Anything but Ordinary

 “If you are not willing to risk the unusual, you will have to settle for the ordinary.” -Jim Rohn

This quote got me thinking. Really, what is “unusual”? Does it have to mean something crazy or bizarre? Or could it simply mean doing what is not “my usual”. It would be like going to a coffee shop and instead of ordering “my usual” (a large cafe latte, hot, no syrups, but yes please to whipped cream and a sprinkle of cinnamon), I order an iced caramel mocha. 

But is doing the ordinary wrong? Is ordering my “usual” coffee “settling for the ordinary”? Why do we look at  “settling” as though it is something that is less than desirable?  

When I first started running, it was an unexpected thing for me to do. I certainly didn’t expect it of myself (ever!) and suddenly there I was, learning how to run, signing up for races, and spending time throughout my week getting in training runs.  It became my usual, but it’s never gotten old. I still get nervous before every race. I was willing to risk the unusual which has became my usual, but is anything but ordinary. 

 

I had never truly hiked until 2020 and spending hours walking through the woods, and planning backpacking trips had never been high on my list of things to do. Now, it’s my usual and some of my favorite trails are ones I’ve been on many times (the usual); instead of the unknown that they once were, they are now old friends. I was willing to risk the unusual which has became my usual, but is anything but ordinary. 

Wanting to learn to lift weights was for sure not on my bucket list, and it all felt unusual when I started. Now, 19 months later I can honestly say that it has become my usual. Deadlifts, bench press, and squats are part of my life, week after week and I am never bored. I just hit Training no. 300 this week!! I was willing to risk the unusual which has became my usual, but is anything but ordinary. 

Each day is filled with the things that happen day after day: sunrise, sunset, seeing friends, going to work, cooking meals, going to the gym. What if we let the ordinary exceed our expectations? Maybe the real gift is being able to look at the ordinary with eyes of wonder, excitement and joy. 

I used to say “never” to a lot of things.  Now i say “maybe” and sometimes that becomes a “yes” and suddenly what was the unusual becomes my usual, but is anything but ordinary. 

Here’s my challenge to you: Begin to view your “usual” through eyes of gratitude.  Trust me when I tell you that it will make your usual anything but ordinary.

Love, Dianne

Onward. 

Only 12.5 Years Later…

When I look back 12.5 years to what I wrote, I read about my goals of which I stated, “I have many.”  The fact that I have many goals has not changed over the years, although some of those goals have changed. I know I have changed and rather than fearing that, I’ve strapped in and decided that since I’m here for the duration, I’m going to do my best to enjoy the ride! 

What were some of those goals from 2011 and how did I do at meeting them? 

-Finish our family scrapbook for our vacation to Rhode Island. I can’t say with 100% confidence that that is completed, but maybe it’s something to check in on, so I can check it off my list. 

-Losing “those last 15 pounds”. To answer this one, it’s going to be a blog post all of its own. Let me just say that my thoughts and feelings, my attitude around weight loss and my relationship with food has changed dramatically, the last 2-3 years especially.  

-Cleaning out the attic. Well, I still have an attic and there are still a lot of items up there; maybe more than ever as my children grew up and moved out, leaving childhood treasures behind. There is always a good excuse, like it’s too hot up there or too cold, but maybe it is time to stop making excuses and tackle that space. One thing I have learned, especially in the last two years was that if you want results, you have to do the work.

-In 2011, I mentioned “lifelong goals that required determination, stamina and fearlessness, like learning to ride a horse,  learning to ballroom dance, and not only writing, but publishing a book.” It is interesting to me that I have those things listed as “lifelong goals”, and I think what I meant by that was that these were things that I had wanted to do for a large part of my lifetime, not that they would take me a lifetime to do. 

So, how did I do? I did learn to ride a horse better, thanks to my son Ryan. There may have been a few times that I went faster than a walk, and while it was exhilarating, it was also a little terrifying, but I think there’s hope for me to keep growing. 

Since writing that in 2011, a gift from my husband was ballroom dance classes and I blogged about that. While we don’t take the opportunity to showcase our ballroom skills (you’re welcome!😉😄) we did dance at a wedding or two, and if I get the opportunity to sign us up for some swing dance classes, I think I will. That seemed to be what suited us the best. 

-I have not written a book, but I have resumed this blog, and for right now, that’s good. Writing has always helped me to hone my skills of observation, my love of detail, my ability to look for the good, the joyful, the challenging, the life that is all around, and yes, that includes the difficult. It has always helped me keep a healthier perspective. 

17 August, 2024. Do I have goals today? Short-term? Longer-term? I do. Here’s a few, not in any particular order. Writing them down is helpful and somehow helps me to stay accountable and gets them accomplished. 

-Simplify our belongings (note to self: start with the attic)

-Solo backpacking trip on Laurel Highlands Hiking Trail (this one from my first thru-hike with friends in 2021) 

-Learn to bake really good bread. 

-Compete in a Powerlifting competition.

-Run another marathon (from my first marathon 10/2023)

-Spend more weekends traveling to see my children and grandchildren. 

-Speaking of grandkids: be a Nana that is fun, fierce, snugglya, compassionate, kind, and authentic.

Goals. Dreams. Bucket Lists. Life is short. Live it large. 

Love, Dianne

Onward. 

One Pint At aTime

 

As a kid, I remember watching my dad place a little red teardrop shaped pin at the top of a curtain that hung at the bottom of my grandparents staircase. I’m not sure how old I was, but I know that I had a feeling that this pin was special, that it meant something. It wasn’t until years later, that I learned that those little pins represented the blood my dad had donated to the Red Cross. I thought he was quite the superhero dad! When I asked dad how much blood he had donated over the years, he wasn’t totally sure, but his humble answer was, “a couple of gallons”.  I have a cool dad. 

 Inspired by this, when I was in high school, we had the opportunity to participate in a blood drive, and I gave it a try. Feeling incredibly nervous and worried that I would pass out or throw up, I entered the gymnasium where the tables were lined up and the volunteers were ready to take our blood. Aside from all the bad vampire jokes, I honestly don’t remember it being that bad, and I actually did quite well with it, but out of an unfounded anxiety over needles and fainting, I did not donate again until October 2020. The world was in the midst of Covid and it just felt like something positive I could do. Time to overcome those fears! 

Since then, I’ve tried to donate a total of 14 times with only 8 times being able to do so as the finger stick hemoglobin needs to be 12.5 g/dL or above and I didn’t always hit the mark. It can get discouraging when you’re doing all you can (even taking Flintstone Vitamins with Iron 😖) to do something good and time after time, it doesn’t work out. 

 Four years. It’s been nearly four years and between the low hemoglobin, getting a tattoo, and then donation centers changing their times and I couldn’t line it up with my schedule, I finally hit my first gallon of A+ donated!! 

I could have given up when 3x in a row I was too low and couldn’t donate. I could’ve decided to stop altogether when it became difficult to find the time in my schedule to go.  Getting a tattoo was a valid reason not to go for the specified time period, but I could have somehow allowed that become an ongoing excuse as it had disrupted my routine. 

I can’t…I don’t have time…it’s not convenient. Reminds me a little of everyday life and how easy it is to make excuses when the going gets difficult. 

If I’d given up, I’d never have reached a gallon. What is you’re “gallon” that you’re working towards? Don’t give up now. Make a plan and take the steps to get to the next step. After donating last evening, I scheduled my next two appointments and penciled all the tentative dates for next year in my planner. That gallon didn’t just happen; it was one pint at a time. 

Alas, the Red Cross no longer give out pins but they do sometimes send you an Amazon gift card. I saw a vender has some vintage pins for sale on eBay… think they’d take an Amazon gift card in exchange? 

Onward, Dianne

Reuniting with a Friend

 

4 August, 2024

Where does one begin when you are suddenly face-to-face with a long-lost friend? Do you just pretend like nothing ever happened and you just pick up where you left off the last time you were together? Does it get all awkward when you don’t know where to begin and so you just randomly start to talk? Do you ignore the obvious changes in the other person or do you ask about it? (Those grays coming in and a few added wrinkles…I’m a grandma-aka Nana-now!!) Whatever the case, returning back to vintageDandelion felt like running into that old friend who I hadn’t really forgotten, but maybe I had avoided for a time and now being face-to-face, it was a little awkward and time to figure out why it’s taken so long to reconnect. 

During the early years (2011-2013), writing had become therapeutic for me. It was a way that I found to talk about life and to see things in a healthier perspective; I would look for what I could learn, or how to make it positive. My brain tried to make me believe that life was at its worst, that I was the worst mom, wife, nurse, etc. Really, it wasn’t at all rational; rather, it was anxiety giving me one punch after the other. If you’ve lived with anxiety, you know what I mean. Somehow when I would write, I could make sense of things, and I realized that I was surrounded by so much that was beautiful and good. I could be honest, I could be real.  I wrote because I wanted people to know that who they saw in person was the person that I truly was when I was alone, who I was on the inside. Maybe it doesn’t make sense, but this blog helped me to be authentic to the person I was created to be.

Reading back to that day in December 2011, I wasn’t really sure how writing a blog would go. I wasn’t sure if I had anything worthwhile to say, but I knew I had to try. Honestly, I’d look at the stats and sometimes I’d base my value on that. Likes, shares, etc…it’s an easy trap to fall into, eh? When I allowed my blog to dwindle down slowly to nothing, it had little to do with feeling like I had anything to say, and a lot to do with thinking all those irrational things that my brain would tell me: that what I wrote was boring, that nobody really cared, and really, what was the point? 

Even getting through so many struggles and having learned so much, all that just goes to show that I am still learning, growing, and becoming. I’m a work in progress, layered and nuanced. I’m still that woman from 2011, but I’m also not the same. Whether you’re an old friend, or a new one, if you’re here, I’m glad you’re along for the ride! And even if I’m the only one who reads what I wrote in 1, 5, 10, or even 50 years from now, I’m okay with that. Rereading bits of my story is what inspired me to write again; I want to remember and reflect. If I don’t write it down, that old friend may be entirely forgotten. I don’t have a specific destination in mind, but if you’re up for a little adventure, you’re welcome here anytime. We have SOOO much catching up to do! 

Love, Dianne

It’s got me thinking…

From 2011…

…to 2024

 1 August 2024

I read recently that the trend of today is not to read the written word, but to watch videos, small clips, reels, stories…all the things that have made social media what it is today.  What is ironic is that I “read “that opinion. It got me thinking .

On that same day, I was asked a question about what I would be doing for an occupation if I wasn’t doing what I was currently? My initial thought, without much reflection, is that I would be an author. It got me thinking.

I mentioned to the person who asked me the occupation question that I had once written a blog, and I shared the link. It has been quite awhile since I have visited this site and I clicked on Dec 2, 2011 to see what my 41-year-old self had to say. And then I kept reading, seated in the very same spot where I had been that cold December day to write my first blog post. I looked different, my kitchen was different, and my household dynamic has changed from two parents and five children ranging an age from 8 to 20 all living under one roof, to an empty nest that is anything but empty.

Will anybody read my written words from 2011, or from 2024? Will it even matter someday? Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe I’ll never know, but I know that I enjoyed looking over and rereading from that time in my life, what I was living, thinking, feeling.  I am glad that I have a written word to remind me of where I’ve been, who I was, and how that has helped me to be who I am today. I am a little sad that I haven’t written anything since 2020 in this format. Maybe vintage dandelion is still a place to inspire me to inspire you. It’s got me thinking; I hope it gets you thinking too. 

Love, Dianne

The Woods and I

When I was about 5 1/2 years old in 1976, we moved to our newly built home out in The Cove. Part of our property was woods but I don’t remember at what age I and my two sisters began to explore and play amongst the trees. Once we did discover this magical place though, with its fern-covered slopes, the mossy rocks underfoot, and the wild grape vines dangling from the trees, we spent countless hours there. 

We delighted in finding the ghostly Indian pipes emerging from the soil and watching the ferns unfurl in the Spring. The earthy, sweet green scent of ferns is still a favorite of mine along with soil that has been gently disturbed. Soon, my sisters and I had a few paths established in our little woods and we felt quite adventurous if we ventured to where the house wasn’t really visible through the foliage. Our dolls would occasionally accompany us and we had a favorite log that became a living room couch, and a rock a stovetop. Purple inkberries made a colorful stew mixed in an ice-ream bucket with a few leafy additions, and some crushed acorns for protein. We never tried our concoction; the fun was in the pretending and creating. Sometimes we’d find orange spotted newts, odd-looking beetles, and once, tp my sister’s horror, an entire nest of yellow jackets. Many hours were spent picking wild blackberries (these we did eat!), climbing pine trees, creating blanket houses, and seeing how quietly we could walk through the woods. Sweet and wonderful memories!

 

Then , somewhere along the way, as life often goes, I got busy, too busy. It was with good things like friends, a boyfriend (yes, I married him), jobs, and school. The days of make-believe ad playing house, looking for wood elves, and swinging on wild vines slowly morphed  into the reality of a real house with a mortgage and bills, having babies and raising children, going to college, starting a career, and then working 1-3 jobs at a time for too many years. Life became more about staying afloat than feeling alive. Depression was a beast and anxiety it’s nasty companion. I spent too much time under their shadow, not knowing that there was help to come back to the land of the truly living. Once I had the help I needed, the person I was meant to began to slowly emerge. 

I feel like the person I am today is a result of my experiences as a child, the years spent struggling mentally and emotionally, and the steps I have taken since to not allow anxiety and depression to take over again. The past three years have been an exploration of learning to take care of myself physically, and in turn, I   saw how it affected my mental state of being. 

  

Getting outdoors to walk, then deciding I could be a runner, and now adding hiking and eventually backpacking with the goal of doing all 70 miles of the Laurel Highlands Hiking Trail next year, is my therapy. I feel like I have come out of the shadows and am living more fully then I would’ve ever thought possible when I was a little girl in the woods making inkberry soup. 

I have tasted life and it is good! 

 

I know I have posted a lot of my runs, my hikes, and other fitness adventures on Facebook. The reason I do this is to hopefully encourage others to get out there too. If 50 year old, fluffy Dianne, who was NEVER an athlete, and not particularly graceful, can get out there, so can you. Find what you love, what brings joy, and do it. 

  

Ol’ Red

Pretty much every farm that I know of has a farm truck. Or if not a pickup truck, a vehicle of some variety that is specified as the beat-up, dusty (both inside and out), animal-or-hay-bale-hauling mode of transportation with a miscellaneous collection of nuts, bolts, tools, and equipment manuals on the passenger side floorboard and possible grass growing in the bed. Our current farm truck is Ol’ Red, a 1997 F150 Ford with who-knows-how-many miles on it because the odometer is stuck. Leo didn’t think it had a ridiculous amount of miles, but what it might lack in mileage, it makes up for in personality.

I learned this quite intimately over that past couple of weeks while the Nissan was undergoing extensive repairs. The Nissan and I are not currently on speaking terms. I actually feel more bonded to Ol’ Red after just three weeks than I am with the Nissan after two years. That one doesn’t even have a name; that says a lot.

Some people have said that I am a little quirky (or a lot depending on who you talk to!). Maybe that is why I connected so well with Ol’ Red. Quirky is just the tip of the iceberg on this farm truck. When you need specific, multi-step instructions on starting it, beyond “turn the key”, you know you’re in for a wild ride.
1.) Wiggle the gear shift so it goes into neutral or it won’t start. Turn the key and it should start.
2.) Step on the brake and now go into drive.
3.) Release the parking brake. But when you go to park it (or rather put it into more like neutral again) , do not forget to put the parking brake back on or the truck will roll away. “Park” apparently isn’t a thing anymore with Ol’ Red.
4.) Just leave the key in the cup holder when you are done.

Simple, right? I have become a pro at starting up, but I have forgotten to release the parking brake one or two times. Oops. Why does it smell hot? Hmmm. And Step #4? One time I brought the key into the house and promptly lost the ONLY key in existence for Ol’ Red. We looked everywhere except for obviously the right spot; to date this key is still MIA. Leo had to purchase a whole new ignition set-up. I guard that key like it is diamond encrusted gold.

A quirk that is not Ol’ Red’s fault is that this new key does not match the door locks. I learned that after locking myself out at Life Fitness Management. I needed to get to the college for clinic and could not wait for Triple A to rescue me. I remembered the little window behind the seats. It had just enough room for my body to wriggle in head-first to my hips and I could reach to unlock the door before wriggling in reverse to get myself back out. I am a little afraid that it looked more like twerking but I am trying not to think about that. Ol’ Red didn’t seem to mind all the commotion but if he had, I am sure there would have been a loud, very sudden horn blast. That’s another quirk. I can’t say how many times I have barely touched the steering wheel and a warning blasts out to innocent bystanders. 

Yes, that’s the little window!

While the horn works very well, there are other important, rather necessary features that do not. Like the gas gauge, speedometer, and engine temp. NONE of these work. I am always on empty, driving 0 mph, with a cold, cold engine. This makes following the speed limit a matter of following another car that looks reasonable in speed  and hoping for the best. I feel like a rebel at times. Rolling down the window enhances this rebel mode as the wind whips my hair into a frenzy. However , window-down mode is a matter of survival on hot days as the AC is also nonfunctional. Any air coming forth from the vents was akin to dragon’s breath. Any time I needed the window up, like making phone calls for work by the side of the road and the traffic noise made it difficult to hear, induced much perspiration. 

I lost 6.2 pounds of sweat. 

Dear, sweet Ol’ Red, the Nissan is back in my life now, repaired and revving to go. But I will miss you; you served me well. Maybe we can do it again sometime. I am sure the Nissan will see to that.

Love,
Dianne