Saying Goodbye to an Exceptional Woman

If you've watched the news or listened to the radio at all in the last two days, you may be aware that two vibrant lives were taken from our community, as well as the ripping apart of an entire family.

I knew Rebecca. I believe I can say we were friends of a sort, because Rebecca was a friend to everyone. I work across the hall from her business, The Reclothery, whose sign reads, "An exceptional consignment store". What really made it exceptional was Rebecca.

It became so blatantly clear today that she was the life's breath of our building.

The first time I met Rebecca was when we started doing our visits at Partners for Family and Children. She had a colorful past and was not ashamed to share her story with me. She taught me that we are not our past. That hard work, love, faith, and family can enable you to pull yourself up by your bootstraps and hold your head high.

She was so kind to Kelly, who loved playing in her store.

Every morning she'd bound across the hall with some story, her hands flying as she made us all laugh. Her nine year old son, who was also murdered, was just like her. Telling stories with so much excitement and animation you couldn't help but smile.

She helped me find jobs. She gave me suits for interviews, clothes once I was hired, a winter coat one year I couldn't afford one. She knew that none of us could pull ourselves up without a little help.

I was not the only one she did these things for.

This is not about me, this is about Rebecca, and her family.

The news is talking about her murderer. Letting us know he was a graduate in engineering. I want to say that I don't give a fuck. Nobody should. He was a murderer and a coward. He took her life, the life of her nine year old son who was a twin, and tried to take the life of her seventeen year old son, then ran home and took his own life. That's all I need to know to understand that I am glad he is dead. His "mental illness" would have gotten him off in fifteen years or so. The damage he did will last forever.

What the media should be talking about, and they did do some interviews today that I hope they use, is what she meant to the women and children of our community. She was an advocate for both. She never judged. She was compassionate. She was the strongest woman I have ever met. She worked so hard to reunite her family, worked hard to own her own business, and she was taken when she had finally worked it all out.

It's senseless, it's sickening. It's so horribly sad.

I guess there are bloggers out there talking about her past. This is what I have to say to you all...don't write about what you don't know. Shut your fucking mouths, still your damn fingers...she was truly wonderful and that's all you need to write about.

The United Health Services Credit Union has set up a fund for her two surviving boys, one of which has special needs. One of her friends let us know today that she will post a link about the fund on The Reclothery's facebook page. If you can, please help her family that has survived this ordeal. She did the same for women and children all over Spokane.

Rebecca, it was truly an honor to know you, and the hole that is left behind from your murder will never be filled. I know that you are up there, with your one little one, watching over the ones that are left, and I hope that you know they will be well taken care of. Not as well as you could have done, because you were a tremendous mother, daughter...friend.

Goodbye.

It's like a strip tease in blog form

So, today I did the *gasp* responsible thing and asked my new boss about the memorial tattoo I'm getting for my dad. I have never had a job where this was an issue. And, in all honesty, it should never be an issue. Whether or not my tattoos are visible does not determine how well I can do my job.

But, I LOVE MY JOB and I do not want to lose it. Which is why today I asked if it would bother her if it were on my right upper arm. Turns out, it would. So, I need to find a new place to put it, which is where you come in, loyal readers.

Picture me naked.

Okay, I have my shamrocks on my upper left arm, it's about a quarter sleeve and in color. I have a red star and two smaller stars on my right belly area. Nope, I won't show you, it's the only tattoo I have that I am a bit ashamed of. On my back, both tattoos are on my shoulders. The right is a silhouette of a manta ray, the left is also a silhouette of an apatosaurus .

You can stop picturing me naked now.

The tattoo I'm getting is large. It would have probably been a half sleeve had I been able to put it on my arm. It is a portrait of my dad and I when I was a baby, it will be in color because I love the grainy seventies feel of the picture. There will be a blue feather to represent "Illusions" by Richard Bach, or better said to represent that just like that book, my dad taught me that if I believe it I can do anything. There's also a quote, "What the caterpillar calls the end of the world, the Master calls a butterfly". The artistic part and how things will flow will be up to the artist and where I put it.

Picture me naked again.

I can put the tattoo in a few places. One is on my right or left thigh. The upsides are that it is a large area, it will always be hidden at any job I will ever have but I can see it without a mirror. The downsides are that in order for me to show it to anyone I have to drop my pants, and it's going to hurt like a bitch due to the nerve damage in my legs. Another place is my left side/ribcage. Pros; well hidden, will look H.O.T., large area. Cons; OW (it's my ribcage for fuck's sake), in order to show it to others I'll have to pull up my shirt and show my belly. The last options are on my back. Now, since I have some already, I don't know where exactly, which is why I had you picture me naked. I'm afraid if I go too low it will look like a tramp stamp, and if I go too high it will not fit in with the silhouettes. It won't hurt a bit, well maybe a bit, but I'll need a couple of mirrors to see it myself.

So, I want to know what you all think. I'm not going to not get this tattoo. I've wanted it for years and years, and I'll finally have the money to do it right, so it's a done deal, just need a little help with the logistics.

Give me your two cents worth so you can stop picturing me naked.

Later skaters.

Screw IMAGE, let's be healthy!

On the 5th of every month, bloggers from around the world are open to write about rights and issues concerning women. First started by Shine and Marie, we’re hoping to bring a variety of women’s issues to the forefront to make people aware of what’s going on. For the month of July, we’ve chosen to write about Body Image. Please join us in telling us your stories, thoughts, and ideas on a monthly basis. To read previous installments, click here.


I have an eating disorder. Now, don't call A&E and schedule an intervention or anything. I am in recovery. I have been now for three years this August.

The first time I made myself sick to lose weight I was in junior high. I can't say why, I really don't know. I don't remember junior high being that bad, not nearly as bad as high school. I just remember that I learned that if I didn't give myself my shots, I could lose a lot of weight very quickly. On top of my body basically eating itself from the inside out, my very high blood sugars made me either too sick to eat or throw up everything I did eat.

I had always been a very chubby little girl, and so me dropping to a size zero was noticeable to those around me. I remember my health teacher having his own intervention, and I denied everything. Said I was losing my baby fat. Tried to convince him I was normal. That Christmas, I received a great pair of jeans from my mom, and I wore them to our family Christmas dinner at my cousin's house. Everyone was talking about how skinny I was, how I looked sick, and was there something wrong with me. I ran from the house crying, and realized two things; I was going to get caught and no matter what I did others were going to think I was ugly.

Now, I know that second thing is not entirely true, but it was enough for me to stop for a while. Nobody likes throwing up, I was always tired, and it was nice to feel "good" for a while.

The second time was when I was twenty years old. I was down to a size four and saving a lot of money on insulin. I was dating Kelly's sperm donor and he used to make fun of me. He'd slap my ass and say, "you don't even eat cottage cheese". Or he'd rub my nonexistent stomach and say, "I didn't think you drank beer". It was humiliating, and I let him do it because I did it to myself whenever I looked in the mirror. I actually thought I was lucky to have someone in my life who wasn't afraid to be honest about the way I looked. Then I got pregnant with my little man, and I no longer had a choice. He needed me to be healthy, so I was. When I was pregnant, I was able to look at myself in the mirror and see beauty for the first time ever.

The last time (and I really do mean that) was four years ago. For three years I had the Tribe telling me how ugly I was on the inside and no matter what I did I could never convince them otherwise. I was really depressed, and every day brought more and more hatred for myself. My marriage had fallen apart, I was making poor choices, and I thought, if I was beautiful on the outside, maybe they'd see the beauty within.

For over a year (the longest I ever abused my body that way) I didn't take my long acting insulin but once or twice a week. I took only one shot of short acting a day, at night, so I could sleep a few hours without having to throw up. I went to the ER at least four times for "uncontrollable" vomiting. I got down to a size two, I weighed about a hundred pounds. Still, when I looked in the mirror all I could see was ugly. Disgusting. Revolting. I was never satisfied. Everyone kept telling me how great I looked, asking me how I did it. So, I thought I was on the right track. If I just did it for a little while longer, others would finally be able to see the real me.

August 2007, I went to my family reunion at Rainbow Beach Resort. I had these horrible stomach pains and this hard lump in my abdomen. I asked my sister-in-law what she thought the lump was, and she said, "it's poop." I started thinking about my body, and what used to be normal compared to what was normal for that last year. I looked up bowel blockage online, and realized what I was doing to my body. I thought about all of the comments my family and friends had been making, wondering if I had cancer or some other illness. I was so ashamed for lying to them, to Jero, to myself for so long. All of the nights Jero spent at the ER with me, when it was all my fault. But I was scared. I was scared to stop getting those positive comments from my acquaintances. I was scared the Tribe would never see ME if I stopped. I was scared I'd get "fat" again.

I told Jero. I bit the bullet. I told him I had an eating disorder. I told him how I was doing it. I told him I needed help, I needed help being held accountable. He told me that he loved me and that if I didn't stop, he'd leave me. I told him I'd try.

I told my mom, who cried, and told me that she had known something was wrong.

They both told me the truth about how I looked. Sick. I had no muscle left anywhere. My legs were as big around as Jero's forearms. My skin was sallow, I had bags under my eyes, my teeth were rotting out from the acid.

I was devastated. But, I needed to be.

Three years now, well, almost, and I have NOT ONCE skipped a shot on purpose. I have NOT ONCE willingly thrown up. But I want to. I want to every damn day. I do not see myself as beautiful. I want so much to be like my best friends and KNOW that I am a beautiful real woman. I want to love my curves. I want to know inside myself that the things Jero says about me are true and not just coming from the man who loves me. Isn't that funny? All I wanted was someone to see me for who I am, and I finally have him and I don't BELIEVE what he says. I guess what I was searching for was for me to see who I really am.

The reality is that I AM proud of myself. When I broke my foot and was unable to walk for five months, I put on a lot of weight. People would say things like, "what about the Wii? That will get you moving. That will help you lose the weight." What I wanted to say back was that, even Wii bowling is hard to do on one foot. That I didn't want everyone else pointing out my weight gain, because I was well aware of it. I was waiting eagerly for the day when I could walk, swim, work. So, I pushed myself too soon. I re-injured my foot twice, which only added to my recovery time. BUT I DIDN'T MAKE MYSELF SICK, NOT ONCE!

I'm getting there. I can walk, I can swim, and I am back to work. I have changed the way we eat in our house. No more fast food (three months!) aside from three times when I've cheated. We eat yogurt instead of sweets (most of the time) we eat one helping only, I drink more water, I haven't had a regular soda in over a year. I am HEALTHY.

I can sometimes look in the mirror and see a pretty girl. I am at least able to look at myself from the neck up and see beauty. But, I know, deep down, that I have to stop focusing on the numbers. I have to stop worrying that I am a size twelve-fourteen. I have to stop thinking that I am 5'2" and weigh a hundred fifty pounds. I NEED to start focusing on how much better I feel.

I feel great! Well, not today because nine hours at Silverwood did a number on my foot, but as for my energy levels, my moods, my insides, I feel like a new woman. I know that I am a good person, and I am slowly getting to where I don't care that strangers and acquaintances don't see it. They see the surface. They see my "situation" without bothering to find out why I'm in it.

I am worth loving, and best of all, I'm starting to love myself.

For all of the girls and women out there who think that abusing your body is the only way to make your outsides match your insides, let me tell you something; those who can't see that it already does do not know you, and that includes yourself. Don't deny your body what it needs, and don't deny your psyche what it craves. If you want a piece of fudge, by golly, eat a damn piece of fudge, just don't eat the whole tray. If you want to have a burger while you're out with friends, have a burger. Denying those urges constantly will only lead to unhealthy decisions. Health is the key, not image.

And for fuck's sake, find out who you are and LOVE HER! The rest will eventually fall into place. And if you ever need someone to talk with, vent to, lean on, I am here for every one of you, there is no shame in banding together.

Later skaters!

Remember the D.A.R.E. guy?

I think it was the D.A.R.E. guy that taught me these things. The most important thing to know is that sometime around the fifth or sixth grade, an officer came to our school and talked to us about Safety First. I may not remember if he was the D.A.R.E. guy as well, I do know he wasn't the Smoky the Bear* guy, but I do remember what he taught us.

Apparently I am the only one.

Last Friday I was given the awesome task at work to go and get the ladies I work with some lunch. Normally, I am all for doing this. It means I get to see the sunshine, and I get to have a cigarette. Friday was different because it was Hoopfest weekend, and I work downtown (enter mutual nods of understanding here).

Now, I don't have anything against Hoopfest. I played in it when I was young, I've watched more games than can be counted, and I know it is awesome revenue for Spokane. I DO have an issue with all of the tourists who don't follow the laws of well...EVERYTHING!

I blamed the experience I am about to describe on such tourists, but after today I believe this stupid biatch was a Spokanite who needs to be sterilized.

I was being sent to Dick's for lunch, and I knew traffic would be horrific and I was nearly out of gas. So, I stopped at Divine's on third to fill up. Now, if you live in Spokane, you know that third is a one way street that runs east. While waiting for an opening to pull out, I look east for pedestrians, not a soul in site, then I'm looking west at oncoming traffic waiting for an opening. Three years later, one appears and I start to go. I hear, "UUUUGGGH, you stupid fucking cunt!" come from the east. I stop and look and here comes some lady on a bicycle. This is where the possible D.A.R.E. guy comes in.

This is what I was taught, compared to what this lady was doing:

RIDE RIGHT, WALK LEFT. Biatch was riding left.

YOU MUST FOLLOW ALL RULES OF A MOTOR VEHICLE. Biatch was going west on a one way going east. She was on the sidewalk. She was listening to her iPod with headphones.

WEAR A HELMET. She was not wearing a helmet...she was barely wearing clothes.

I stop well short of the intersection, she rides in front of me, and I couldn't help myself, I say, "I'm not the one breaking any laws you stupid bitch!" I know, I know, bad form. I should have kept my cool, but come one, she called me a cunt! That is a word you do not use for strangers, it is a very personal insult, and I did not appreciate this fat broad calling me the C word.

I think the blaming of Hoopfest happened at Dick's, because nobody knew how their system worked, and I was there for far too long.

Today, it happened again. Three kids (I'm gonna say punks, because they were being punky) so these punks come riding, on the sidewalk, on the left, with no helmets, and blow through a stop sign like it was a kazoo. I slam on my brakes, because I was the one without a stop sign, and they yell, "Watch where you're going, bitch!"

Sigh. Does the D.A.R.E. guy not do those speeches anymore? Are their parents hoping for a traumatic brain injury because they're tired of raising punks? Ugh, I'm so annoyed.

*Here's a little interesting factoid. Did you know it is against FEDERAL law to take the name of Smokey the Bear in vain??? I've yet to be given a ticket, but it is my lifelong goal.

Later skaters, and remember, that D.A.R.E. guy worked hard on those presentations, so let's show him some respect and follow bicycle safety laws.

Important Life Lessons

Tried to teach my son the skill of mockery yesterday. I know what you're thinking. You're thinking, Sara, that's a terrible thing to do. Why would you do that? You're an awful mother and you should not be allowed to teach your child anything. Sigh, you wouldn't be alone in feeling that way.

But, all inappropriate jokes aside, there really was an important lesson being taught. I guess yesterday my little man tried to throw his shoe at his other mother. She told him that he couldn't wear his black socks with his shorts, he got mad and threw his shoe. I was trying to talk to him, once again, about respect and treating people with kindness when a basketball player walked by. He was wearing red basketball shorts, a tank top, black sneakers and black socks. So, his Auntie and I mocked. "Look, bud, see how silly he looks with his black socks and his shorts," but my kiddo had tuned out, which he does when he's being lectured for bad behavior. So, you can all breath a sigh of relief that my lesson in mocking did not sink in. Hopefully the rest of the stuff did.

My best friend and I then got to talking about the kind of grown ups we want to be. How we want to be different then the kind of grown ups we grew up with. We want to be a good choice for the kids in our lives to talk to about anything, without being pushovers. We want to celebrate the differences in our children rather than trying to hide them or making them feel ashamed for not being like everyone else.

I was told by my mother and my assistant principal that if I'd only conform to what everyone wanted me to be that I wouldn't get beat up by six boys in our school parking lot. That I wouldn't have beer bottles thrown at me as I walked home from work, I wouldn't get phone calls at all hours calling me a lesbian, a freak, a weirdo. That same assistant principal would no longer give my tormentors passes to get me out of class and push me around the halls.

The point of this is, I never conformed. I refused. I held my head high and I defended my differences and those of my "weirdo" friends. It would have been easy to take that advice and just blend into the background of our small town. But what kind of advice is that really for a child? I didn't want to blend in, I didn't want to be ashamed of who I was on the inside by changing the way I looked on the outside.

The more I thought about it, the more I realized I don't care if my son wears black socks with shorts, all kids look a little silly at age nine, and even if they don't, he likes those black socks. He should be able to wear them. He should not throw shoes at his mother, or anybody else, but maybe we all should have been a little more open to the thought of him being perfectly capable of dressing himself at age nine.

I didn't have an adult like that in my formative years. I struggled with my identity because every one I trusted around me was telling me who I was was wrong. Even as an adult, I think twice before I dye my hair with a funky color, or get another tattoo. I think, should a thirty year old woman have pink in her hair? Why the hell not???

The color of my hair does not keep me from performing my job, the size and location of my tattoos does not make me a bad mother, employee, friend, family member. But still I struggle. Still I think, who could this piss off? I don't want my son to feel that way, ever. I want him to have confidence in who he believes he is at that time.

At least I don't have a daughter and I won't have to worry about leggings as pants. Thank God for that!

So, everyone, embrace the children in your life for their quirks. Let them shine! Unless, of course, they're not pants!

The First

Who knew it would be so difficult to just start a blog? I've been blogging about this or that for years now, but it seems that this is the site of choice for the bloggers (blogees?) I know.

It took me far too long to even think of a name. I was thinking strongly about calling it "Emotional Vampire". Those are a couple of words from a song I love, but even more important it is very much how I see myself. If you were to ask those who love me, they would disagree, they would say that is not how they see me. But it is how I feel about who I am, who pretty much everyone is at some time in their life. It's not a bad thing, it's a human thing. We all need, and it is mind boggling to me that so many of us try to hide that part of our humanity.

When I am sad, I need someone to understand. When I am angry, I need someone to rage with me. When I am happy, I need someone to laugh with. When I am telling a story, I need to be the center of attention. I am not ashamed of these things...and many more...because I do not feel isolated in feeling that way. I feel connected with the world, bonded by our universal similarities.

Now I am seriously doubting myself for not naming my blog with my gut. Meh, I figure what I name the blog won't keep me from writing what I want to..so what's it really matter?

Yeah, you know me, I'm far too "OCD" to REALLY think that way. It does matter, because I have to have a reason for why I do EVERYTHING.

I decided on "Tangled Skein" because I'm a nerd. And apparently because I had to add my screen name to the beginning of it, I am not the only nerd out there. Who knew?

"With a Tangled Skein" is the name of a book by Piers Anthony. He writes science fiction/fantasy novels that held my fancy during the most growth oriented years of my youth. It is part of a series that changed my life.

Twenty years and two days ago, I lost my dad to a heart attack. I was really lost for a long time, then I found a church that fed my need for family. But I was still lost, the real me was just floating around waiting patiently to be missed and finally found. When I read this series, it reminded me that questioning what you're told is far better than following blindly.

Though "With a Tangled Skein" is not my favorite book from the series, it's a phrase that I have always found intriguing. To me it represents every aspect of life. It is all connected. The simplest things can change everything. If I'd never joined MySpace, I would never have reconnected with my best friend, or my future husband. Sometimes it's big. If I'd never had that miscarriage, there would be no Kelly.

Our own personal skeins are a tangled HOT mess, even when we think we should take the garden shears to it.

So, that's the point of this blog, that EVERYTHING matters, and I will write about everything. More than likely you'll be thinking, "why would she write about something so trivial?" and my answer will always be, because it felt like more than that to me, and there is always a chance it will turn out to be a major thread in my tangled skein.