Question of the Week: Question #46

I’m a pretty simple gal, friends. By now, you’ve probably realized that it doesn’t take a lot to make me happy. And I’m pretty sure I’m going to approach dating the same way. Sometimes, there’s really nothing better than the simple things, is there? Have a question? I’d love to hear it, so feel free to email me (mellow1422 [at] aol) or ask me on Facebook or Twitter, friends! Today’s question is…


What’s your idea of the perfect first date?

I’m all for something simple – maybe a dinner in a quiet restaurant. I’m a big talker, so I want to have the opportunity to really get to know the other person. I wonder what a guy will think when he finds out that he’s the first guy I’ve ever gone out with. I’m pretty awkward sometimes, so I’m picturing myself saying something in the middle of the date like, “So this is my first time…” He’d probably assume I was talking about the restaurant and say, “Oh, isn’t the food great?” and then I’d have to spell it out that this this was my first date. Ever.
And, although I’m not particularly old-fashioned, but there are just some things a guy should do during the date, and one of those is at least offer to pay for dinner. Also, if a guy is texting during the date, I will be making a mental note. The same goes for if he is rude to the waiter. You can tell a lot about a person’s character by how he treats other people. And dessert. Any man who loves his desserts is a keeper in my book. xoxo

[Photos via We Heart It]

Question of the Week: Question #45

I’ve always had a love-hate relationship with Old Man Winter. On the one hand, there’s nothing like sitting in front of the fire on a cold December morning, hot chocolate in hand, and watching the snow fall outside your window. But battling those freezing temps? Well, that’s never really been my style. So, it’s no surprise that I’ve always daydreamed of bottling up the goodness of summer and carrying it with me throughout the entire year. Have a question? I’d love to hear it, so feel free to email me (mellow1422 [at] aol) or ask me on Facebook or Twitter, friends! Today’s question is…

Why is summer your favorite season? Why would you like it to be summer year-round?

Why is it that once we reach a certain age, some of the warm and sunny and beautiful summer days tend to lose some of their beauty in our adult eyes? And why can’t we carry that breezy, warm summer feeling with us into the cold, dark, dreary winter?

Well, I for one am not going to let that happen to me. This winter, I’m vowing to put summer in my pocket (metaphorically, of course…) and take it with me wherever I go. Like a trusty best friend. Like a good luck charm. Always there. Always faithful. Will you join me? Check out some of my favorite ideas:

Good Eats
I’m trying to eat a little healthier this summer – thanks, Jamie Oliver! My mom and I have been eating lots of yummy salads and tomatoes in the summer. Do you like salt on your tomatoes and cucumbers, or is it just me? We’ve also been enjoying juicy peaches and strawberries, too. Oh, and raspberries! Can you tell summer fruits and veggies are my favorites?

Good Games
When I was younger, we loved Clue, one of the only games that brought out my father’s competitive streak. Then a few summers ago, my mother and I started playing Yahtzee at least once a day. You should know the routine by now: We pour ourselves a tall glass of Diet Coke, and play three games in a row. It’s our favorite game. We recently added a new game to our repertoire: Bananagrams. It’s a spin-off of Scrabble but more fast-paced, which I love.

Good Waves
One of my favorite childhood memories is of my father dashing off to the local pool with me the second he got home from work in the hot summer months. He was always that parent, the one that always gave in to my “Just five more minutes” pleas. Every. Single. Time. There was always something about that weightless feeling in the pool that made me feel like I wasn’t disabled, if only for awhile. Sometimes, I just used to walk back and forth in the 3-feet end, waiting for that moment when my feet would meet the bottom of the pool. The hard concrete stung my feet sometimes, but just that motion of literally putting one foot in front of the other made me smile, as if I were actually walking. Sometimes I’d even do a little dance, too. I didn’t care if anyone was watching, either!
So, friends, what little treats will you be savoring this winter? xoxo

[Photos via We Heart It]

Question of the Week: Question #44

Since my cousin has been here, I’ve been thinking a lot about how I’ve always wondered what it would be like to have an older sister. I’ll be talking more about birth order next week, but I think it’s safe to say that my cousin has always been my unofficial big sister. Have a question? I’d love to hear it, so feel free to email me (mellow1422 [at] aol) or ask me on Facebook or Twitter, friends! Today’s question is…
 
Which cousin do you look up to and why?
I’m the older sister. With this auspicious title comes a heavy responsibility, maybe even a calling.
I’ve come to relish in my job as Sister Bear (who else but an older sister can warn of the dangers of sex, drugs and rock ‘n’ roll?), but it wasn’t always this easy. In fact, my pre-teen years were fueled by resentment over seven little words that seemed to escape my mother’s lips every hour, on the hour.
“Set a good example for your sister!”
What about me, I screamed in my head? Where was my example of all things proper, of life lessons culled from the ages?
Where was MY older sister?
My cousin, Mona, is four years older. By sheer default, that made her the cool older sister in my eyes. In the summers when we’d visit her sprawling Wisconsin home, I did my very best to be the Skipper to her Barbie. I wanted to like the same music she did (U2). I wanted to have the same hairstyle she did (beautiful wavy sandy blonde locks that hung neatly over her shoulders). I even wanted to imitate her sense of high fashion (the coolest jeans and jewelry this side of the Illinois-Wisconsin border).
A few years later, she and her family — my aunt, uncle and twin cousins — moved to Virginia. When we went to visit them over spring break, I was still in awe of her. One night, she even went out – alone – with her friends. I think she was going to a concert, but her final destination didn’t matter. She was 16, had her license and could go out for a night on the town. Now, she’s a responsible gal, so I’m sure her outing wasn’t very wild, but to this 12-year-old pip-squeak, I figured she’d be smack dab in the middle of the mosh pit by 8 p.m., at which time I’d no doubt be wearing my Rainbow Brite pajamas and my mother would be tucking me under the covers.
Even now, years later, Mona still razzles and dazzles, and I can’t help but revert back to that wide-eyed pre-teen at the thought of her glamorous life.
She works in my dream city (New York City), lives in the coolest apartment (near the heart of Manhattan) and has the personality traits I’ve worked years to master (confidence, friendliness, that certain ‘give ’em hell’ attitude that’s gotten her where she is today). I’m certain she even walks down Madison Avenue chatting on her iPhone.
And just like an older sister, she taught me the essentials of life. How to laugh. How to get the cheapest price for anything from a new laptop to a simple parking spot. How to put up the perfect Christmas tree.
In fact, she’s even the envy of 50-somethings’ eyes. At a wedding a few years ago in New York, my mom, aunt and I were walking into the church. In front of us, strutting down the sidewalk like a French model, those same blonde locks sparkling against the early-August sun, Mona paved the way for us. She clutched a black bag that of course matched perfectly with her flowing black dress and designer black shades – oh, and don’t forget those skinny black heels. Think “Sex and the City” without the constant talks of love and trysts.

“I want to be Mona,” whispered my mother.

Her words spoke to the masses. It was a lesson in all things hip. Chic. A secret glimpse into the future.

I’m a pretty shy girl, so I’ve never actually said any of this to Mona, but I was always watching. Studying. Analyzing. Sometimes older sisters come in not-so-traditional forms, but when you find them, they can help you find yourself, whether they even know it or not. Who knows, maybe even some of Mona’s lessons have seeped into the older sister I’ve become.

[Photos via Audrey Hepburn Complex]

Question of the Week: Question #43

I’ll be the first to admit that there are quite a few misconceptions about people with disabilities floating around out there. I suppose it comes with the territory. Maybe it’s the fact that I’m so strong-willed, but I always love an opportunity to squelch those evil misconceptions once and for all. Have a question? I’d love to hear it, so feel free to email me (mellow1422 [at] aol) or ask me on Facebook or Twitter, friends! Today’s question is…

What do you think is the biggest misconception about people with disabilities?

Oh, this is an easy one — almost too easy. There’s an evil little rumor going around that people with disabilities are homebound, unable to ever go outside and see the light of day. And even worse, if they do get out and about, they are dependent on other people. Dependent. I’ve always hated that word. In fact, it makes me cringe more and more as the years go by. Let me explain, friends…
 
As I’ve mentioned before, when my father died, it was as if the issues of my disability and independence became front-and-center in my life. I felt a renewed energy to become more independent, almost as if his death signaled the beginning of adulthood for me. With all those hospital years behind me– when recovering from the latest surgery took up most of my time — I finally had the chance to move on to the next stage of my life. Adulthood. It was a sweet-sounding word. The bells of adulthood were chiming, and I wasn’t about to let a little disability stop me from living. All I wanted to do was jump in head-first.
Enter some little red and white buses. They’re part of my hometown’s accessible transportation system. They’re small but mighty, just like me. And they had everything to do with my newfound independence. I started using them a few years ago, and my life has grown by leaps and bounds ever since. It’s almost like a whole new world has opened up to me – a world that I could finally control. With a simple phone call to schedule a ride, I could live life at my own pace. It felt so unbelieveably freeing to begin tearing down those disability barriers that once stood as tall as the Empire State Building to me.
 
From that first ride, I’ve gone all over the place, from the library to restaurants to the post office. Most people never think twice about doing their weekly grocery shopping. The most rewarding part, though? I do it all on my own. I don’t have to have my mother drive me there – and I also don’t have her yelling at me to hurry up! With each new trip, I’m feeling my independent self blossom. Little by little, I’m growing into the adult I want to be.
 
Granted, it’s taken me a bit longer than my peers. But that’s not really the point. The point is that it’s happening. For the first time. I feel like I’m living. And it’s one of the most incredible feelings in the world.

[Photos via Le Love]

Question of the Week: Question #42

It’s not often that I remember my dreams. I usually wake up with a vague recollection that I had a dream, but that’s about as far as my memory goes — everything else remains fuzzy. Well, until a few years ago, that is. And the more I think about it, the more I realize how telling the dream actually was. Have a question? I’d love to hear it, so feel free to email me (mellow1422 [at] aol) or ask me on Facebook or Twitter, friends! Today’s question is…

What was the last vivid dream you had?

I’m nothing if not a pragmatic woman. I’ve never given heed to those urban legends, myths, superstitions and other bugaboos. And dreams? Authors have devoted entire books to interpreting your dreams, from the hidden meaning behind being lost in a proverbial forest to the reason your subconscious chose a black cat instead of a white one.

Rubbish, I’d say. Plain and simple. Your dreams are merely a scientific phenomenon akin to your heart pumping blood through your veins. It’s just another body system doing its job.

Here’s how my little movie played out: My father (I know – clue #1 that this isn’t your run-of-the-mill dream) and I are in a parking lot. We see two suspicious men (clue #2) and begin to fear for our safety.

“Let’s get out of here, father,” I suggest.

Just as we were getting into the car, those suspicious men pummeled my father to the ground (clue #3). I wanted so desperately to give those guys a Batman-style POW, but I noticed both my legs were wrapped in huge casts which made me a huge piece of dead weight. I squirmed and squealed and shrieked, but it proved useless (clue #4).

So I just had to sit there, watching the horrible tragedy unfold, knowing there was nothing I could do. I was trapped and my father was gone (clue #5).

The post-movie review and discussion I had with myself involved lots of phrases like “Of course.” “That’s so obvious.” “It doesn’t take an Einstein to figure out the meaning of that one.”

This dream was real. It was scary. It was sad. And yet, it was cathartic all in one sort-of-cruel, twisted punch. It was as if I was looking at myself in my dream, although it was a different version of me. The raw me, stripped down of all facades and all protective walls. It was a vulnerable position. A vulnerable me.

Take it from me: When we dismiss our dreams, they have a way of creeping up on us. Again and again. Because in the end, that random dream you keep having might not be, well, so random. There’s something there, and maybe it’s time to face it; after all, things don’t look as scary in the morning light as they do in the deep, dark night.

[Photos via We Heart It]