice, but you can’t spend your life butting heads. That's one thing I've definitely learned over the years.

A dear friend who taught me much about faith passed away this summer. I still miss her every day. And I especially miss being able to run across the street to ask her to share her priceless wisdom when I’m facing some kind of an issue. However, I know very well what she would say about the drama I’m in right now—get away. Fast.

I talked in my last column about making some resolutions at this time of year. So I’m drawing my line in the sand. It’s time to remember that two-letter word. Rather than get sucked into further drama, I will walk away. I’ll surround myself instead with those people who make me smile—and laugh.

And next time I see this happening, I hope it takes me even less time to listen to that inner guidance and say “no.”

Can you please some of the people ...

You may be surprised to learn that once upon a time I was a sensitive person who really wanted to please everyone. Yup ... me!

I tried to be A Nice Person; I figured that way everyone would like me. I could never figure out why it never made me Homecoming Queen. It rarely got me any new friends. And it didn’t make me the World’s Best Mom, either. That was before I was old enough to know better.

About 10 or 15 years ago, I grew up. I think it was at about the time I got more involved in the newspaper. Maybe it was when my kids were teenagers. Or both. Whatever … it was then that I realized that no matter what you do, or how good your intentions are, not everyone will appreciate it.

To paraphrase P.T. Barnum (or Abraham Lincoln, depending on whom you ask), “You can please some of the people all of the time, and all of the people some of the time, but you can never please all of the people all of the time.” Since no one seems to agree upon who first said it this way, I’ve decided to credit it to myself. And if you don’t like that … oh, well.

In my foray into the world of journalism, I quickly learned the truth of this proverb. Some people liked me because they liked the newspaper. Other people didn’t like me because they didn’t like the newspaper’s owner. When the ownership changed, people who didn’t like me before suddenly thought I was great; while those who had liked me before were suspicious of my changing alliances. See? I couldn’t make anyone totally happy.

As I tried desperately to do everything right and keep everyone contented, I found out I was still making some people mad. Who knew?  Finally, I understood that people who knew me would decide for themselves. And those who didn’t know me could make up their own minds too. That’s when I figured out that the only person I really had to make happy was … me.

Time went on and I once again changed allegiances. I found myself in a new place where I could make both friends and enemies: Manchester Village Council.

For the first several months of my term as a council trustee, I didn’t mind asking “stupid” questions.  I was the new kid on the block, and I’d been thrown into the lion’s den due to the resignation of a former council member. I did ask my share of dumb questions (and as much as some people will tell you that there is no such thing, I can assure you that there are indeed “dumb questions.”) Now, in my third year on council, I am starting to feel like I know my way around, at least a little bit. I’m also starting to speak my mind … and maybe I do that a little too often.

As I said, I’ve found that I’ll never please everyone, so I might as well say what I’m thinking … whether or not it gets me in trouble. Look: I’m not a Manchester Girl. I wasn’t born here. I don’t have generations of relatives who live here. But the reason I wanted to be on council was because I really care about what happens in the community that I adopted as “home” almost 40 years ago.

Sometimes, I wonder what I signed up for. I’ve certainly heard plenty of people’s opinions on things that are on the village docket … as well as things that are only rumored to be on the docket. Either way, I’m actually happy to hear the opinions of village residents that I was elected to represent.  I decided early on that even if I was the only person who voted a certain way, and even if it didn’t really make a difference, I was going to stick to my guns. One time over the past three years I didn’t vote my conscience and I still regret it. I won’t do that again; I promise. But I have made some motions and/or voted with the majority on several occasions that haven’t been entirely popular. And, in response to that, I will only say this: Village Council is not a popularity contest.

I don’t vote a certain way because I like people. Or because I don’t. I will, however, always try to vote according to what seems to be best for the entire community, whether or not it seems best for you, or even for me. And whether or not it is the most popular opinion in town. And nothing other than my own conscience is going to influence how I vote.

This is not a campaign speech. I’m not up for re-election this fall (although some of my fellow council members will be). You’ve got a couple more years to deal with me—and to hold me accountable for what I’ve written in this article.

I won’t always agree with you, and I don’t imagine that you’ll always agree with me. But I hope we can still see each other on Main Street, or Adrian Street, or City Road … and find our common ground somewhere in the middle.