Thank you, silence

Alanis Morrissette wrote a song that I loved at the end of high school and the beginning of college.  It was called Thank You.  Below are the final lyrics with chorus of that song:


The moment I let go of it was
The moment I got more than I could handle
The moment I jumped off of it was
The moment I touched down

How bout no longer being masochistic
How bout remembering your divinity
How bout unabashedly bawling your eyes out
How bout not equating death with stopping

Thank you India
Thank you providence
Thank you disillusionment
Thank you nothingness
Thank you clarity
Thank you thank you silence



This song has meant a few different things to me over the years.  One of the things it has helped me understand is that when everything goes bonkers-crazy, I can just slow down, take a breath and enjoy silence.  Also, none of life's little gifts should go un-thanked.  In my last entry I wanted to thank each of the happy influences in my life, and I asked for silence as my birthday wish.

I got that clarity and that silence and I say thanks, again.  I am going to spend this week getting back to all the people who left me messages in one way or another to wish me a happy birthday, because heck, I'll have more time to be appreciative of your kindness this way!  One thing I heard in the silence was "I love you" and I heard it over and over, from many different voices and very clearly from the beautiful almond eyes that were glancing my way.

I love you, too.

It's my birthday and I'll go gray if I want to!

This Sunday, December 12, will mark the 27th anniversary of my parents being brave enough to give me breath on this delicate planet. For all the "I put you in this world, I can take you out" (joke) threats I heard over the years, I still feel indebted to their bravery and willingness to risk it all.  I cannot imagine yet what concern and trepidation they must have felt taking on a third child.

I have always loved birthdays and often made a HUGE deal out of mine.  I used to feel as though I was competing with baby Jesus, then college finals, and now semester/work break at my school for a little recognition in mid-December.  A few years ago, I really began to realize that I was not the one who deserved praise, because I hadn't done anything extraordinary--my parents had.  Of course, I haven't given up selfishness in its entirety.  My friends think that as the numbers start approaching 3_, birthdays become less important, or fun, or worse, that in some way they are fearsome or shameful.  Fact is, I know that one day I will be a mom like many of my family members, and instead of celebrating me along with all other moms out there in May, I still want a day to call my own.  I want to be a priority to my family and I want something, no matter how small to signify a stopping point in our otherwise incredibly busy lives for my closest loved ones to say: JaNelle, we love you and you are special.  Still selfish, I know.


I am pushing 30 now and feel as though I am almost ready for it.  I want to keep growing as an individual and finding new ways to use my God-given talents to make my world a better place.  In the same regard, I would like to find new ways to celebrate my journey.  I do not want my facebook wall laden with trite birthday wishes, although I know it will be.  I want to spend time with the people closest to me and let them know that they are my inspiration to grow and that their positive influence on my life is vital.  I want my birthday to be about giving back.  For this year, that party would be small: just me and my man.  Patrick and I are on the cusp of some major life changes--probably before my birthday 12/12/12, we will make our pilgrimage back to the state of Texas and hopefully begin a family of our own. 

This weekend we are going to San Diego, just us.  We are exploring a city that neither of us knows and doing whatever we want, whenever we want, based on a skeleton route that I put together on a gMap.  When he asked me what I wanted to do for my birthday thoughts of camping came up form both ends.  I told him that it didn't matter *where* I was just that we were together.  The only thing that would be more like having my own family getaway would be if Lex was with us, but sending her to Rolando Camp will be easier than trying to sneak her into every place we go.  I also told him that what I wanted most of all was for both of us to be out of cell phone and internet signal for most of the trip.  I know I can be an attention hog, and maybe this is too much to ask of anyone in 2010 because we are all too connected and leashed to our personal communication devices, but this is truly my birthday wish.

If you get to this post before we leave, please leave all the comments and messages here and on facebook that you like, but understand if I do not process them all until Monday.  I want to breathe for my birthday.  I want to love and be loved.  I want to understand and be understood.  I want to walk into this 27th year with a clear mind and an open heart.  I will accept the increasing number of gray hairs on my scalp and I will accept my eventual departure from this place--the one on the West Coast and the Ultimate one.

My final thoughts that I would like to share, of (fairly) sound 26 year-old mind and body, are to honor those around me as well as those who have gone so far away...


Thank you Patrick and Lexi for warming my heart and home and all-in-all, putting up with me. 
Thank you Westridge for always provide me a place to grow and explore along with the rest of you. 
Thank you friends near and far for always hearing me out, even when you may have disagreed.
Thank you Mom, for always believing, especially in 1983. 
Thank you Garry for taking care of Mom and keeping the laughs up at Wilderness. 
Thank you Weatherfords for caring for each other when I cannot be present.
Thank you Oggs for always have a smile on your face and love in your hearts.
Thank you Texas for always being there--reminding me of my heritage and my beginnings. 
Thank you David and all the other soldiers for keeping us safe and proud.
Thank you Granddad for making heaven an even better place.
Thank you Uncle Don and Uncle John for welcoming him.

Thanks to everyone who has helped me become the strong and happy person that I am!

She ain't no Giotto

In preparation to sew some over-sized throw pillows for my couch, I thought I would do a practice run.

I grabbed some cheap fabric at JoAnn's, threaded up the machine and set out to work. I grabbed the largest clean flat item I could find to cut on--a large cardboard box--then carefully 'measured' the fabric to find equal sized, square fourths. Easy math: pull one corner of the fabric to the opposite corner, repeat. Cut along long-edge of remaining triangle. Unfold. Fold in half, then in half again. Okay, good JaNelle. Now I am looking at a four layer folded square of fabric about 2'x2'. Then the hard part: I wanted a circle pillow!

I thought about how to make a circle, like what patterns could I find around the house...a trashcan! no. A large platter? no, nothing big enough. YES! The wok! NO!!! It has a handle that makes it not work. Que sera..we do this in theatre all the time with a screw and a piece of string. After shooing the dog away (many times) I came up with a crude compass, and started circling from the center-ish out, leaving what looked like a 5 year old trying to make her first crayola dixie cup outline. I looked at the corner I like the best, cut the arch, then folded that up to the top to make a semi-circle. NOT! Then I folded all of it into 1/4 pie shapes and cut through 8 layers of edges, revealing what looks more like a football than anything else. Note to readers: no my mother did NOT teach me to measure, cut, sew or otherwise in this terrible way. So short of darts it really bunched together pretty nasty. The edges are wonky, it's just all over pretty bad. Then I stuffed it (lexi=heaven) and had to sew it shut, by hand :-/

All in all, I am very glad I decided to practice, because BOY DID I NEED IT! And even though my pillow looks like that sad football-head shaped kid from my childhood afternoon cartoons, I made it. And I have decided to watch a few more eHow tips on how to sew the pillow shut. I think I can handle this.

Carpe Pillow!

Looking up, even on a Monday

I get *so* frustrated sometimes, and take a lot of it out on my keyboard. Literally. If you could hear my type out that last blog, you would think I was launching a final-stage attack on a desktop version of NES classic, 1942.

But today, smashing the keys though I am, I write with resolve. Surprisingly enough, even to myself, this resolve comes at a time of utter uncertainty. My job is in a non-profit private education world that is nationally hitting a 'breaking point' which discontinues the comforting concepts of longevity and growth that welcomed me four years ago. It is not that I am without fear or concern, but I am very satisfied with who I am, where I am and that I will be okay no matter what.

I have my family to thank most of all. They have given me a sense of self-worth that is sometimes even a little too strong. I have a comfort zone that extends in all directions around the country and the globe. I particularly, have the strongest version of family in the closest proximity to my adult life EVER. After I adopted my adorable little dog a couple of summers ago, I knew she would be mine forever, and that I would not let anyone tear her away from me. And although Patrick has not tried to rip her from my arms, he most certainly does have a stronghold on her heartstrings. And that brings me to my numero uno--Patricio.

I never could have imagined the depth of the relationship that comes from dating your best friend, and while it can be intimidating at times--so much history, so much at stake--it can also be incredibly rewarding. We have a strong bond that has already endured some trying situations, but proves strong and flexible, and able to rebound quickly and lovingly. Maybe one day this blog will be about something else, but for now my eager and young love with an old a dear friend overwhelms my heart and mind. Also, the longing I have for the comfort and smiles of what I left in Texas long ago is ever-present in my writing. I do not wish to discount the friends here who have become my family, but when I think about what I want for the long haul, I think of something more like Texas (not BRYAN!!) than Los Angeles.

This is going to come as a rude awakening to my mom, who I have been scheming with for a couple of years about coming to live on the west coast with me. Well, not with me...yet. I have not decided when or how, but my juju beans call me to the homeland. I don't know how it will all pan out, but this has been my happy thought. One day, I will be able to live somewhere that makes me proud to be a member of my community; I will be able to afford the life I like while having time for my family; I will have a family of my own; Lex will have a yard; and Mom, wherever she is, will be closer than she has been in so many years.

I love you all, thank you for making me strong...as if you had a choice! ;-)

the cycle of my life

I haven't blogged lately, and it's not because I haven't needed to, it's good old fashioned laziness--the same kind I got in trouble for when my room wasn't clean growing up; the same kind that keeps us all on couches and not out playing ball; the kind that makes our productivity ebb and flow inconsistently through the years--the exact kind I hate. And certainly, this entry includes some self-loathing.

I have a breadth of stories to share this week, from a lovely Thanksgiving, two successful birthday parties, a whirlwind of fun spent in Texas over the holidays, and a happy new year. But I can't share them all--come on, I am wasting payroll time as it is! See above for reasoning ;-)

What I want to share is the trend I have noticed in my penning. Perhaps too much info for some of my readers, but a fact of life, being a chick is tough on me. Once every 4 weeks, my life turns upside-down. I get aches, nausea, run a fever, wince in pain, and ultimately run a gamut of discomfort for a week before I start to feel like anything more than a skeleton with a chasm where my spirit belongs. In short, it stinks. And when I start feeling these depressed and self-conscious tendencies, I write. It is uncanny when I look at the trends in my blog entries and I can tell I wrote my way through some serious PMS. And I'm sorry to burden you with the tough feelings, but bottling them up has never been a cure for me. Trust that I have a real journal, with paper pages and secrets I would never share here, because they make even less sense.

Today is not unlike those days in my past where I needed to plow my way through the icky feelings and try to find comfort in the many parts of my life I have to be thankful for. And I am even good at rattling them off--great job(s), true friends, a loving boyfriend, a dog that loves me more than anything, and a family that cannot be beat. Even now, when I write them, sitting in my office chair, my eyes fill up with tears. These tears are inexplicable and UNFAIR, dammit. And now, as those tears are rolling down my face, I feel a moment of release only to be followed by a rush of frustration. Is this what all women go through? A I part of the gender that is sole benefactor of some grand biological prank?

Maybe some of my outstanding family members could lend a hand in helping me understand. Maybe it is that I am now over a quarter century old and have no house to toil over, no husband to fight with, no kids to post pictures of on facebook. You laugh, and you should, because I am sharing my honest opinion about the dualistic reality of these responsibilities. However, the metaphoric biological clock is real, not that it is controlled by nature so much as it ticks according to your environment. I'm sure if I were still in Bryan I would have considered these feelings years ago--there I am an ancient old maid. I've always wanted freedom and independence, and this is where that attitude has ended me up. I have no regrets. I have not squandered (too much of) my time when it comes to my career, but when it comes to my personal life, I have an overwhelming unease. I have definitely made mistakes, some out of selfishness, some out of loneliness, laziness or boredom. And at times, the baggage of that past is a hefty cross to bear.

The mention of pictures on facebook is something I have put a bit of thought into as well lately. For instance, I have a friend who *just* had an adorable, perfect little boy. She posted lovely pictures of him just hours old with his dad. I know good and well that the two of them were not trying to get pregnant, and the sickly sweet things she has to publicize about him are not the whole story. So now we have a digital medium, whereas before moms bragged about kids in person, but a mother's account is never the raw reality of the facts. Nor is that the case of the newlyweds, or new home owners. We share as much as we are willing to up to the point that it makes us look bad. This form of self-preservation is something that I guess I have to some extent, but in the end, feel is detrimental to my own growth. I have to admit when I have made a mistake, I often ask for help, and I tell stories at my own expense as much as I do in self-flattery...I think. See above.

Problem is that when I share the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, it is often taken more seriously than need be. Many times, like now, it is a fleeting self-judgement that will pass in a few days. 'I am possibly too depressed too often for my circumstances, I think I could use a therapist, I hope I can achieve a fraction of my purpose, I feel like I am going nowhere' are all thoughts that I might share today and feel the opposite about tomorrow. For instance, I love kids, but I don't want one yet, I love Patrick, but we are not rushing to the altar, I want a home, but I'm not sure what city or state that would be in. And while thinking about this doesn't get me very far, what progress comes from doing nothing?

I'm not sure if you will get anything out of reading this, and that's not really the point. I got what I needed--frustrations off my chest--and maybe a peek at the vulnerable, flawed JaNelle will help you better understand me as your cousin, daughter, or friend. Believe in the truths I have recognized and shared as my own, but take little stock in the uncertainties and frustrations that will undoubtedly pass. I give this to the e-pages of my life to add to the inventory of occurrences that help me grow, and with luck one day understand my role in the larger community.

I'm sorry my blog isn't sprinkled with fairy tales of how perfect my world is, but like the reality of smog in lovely Southern California, I know it just ain't all smiles and sunshine, even if you can take a picture of a rare clear sky and post it online.

Now I will proceed to have a major mood swing in 5, 4, 3, 2.....