Still Lexie the Book

I have been mostly non existent here since I seriously started to write my book. And I mean "seriously." It's been in the back of my mind (what's left of it,)and I had the accident part written; sustaining my TBI. But it wasn't until I met an old high school classmates who happens to be an editor and has published a book herself. Kelly and I were not friends in high school but because she was a cheerleader and I had a very close friend on the other group of screechers, I knew who she was.  We met up at a small quasi reunion of people we had graduated with and she started by telling me I had a book somewhere in my blog posts.  That's all it took for me to grab my laptop and type, everyday for lots of days, the story of my life.  Because she said your readers have to know you. Now we're meeting to go over the next step in this process.  To tell you the truth, I don't even know what all I wrote.  I know some of it will find its way into the round file, some of it will be rewritten and I hope that some of it will be left alone.  Kelly said it was my story but her guidance has been indispensable.  And along the way we became great friends.  I think it might have to do with the fact that she is very, very kind, and also because it's a pretty great story. I am a TBI somebody who has survived after my the fall from reality. And I learned so much about myself I suggest everyone have a go at it.  There are a bazillion good stories people should hear and I don't think mine is that special, but it might give others hope. To those who know and love me know I can turn something simple into a long winded tale, I give you the whole story.

Note to Self

An old friend from high school has published a book. It is a compelling story, very well told by Kelly Simmons. "The Wives of Billie's Mountain," is a true story based on her grandmother's memories, and is a must read for everyone I know! This fabulous friend, and brilliant writer, offered to read the pages I have written about my own memories.  After reading my blog posts she told me there was a book there. I quickly replied, "But I kind of have a book written, or started anyway." And right then and there, she told me she'd read it for me!

The book was written when I was between jobs, and finally had some time to myself. My kids were grown and on their own, and I was considering a move back to Kalispell. I thought to myself, "If I don't do it now, it may never happen." So I sat down with my laptop and hammered out my story, just as I remember it. I even resourced the old "accident" file I had never read. It moved with me from Southern California to Eugene, then to Lynden, Washington, and finally to Boise, Idaho where a good portion of my story was written.

The file included the actual accident report from 1991, when I sustained my Traumatic Brain Injury (TBI.) I say "mine" because all TBIs are different, and there came a time when I had to accept the aftereffects, and do my best with its implications. From Boise, the file, the book and I moved home to Montana, and I continued to work on it (add things, continue, or just polish what I've written,) on and off, for several years. Then, I married again, applied for disability and quit working my daily job. I kept coaching, but in my spare time I began to blog.

Blogging works well for me because I love to write, proof read, edit, and finish a piece, all in a short time period. (That probably has to do with my short term memory difficulties.) I even posted some chapters of my book, when plagued with those What-should-I-write-abouts.

You see my problem? I have a very hard time telling a story without including all the little quirky tidbits, and then I lose track of what I was saying.

Kelly read my story, a couple of times even, and sent it back with suggestions and comments. It was like turning in a paper you put a lot of effort into, and getting an A, along with those real nice comments that make you feel extra special. But, the teacher was Kelly. Not just Kelly-my-friend-from-high school, she was Kelly-the-published-author!

Yes, I have started using her suggestions and comments to resurrect my book, but it comes at a price. I am not able to blog as much.

The Raybans Remain

This is the tale of my sunglasses; a pair of ancient Ray Ban Wayfarer's that I think may be the reincarnation of someone important to me because I can't seem to lose them; it's as if they need me as much as I need them.

My ex-husband gave them to me maybe 2 decades ago. I know I wore them back in the late 80s, when we lived in Spokane. I have a picture of myself sporting my Rayban's in the park across the street from our house on the South Hill.  But, I guess when they went out of style, I put them away in my jewelry box.

They sat in that jewelry box for a long time, and moved with us all over the Northwest. It was a very cool holder-of-things from Ikea, bought in the early '80s when we lived in Southern California. My Rayban glasses sat for years, along with some rarely worn, beautiful jewelry, a few Olympic pins, and the varnished penis bone of a bear, gifted to me by my brother in Alaska.

Back in 1991, after my head injury, my ex found them and had a prescription put in them for a trip to the Arizona sunshine. My eyesight was fine before my brain injury, but the hard knock my head took damaged my brain stem, and it controls sight. Two surgeries later, the double vision I suffer from remains, but my pupils are lined up better. I say better, because my left eye ball still has a tendency to wander even though I wore a prescription that worked to bring the two images I see together. But, after several years they said the images were just too far apart, and gave up. They had that old prescription, so back to my jewelry they went, tucked in safe, beside the penis bone. They were just too cool to get rid of.

When I started coaching in Boise, I uncovered them again and wore them a lot. But, one of the coaches I worked with told me he could see my eyes, as I rolled them at his comments. You'd think I would have known this, before being told, wouldn't you? Well, I didn't, and I'd rather people not be able to see that, so they were sent back to the box.

Then, when I came to Kalispell and started coaching, I resurrected them. I noticed my fashion savvy daughter wearing ginormous sunglasses, so I assumed they were back in style. My new husband even had an eye doc verify it was OK for me to wear them with that very, very old prescription. It was.

So now they are always with me, and I've tried real hard to misplace, or break them. My co-coach Marie found them in the street at KMS, they fall off my shirt collar into traffic while riding my bike, I leave them on the bar at Moose's, on the counter in Target, and they sometimes go missing for days. But, I always find them, in the end.

I even have plans to have dark lenses, with my current prescription, put in. I'm thinking my Rayban's should last another 20 years, at least.

He's a Better Fit

I just deleted a long post about a very recent major disappointment. I'll just break it down:

1. Flathead High long jump coach retires
2. I apply for position
3. The other applicant wins the job - He's a better fit
4. He is a teacher and previously a head coach

In summary:  

     Teacher/Head Coach BEATS Event Record Holder/Middle School coach

I will continue to be happy at KMS!!!

Breathe In, Breath Out

I've started meditating, in a group, at the Kalispell Zen Center. I like it, but sometimes it's difficult to ignore the laughing in my head. In one session, we were to focus on our bodies, our whole bodies, as we were breathing, in and out.  Then, the speaker began to talk about specific parts. OK, I can do that, I thought, so I did.

The body as a temple, that sort of thing, was where she was heading. I thought about all the really cool stuff my temple has done for me. It ran faster, and jumped farther than I ever thought possible, even though, I was pumping it full of crud each night.  No, I wasn't doing steroids, I was eating. Every night, after dinner, I visited the campus Dairy Queen for a grilled cheese and banana milk shake. My coach asked me to gain weight, and I thought that might work. Then, it survived my horrendous crash in 1991, and the countless number of falls since. This shrine continues on with only minimal help from me. Sure, I exercise some. I ride my 3 wheel recumbent bike, I jump and jiggle with the Silver Sneakers group in the basement of our home town diner Sykes. I eat a fairly decent diet thanks to Dan, my husband, who does the cooking; basic down home grub. My temple keeps plugging along.

Back to meditation. It was a lot like that trick you do to fall asleep; you relax every part of yourself, one section at a time starting with your toes.  Only, we started at the top of body and as we breathed in, we were to become aware of each part, not relax it. For example, our hair, then face, ears etc. But then, we were to smile at that part, as recognition, I guess. When she got to our liver, she didn't ask us to smile, and I was glad because I was still recovering from smiling at my gut (digestive tract!)  I struggled to remain still, and in the moment as I anticipated which areas of the body she would recognize. I envisioned Smiling at my vagina.

I certainly don't mean to poke fun at the practice of meditation, or those involved with the group, because I am sincerely enjoying it, and it's something I need at this point in my life.  I am not one to go out in the evening, but I'm looking forward to Thursday evenings in the old KM.

The Zen Center is in the KM building downtown. KM stands for Kalispell Mercantile, and it is where we did a lot of shopping as a child. This cool old building was a grand department store. And, it sure was elegant! I compare it to places we saw only saw TV, like Macy's in New York, where shoppers stood at counters, or spoke directly to well dressed clerks about the location of goods, or sizing (does said brand run big or small?) and then went up a grand sweeping staircase to the diner for lunch. The KM was cool enough to compare to that!

So I get to sit in this quiet, but inviting, relaxation space in a cool, vintage building, with a group of calm, cerebral (or so they seem) people, and rest my mind. At the end of an hour I feel like my brain has had a good, long nap.  For now, I can't imagine not doing it.