It can be tough out there sometimes -- let's look at the big picture

Sometimes things that happen to people aren’t fair.
Sometimes they just plain stink.
Sometimes it helps to put it all in perspective – this is if you can see through the darkness and wade through the pile of self pity surrounding you.
Sometimes perspective is a hard thing to get.
The life events happening to me in the last few weeks seem incredibly stinky – for lack of a better, more appropriate, non publishable word. I learned a long time ago I shouldn’t address something as “unfair.”
“Life isn’t fair, April,” my high school journalism teacher told me one day while reading an opinion article I wrote. “Explain why something is unjust or wrong, don’t leave it at ‘it’s not fair,’” he sternly said. “It sounds trite.”
Of course I had to look up what “trite” meant. But he was very right – life isn’t fair.
But getting a little perspective on the issue: my unjust events aren’t really weighty on the overall scale of life. I am not sick or dying, nor is anyone I care about. I am not homeless, and not quite penniless. There is food in the refrigerator and gas in my car. I have not been discriminated against or wrongfully accused. I have friends and family who love me.
These current issues are a mere blip in the timeline of my life. In retrospect … ok, I’m not quite ready for retrospect mode, but hopefully I will be soon.
I think there’s still a pile of pity by my right foot.
May all of you find a little perspective today, too.

I gotta get into the Gap

I think I’ve found my perfect, dream job.
Only it’s not so much a job as it is a hobby.
But it’s not really a hobby as it is …
Me buying things and then letting others know what I think of it.
See --- a perfect job for me! My love of shopping, writing and telling my opinion all wrapped up into one perfect career.
The Gap and Old Navy – my two Mecca’s for clothing – want to know what I think about their products I order online. Not only do they request to know how I feel about my recent purchases, they asked me to create a user name and log in password to further authenticate my opinion pieces.
Yeah, I’m pretty special.
Very few things are more fun than rating, categorizing and providing feedback on an article of clothing. For about three minutes I feel like a clothing editor in “Lucky,” “In Style,” or even “Vogue.” For those 180 seconds I get to use words like “empire waist,” “embellishments,” “structure” and “accessorize.”
It’s pretty much three minutes of pure bliss.
Look for Gap Lover 99 for all your honest clothing review findings.
Now, if I can only find out how to turn this completely voluntary, money-spending Internet review gig into an actual paying job where I don’t have to first fork over the money to buy said clothing, I’d be in a constant state of bliss.
Gap Inc., I’m available for hire.

LiLo and ATho

Inmates are sick of Lindsay Lohan. Inmates, you are not alone. I am, too.

But the infamous party girl is out. She was released at 1:35 a.m. from a Lynwood, Calif. jail and ordered to go directly to rehab. No stops, no family, just straight to another place where mean people will tell her what to do, where I'm sure someone will treat her "unfairly" and it will make the news.

It always makes the news.

But it is people like me who are guilty for further promoting this girl, who let's face it, is just famous because she was once an up and coming starlet. I read the numerous news stories about what inmates at the time thought of her, how she was not able to smoke but could keep her hair extensions and still take her ADD and sleeping aid medications. I try not to click on the headline links calling out LiLo news -- but it doesn't work. I will read everything -- even political news -- before finally succumbing to the temptation. I try and rationalize it: If I read the “real” news first it some how makes it OK to read this gossip.

Did she exit the facility after visiting the small, dirty bathroom in the jail's waiting area before her big exit? Did her staff of hair, make up and wardrobe consultants get to have any time with her? Was she really wearing leggings from her clothing line that debuted last week with out her? Ugh -- this information is now in my brain and it may never come out. It probably pushed out other information that I might really need to retain like how to spell certain words or what five times five is.

I hate myself a little for knowing this stuff.

But my all-time favorite quote from "a source" in the latest story on People.com, "[Lindsay] felt she deserved the day to spend with her family after she behaved well in jail." What?! After she behaved well in jail? Is not behaving in jail an option? Can you not behave when you sit alone in a cell for hours upon hours? I just want to smack this cocaine-loving, pill-popping, waif of a girl and tell her, despite to what her deranged parents have said to her, the world does not revolve around her.

Or maybe it does. Because there's people like me who take enough time out of their lives to read countless silly stories and write our own opinions about her.

I feel like a little piece of my soul is missing. I officially hate myself now.

Shaken -- to my core

An acquaintance takes something out of a bag pops it in their mouth and follows it with a gulp out of a water bottle. I thought it was some sort of health supplement for weight loss.
"What'd you just take?" I asked.
I'm always interested in losing weight, even if I never actually lose any.
"Effexor," was the one word response matter-of-factly stated.
This was not the answer I was expecting. However I am all for medicating when exercise, diet and therapy just aren't working.
"Oh, I thought it was the herbal supplements you were taking," I said. "I took Effexor, I like Effexor." Was the only reply I could think of. I don't usually go around sharing that information, or expect people to share it with me.
My acquaintance went on to tell me another form of medication was originally taken but it had some wicked side effects and after a tumultuous life event, something else was needed something to alter their state of depression.
After a brief talk about the side effects the drug had on me when I first started taking it -- wanting to sleep for three months straight, weight gain and having a flat line response when it came to anything emotional -- my acquaintance shared even more.
"When I went to the doctor she asked me, 'What reason can you think of for you not to take your life?' I didn't have an answer for that," my acquaintance said.
My mouth must have dropped open at this point. Never in my life have I heard someone utter those words. Never have I knowingly been in a room with someone who can't think of a reason to stay alive. This, I couldn't relate to.
Even at my worst, even during all the heart-pounding panic attacks and overreaction with a river of tears, I could never think of a reason to not be alive. I was out of my league now. What happened to talking about a drug and it's side effects?
"Now, I don't know you well, but I think you're fantastic," I said. "I can only imagine what your close friends and family must think of you."
"Ah, well, my children are doing OK and I've seen my grandchildren, I think it would be OK if I weren't here."
"You can't mean that," I replied ready to burst into tears at the thought of this person feeling so alone and being so indifferent to the idea of dying. "You really mean so much to so many people, one little bump in the road, no matter how big and significant it feels at the time, is worth not living."
I was shaking. My acquaintance was not.
"I don't know," was all that was bluntly said.
"Oh, it's all worth it, even if it doesn't feel like it now," I sputtered out. "Really."
If I ever had Jedi mind powers now was the time I wanted them to kick in. But I don't, so I had to convey my emphasis through sympathetic eyes and the forceful way I got out the word "really."
This seemingly simple conversation shook me to the core -- the glimpses of peoples' lives we see when they let us in. Sometimes it's not pretty, but this just presents us the opportunity to help another person out any way we can.

A fashion don't on the Mtown streets

I don't get it. I don't get it and really, I just don't want to.

I know Iowans always take the warming temperatures to extremes. After a long, cold, white winter it is understandable why, when the sun shines just a little and climbs above 50 degrees, shorts and flip flops come out. I get that.

What I don't understand is why, when summer does come, men have to immediately take off their shirts. Now, if they are exercising or working in the yard, fine. More power to them. But why, when it's a mere 78 degrees, not humid and on the cusp of dusk, a man has to have his shirt slung over his shoulder when walking the Marshalltown streets.

I'm chalking this up to something a woman just can't understand. Not unless it's a far too many cocktails in Las Vegas or an alcohol induced incident in New Orleans at Mardi Gras, or something. Either way, it's not a sober thing.

I don't want to see men with a huge pot bellies strut their stuff on the blocks of Mtown. I don't want to see this any more than I want to see a woman's thong showing out the back of her jeans.

I don't get it.

It's summer out there -- the temperatures will only get hotter -- be careful.

For the love of yoga

I know it's been quite a while since my last post and I'm sorry about that. Sometimes it takes people longer than it should to get their act together. Apparently I am one of those people. This whole two jobs, 50-plus hours a week thing, has taken some getting used to.

In what little down time I've had I've tried to do some reading. Only this has backfired too because I've ended up paying the library late fees. This would average out to about the amount it would actually cost to purchase a book. I'm pretty sure the library police are still coming to arrest me, taking me to library jail, because I've had the book that long. I thought, through my time of transition and exhaustion, I needed a book that would inspire me to be great -- or at least give me some life insights. I decided to check out "Eat, Pray, Love" by Elizabeth Gilbert.

This book was on the New York Times Best Seller List for weeks and weeks, which everyone was raving about almost a year ago. Obviously I jump on the bandwagon a little late, too.

The reader follows Gilbert on a first-person account after a messy divorce and a botched love affair, to three different locations: Italy, India and Indonesia, living abroad in each place for four months. Here she searches out different lessons in her life. She wants to experience pleasure, become closer to God and find balance. In Italy she learns the language of love and finds pleasure through relaxation and eating amazing food. In India she lives at a Buddhist Temple learning the ways of her guru, what it means to find inner peace and how to let go of past guilt. In Bali she finds a new love, new friends and studies with a medicine man.

There's nothing like shoving a lot into one year. I would never do this. Although I have always wanted to go to Italy, I have no desire to live in Bali learning from a medicine man or studying at a temple in India eating a vegetarian diet, meditating and doing yoga -- even though I do love yoga.

If you can call what I do really yoga. I mean we do all the actual yoga moves -- the down dogs, up dogs, cobras, planks, warriors, etc. -- but I'm guessing the level of yoga intensity is probably beginner, if not pre-beginner. It's definitely not yoga on the level of doing it in India with gurus-in-training around helping you find your "spiritual enlightenment." (Even though it is intense enough to kick my butt every week.)

However at my yoga class the other day, my very insightful, organic, earth-mother teacher did have a pearl of wisdom for us, "If you don't take care of yourself, it's impossible to take care of others."

She is so right. If I don't take care of myself by exercising, reading (and finishing) books in a timely manner and writing, then I'm not going to be in any state to take care of others in my life who are very important to me. Hey, it may not be a guru telling me these spiritual insights, but I do have a yoga teacher and what she said did hit home -- and that's something to write about!

Life happens and that makes everything more interesting

Sorry about my lack of posts last week readers.
Life happened.
Life happened on top of a new job.
It was a very busy week.
While I think I’m going to like my new occupation very much, I hate new jobs. You are the lone new person in an environment where everyone else is experienced. I hate not knowing what is going on. It’s like a bad dream where it’s the first day of school at a new building, no one seems to know you and everyone else knows what’s going on, except for you. Only I know it’s not a true nightmare because I’m not in my underwear.
Nope, I’m definitely wearing clothes, so it’s got to be real life.
I wish there was a way you could dive right into a new position and know exactly what to do. This whole learning curve thing stinks. Perhaps it has to do with the fact that I may be – and I will most like not admit to this again so take it all in --- that I am a bit of a control freak. I like to be in control of a situation or at least know what to expect. Being totally out of my professional element for the time being is throwing me off.
And trying to look at it positively with the perspective of, “I’m getting to learn something new and that takes time,” really doesn’t help much when I’m feeling overwhelmed. But I thank my lovely friend for trying to look at it that way for me.
Yes, I am learning something new, but why can’t I just know it all now? That would really be much more convenient for me.
When it feels as if you’re treading water and barely keeping your nose above it, it’s good to know there are people who can get all “Polly Anna” on you when you need it, even if you can’t believe it at that moment.
Life happens. But, that’s life.

Those with manners are a dying breed

I know we have turned into an extremely casual and informal society. Because of this lackadaisical attitude, manners have fallen to the wayside and common courtesy seems to be too much to ask for.
I’m not simply talking about drivers throwing cigarette butts out their windows or people so lazy while in a public setting they can’t hold onto a piece of garbage until a trash can is found, but lay it on top of a plastic sack recycling bin. Close enough, right?
I’m talking about manners. I’m talking about the simple dos and don’ts while in public. I’m talking about a little thing called respect for others. Where or where has it gone?
Now I’m not naive enough to expect all mankind to have perfect manners. I know there are thousands of jerks out there who aren’t nice and don’t care about others around them. But I guess I never thought there could be so many in one tiny high school auditorium.
I recently attended a dance recital. Having been in dance for 12 years while growing up I’m a sucker for a good recital -- and besides the unfortunate costume choices dance teachers pick for the heavier students it’s nice to see not much has changed.
Speaking as a former heavy child who endured several years of unfortunate costume selections I’d just like to throw out there that lycra spandex, no matter how much it may stretch, is not attractive on anyone who is even remotely overweight. A form-fitting bodysuit for a girl of this stature is never a good idea, no matter how big of a tutu you put around it. But I digress.
Not much has changed since my time unless you’re talking about the audience members. From the family behind me with the box of Gobstoppers they were incessantly eating during the performance to the little boy in front of me with his feet on the seats playing a video game on his father’s cell phone, I was appalled. Those hard little candies make an annoying sound when sliding up and down their cardboard box not to mention the chatter of “Who wants more?” and the children complaining they couldn’t see what color they got because it was dark.
I know I wasn’t at a Broadway play. I know I shouldn’t expect small children to sit for hours in small spaces and not be annoying, but to eat candy and play phone games was too much. The foul taste in my mouth from these acts of poor manners only grew when the woman in front of me (her son was the one playing with daddy’s phone) was e-mailing from her Blackberry every five minutes. The electric glow of a phone display is far more distracting than stage moms with their constant flash cameras.
Could this woman be so busy and such an important figure she couldn’t put her phone down for three hours while watching her daughter’s dance company perform? Are we that desperate for a distraction we have to consistently rely upon technology? Have we become that rude?
Yes, we have.
What would she have done 10 years ago without her precious Blackberry to stay connected? What would her kid have done without the entertainment of electronic games? I shutter to think of it – perhaps pay attention and suffer through the production like those of us with actual manners? Perish the thought.
Not only were personal hand devices rampant during the show but the lack of appropriate attire was also an issue. From clingy clothes some would only see while clubbing in Miami to those who couldn’t even bother to put on pants without an elastic band, I saw it all.
There’s a problem when society treats an arts production the same as a Sunday errand run to Wal-Mart. You are not sitting at home eating Oreos and watching the OC on SoapNet. It’ is not OK to wear sweatpants, a sweatshirt and tennis shoes to an event.
Show some respect. Show some class. Show anything except for your plumber’s crack when bending over to pick up a dropped Gobstopper.
This is when I noticed a very large woman wearing jeans and a T-shirt saying “I got sole” being disruptive. She was with a handful of other people, all dressed very casually, being loud as well. It was probably when one of her companions got up and left with one of their disruptive children for the third time, came back in and yelled, “That’s OK, she’s just being bad because she’s tired,” that I wanted to stand up, fly down four rows of people and confront the situation.
But I didn’t – because I have manners. I sat there. I sat there and took all the poor fashion choices, the candy eating and the cell phone using and vowed to myself if I ever have children they will not behave this way. They will not turn into adults who think the world and all its events revolve around them.
By that time society will be so laid back bringing in a fast food meal and eating it while watching a recital will be looked at as OK. There will probably be candy rolling down the aisles, feet on every seat and technology so advanced you can DVR the event while not missing a beat on your social network and watch your child’s dance later, in the privacy of your own home. We’re in trouble.

Marshalltown -- thy name was swill

Marshalltown has a coffeehouse!
Marshalltown has a coffeehouse!
Marshalltown has a coffeehouse!
No, I'm not excited or anything.
Our fair city has floundered when it comes to operating any independent coffee house for any real length of time and those that have stood the test of time leave something to be desired. No, no one in a small city would want coffee after 4 p.m. and those who do surely don't just want it in a coffeehouse setting -- they would of course want a full meal in a restaurant environment. Right ...
Today I decide to be optimistic -- a rare feat I know -- and had enough courage to put this new place to the test. And it was, in a word, great!
I started out slow, with my standard non-fat, vanilla latte and ordered a small size, just in case. Nothing is worse than getting a large espresso drink, thinking it's going to be fabulous and getting a mouthful of milky, coffee-like swill. It has happened to me oh, too many times here. This was far from swill. This was (and I'm making a declaration to all my savvy readers) the best latte I've ever had in Marshalltown.
The sky might be falling.
Now, this was no Starbucks, Java Joe's, Cup of Joe's or Java House, but it has serious potential. Haven, the coffeehouse/small restaurant, has actual hours of operation where those of us with jobs not in the downtown area can still make it to pick up a daily cup of joe. (Monday through Friday 6 a.m. to 6 p.m. and Saturday 8 a.m. to 8 p.m.) Not only do they have decent hours and above average coffee, the staff was friendly and the place is super chic.
Haven -- maximum occupancy 32 -- you're on my new favorites list.

Directionally challenged

I am not, nor have I ever been, good with directions. It's almost embarrassing to admit when I learned what highways actually led me to places like Ames, Des Moines and Iowa City and which direction I was going to get there.
North, South, East, West really mean nothing to me. Canada, Mexico, D.C. and California, right? That really doesn't help when I'm trying to figure out which direction Ankeny is from Bondurant or that one roadway turns into another name automatically without warning. Did you know Highway 330 turns into Highway 65 with just a simple sign acknowledging the transition? There should be neon lights alerting a girl to this.
As far as I'm concerned MapQuest doesn't help me on this directional issue, either.
While driving direction sites like MapQuest are very beneficial for the average driver to get places, they do little for the directionally challenged morons. Really there should be landmark directions along with the standard instructions.
It shouldn't just say turn right on NE Second Street/NE 78th Street continue for 7.2 miles until NE 78th Street turns into Oralabor Road. That really doesn't work for me.
Primarily because I thought I knew where this turn would be. I thought it was a quaint, curvy little road in front of Casey's General Store -- wrong -- 74th Street. So I guessed it would be at the next major road on my right, after some factory-looking building -- wrong again -- 62nd Street. Two U-turns later I figured out the road must be before the Casey's -- way before.
The directions should have gone a little something like this:
Turn right on NE Second Street/NE 78th Street. This will be right before the bar in the white building called The Wooden Nickel. You will proceed down a two lane road, through Bondurant. You will remain on this road for quite some time. (A distance in miles means about as much to me as telling me to go north.)Don't be thrown by the stop signs and random railroad tracks in the middle of this cornfield/new construction development setting, you will eventually end up in Ankeny.
Now these are directions I can understand. If only MapQuest consulted me first.

I blame the Girl Scouts

Everyone has their “fat” days.
Days our pants fit a little tighter, our shirts feel a little more snug or our spring jacket doesn’t seem to have as much give as the previous season. OK, maybe women have more fat feeling days than men, but we all know what I’m talking about.
Perhaps the overindulgence of Valentine’s Day candy or the cases of Girl Scout cookies I’ve eaten lately has also contributed to these issues, but calling it a series of fat days is so much better than saying you’ve actually gained weight.
Overindulgence of high calorie foods is the easy part. It’s what makes Americans, Americans. How many other countries in the world have an overabundance of food, can sport shows such as “The Biggest Loser” and still have issues with anorexia and bulimia? Self-inflicted starvation in third world countries is really moot and there’s not a show featuring 500-plus pound contestants wanting to be svelte scheduled for their television line up in the near future.
Darn our consumer ways and those sadistic Girl Scouts.
Because Americans seem to have so many fat days in general it has inspired English celebrity chef Jamie Oliver to tackle the problem. Oliver, who has a new series “Food Revolution,” wowed American viewers when kindergarten children in Huntington, W.V. couldn’t identify a tomato from a potato and thought an eggplant was a pear.
Yes Americans have issues with food.
Yes we like it a little too much.
Yes a majority of people in this country eat more processed foods than fresh ones.
We get it.
Who wouldn’t like French fries over a baked potato any day? But at least I know that fries are derived from the root veggie. I’m guessing I wouldn’t have known that little fact in kindergarten, however. I can also describe to you, in detail, the loveliness of a Girl Scout Samoa cookie.
I’m not sure I would have known an eggplant either, but I’m banking on the fact I could have picked out a red tomato verses a brown potato at age 5. Perhaps Oliver is on to something here.
A healthy diet is all about balance and that’s a hard concept for Americans as a whole to understand especially when a box of macaroni and cheese is cheaper for families on a tight budget than a head of broccoli. Things are out of whack – yes. But financially can Americans afford to make the switch and can our health afford not to?
I’ll think about this the next time I watch “The Biggest Loser” weigh in while munching on Samoas. Maybe I should be on Oliver’s next show. I wonder if he’s ever heard of a little group called the Girl Scouts?

The kitty problem

If something can go wrong it will.
I know that's a very pessimistic attitude and those who think with such negativity will rarely go far in life, but sometimes it just really applies to a situation.
Right now this situation applies to something huge -- bigger that huge -- ginormous. OK, I could be exaggerating a little. It applies to my cat. However, this is no ordinary cat. She is the money pit of cats. If something can go wrong with her, it will, and it will cost. Big.
A brief kitty history: This feral cat was born along side my mom and dad's garage. We domesticated the mother cat and her litter and through the course of nature only one kitten survived -- we named her Cali. Being an outdoor cat in a semi-country area proved to be a problem. She returned from a night of prowling with wounds on each side of her buttocks -- a sign she had gotten in a fight with something. A shaving of the tushy, surgery, stitches, pain medicine and several 100 dollars later she was back to her old self.
This then lead to realizing she couldn't eat human food or "wild" prey of any kind because she has a sensitive stomach and digestive system. Should she have either of these or the fat-filled store bought cat food, she will develop bladder crystals and a bladder infection. Try giving a cat antibiotics -- I just dare you.
So with her fancy $30 a month prescription bag of food I thought she was set. Until she came home with a broken leg. This lead to another surgery, several months of getting fresh splints put on every week, along with about $600 more. Here her outdoor privileges were taken away.
Most recently this tamed indoor kitty began shredding a living room chair, out of the blue. This I could live with. After all, it was just one chair. Then she took aim at my grandfather's chair, circa 1975, that my parents had reupholstered for me.
This meant war.
But of course with even the most simple surgery, like a front declawing, something would go wrong. The surgery went fine however the glue the vet used to adhere the skin together the menace cat picked at -- thus introducing bacteria into the fresh wound. This led to a visit back to the vet and the purchase of an Elizabethan collar and antibiotics, not to mention more money.
Super.
If I were smart, I probably should have given up on this beast long ago, but obviously I'm the sucker here.

Time for a change

*Editor's Note: This was to be my final column but due to unforeseen circumstances wasn't able to be printed.

I could talk about the insanity that is the Taylor's Maid Rite. I could say how absurd the whole idea of shutting them down is. How the institution must be saved and how as a life-long resident who averages eating 12 local Maid Rites a year I’ve never gotten sick from their ridiculously good sandwiches.
I could talk about the asinine idea of turning Linn and Church streets from one-ways in to two-ways. I could launch into what a silly idea it was to turn Main and State streets into two-ways, how the streets still don’t seem wide enough, especially to have opposite side parking and how it took drivers in our fair city quite a few months to get used to such a concept.
I could talk about stress educators nationwide are under in order to have “performing” schools and the options facing our local middle school. I could say how teachers in today’s society have to do much more than just teach and the added governmental paper work only adds to their already overwhelming load.
I could talk about all of those things. But I won’t.
This could be the hardest column I’ve ever had to write – because it’s my last.
The times, they are hard. Companies are still shutting their doors leaving employees without a job. Unemployment rates are high and when today’s motto is, “At least I’ve got a job,” you know things are scary economically.
To put off closing all together many companies are making cutbacks in order to stay afloat. Cutbacks like paying me to write this column.
Now, we’re not talking champagne and caviar money here. We’re talking enough to buy two of my favorite venti, non-fat, vanilla lattes at Starbucks. Maybe. I might have to dig in my own pocket to cover the tax. But the nominal fee was never my motivation for writing. However, that said, I’m not sure working for free in this economic climate is the smartest idea either. Because of this my thoughts and “insights” for lack of a better word, won’t be running on this page after today.
I have covered so many topics in my years at the paper it’s hard to sum up everything I’ve done. It’s hard to leave you with some overall piece of wisdom when in reality, all of us, everyday, are just trying to get by.
How do can I sum up five years? I can’t do it. For once I’m out of words. I can only say it has been an honor to be a part of your lives, and to let you be a part of mine.
However I am taking my thoughts and scraggly insights to the virtual streets, if you will – making lemons out of lemonade – or something like that. You can now catch me on columnistaprilthorn.blogspot.com if you’re still interested in what I’m thinking. And if not, like I said, it’s been an honor.
Goodnight, Marshalltown.

A new home

Readers,

I am so excited to begin this new endeavor! I plan to continue posting columns for you to read on Saturdays along with a couple blog topics throughout the week. While this forum won't be exactly like seeing my former column in print in the local newspaper I hope you will continue to follow it. Please let your friends, family and coworkers who were interested in my column know about this site.

It's time to get serious ... or perhaps make fun of those who are a bit too serious. Either way, I hope you will continue to join me at this venue!

April