Don't Pee In the Pool

    The Big Red Lie

Growing up, I lived, what felt like, an idyllic life.
A big, beautiful home, two loving, and very fun parents, two (overly) protective big brothers, a cute little black puppy dog, a goldfish, and a bird. Directly behind our house was a neighbor's ranch. My bedroom was upstairs so I could sit and watch the horses run around all day from my bedroom window. I could also look directly down at our gorgeous swimming pool in the backyard. I loved my childhood.

Me and my Daddy 1976 

    We lived in a cul-de-sac so all of us neighborhood kids ran together in a pack until our mothers would yell out of the front doors to call us home for dinner, or because it was getting dark. Back in those days, they used their voices to call us, and not texts. It seemed to be a more simple world back then. Because as kids we were more likely to be found outside digging in the dirt, playing football, hoola-hoop, or playing some pretend game with our friends on their lawns. We could actually leave without carrying our cell tracking devices attached to us. But I digress.
 
I am assuming my parents had a wonderfully fiendish master plan when they decided to build the swimming pool in our yard. Not only would it be fun for our family, but they knew that their children would never want to be anywhere else, so they wouldn't have to worry.
             And for the most part, they were right.

 Our swimming pool was always the center of my childhood and there was a constant stream of pool parties at our house. We had an antique jukebox that we refurbished, and were always adding new records to it from a little record store in San Jose, back when they actually had record stores. They had the 45 rpm records and we would search, for what seemed like hours, for the perfect records for our impossibly loud poolside music. God, the neighbors behind us must have hated us. I know the neighbors the sides didn't because they were always at our house.
 

But of course, no life is idyllic. There are always imperfections, little skeletons in the closet.  I've got TONS of them! Lots of great things to Blog about! But having skeletons doesn't mean you have a lot to bitch or complain about.  I don't have too much to complain about, really.
 Except my brothers' and their Dirty Little Lies...
    They lied to me about the red pee.
___________________________

    I was 4 years old when we moved into our new home, and about 6 when the pool was put in. So naturally, my big brothers were probably worried that their little sister, and the two neighbor boys, Michael and Jimmy, who were always swimming in the pool too, would pee in the pool. I had only a few of years potty training under my belt (quite literally) after all....
  

Me, Papa Lansing, and neighbor boys

So the Big Red Lie started when they told me that if I, or anyone else, peed in the pool that it would turn into a huge, bright cloud of red pee that would billow out, and shine bright like Rudolf the Red Nosed Reindeer's Nose.

Then everyone would know that I peed in the water.

I was both horrified, and yet empowered at the same time.
Allow me to explain....
As a child, you are in the pool, having so much fun with your friends, and then it hits you... you have to pee... You try and hold it as long as you can, doing everything possible (twisting your legs together tightly, sitting on the swimming pool steps, or, staying in the shallow end so you don't have to kick as much) because you are having so much fun and you know that if you get out of the pool, you have to follow Mom's rules about going in the house after you've been in the pool.
#1 Dry off completely.
#2 No wet towels in the house.
     DRY OFF COMPLETELY!?! THAT TAKES FOREVER!!!!
So I would squeeze it in a little harder, trying not to let any of it seep out for fear that a BIG RED CLOUD would form around me and I would forever carry a shadow of humiliation (as if my brothers didn't tease me enough).

Yet I would persevere. I would somehow ignore the pangs and the cries of my bladder as I would throw the beach ball, jump on the raft, or jump off the side of the pool.  Each time I would anxiously look down to see if anything had (without my knowing) slipped out, and I was, from the day forward, going to have "Red Cloud" as my new nickname. But getting out of the pool was just too much trouble when you're 7 years old.   
   So I spent many swim days having fun with my friends, but there were certain ones I kept my eyes on more closely. Ones I didn't trust to get out of the pool if they had to go to the bathroom. So I watched diligently, and anxiously. And then, it happened...
   I turned the tables and became the cruel one. I was the one doing the lying. Telling the Dirty Red Lie that I wasn't even entirely sure was true. I told so many of my young swim friends that if they peed in the pool that a their pee would turn into a GIANT RED CLOUD.  Mostly because I sometimes would get pool water in my mouth, and didn't want to drink my friend's pee.

   I had to be sure. Because I was pretty darn sure that I wasn't going to like the taste of pee. So I told them the same lie my brothers told me.
The thing is my brother's didn't have to lie to ME. All they had to do was say, "Shelly, Don't pee in the pool. It's gross. No one wants to drink pee." And I would have been so disgusted by that I would have never even entertained the idea. But instead I had to endure many summers of anxiety because I didn't want my pee to slip out during a swim game, or because I thought I spotted a red cloud around a swim friend.
    But then, I learned the truth from an angel.
 

Shelly, Mama, and Joyce

My Mama told me that, in fact, the water wouldn't turn red if you peed in it. She said, "You shouldn't pee in the water Shelly" (Duh, I knew that...), "But if someone did, we would never have known it. No, we never have put the chemicals in the pool that would turn your pee red".
   My brother's Dirty Red Lie had been revealed.
       So I waited.
After Football practice one day both of them went into the pool to cool off. I got in too.
And before I got out I let out a little bit of pee.
  So there...
Vengeance is sometimes quite sweet.

Moral to the story is:
   ~Don't pee in the pool.
   ~Some pools do have chemicals that turn your pee red (pee-er beware).
   ~Do not drink pool water.
   ~Sometimes people lie.
   ~Sometimes people tell the truth too.
   ~Big brothers should beware of vengeful baby sisters.
      And this is the BIG one...
         ~The things you do, and the things you say can greatly affect those around you. Telling Big Red Lies, or peeing in the pool. Be careful, sensitive, loving and cautious about what you do and say to others. Be kind, be loving, be truthful. 

    
And Fill your life with lots of friends and family.
  With or without a pool. 

Locastro, Lansing and Hewitt Cousins 

Shelly Livingston
Wife, Mama, Nana, Artist, Minister, YouTuber, Blogger, Woman Who DOESN'T Pee in Pools
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A Brief History of YouTube

Random smatterings from the editing desk.

Well, they say it's kinda frightnin'
How this younger generation swings
You know it's more than just some new sensation

-Eddie Van Halen "And the Cradle Will Rock" 1980


Once upon a time, the kids discovered an online way to make money making videos by uploading them to YouTube.  Millionaires were seemingly created overnight and Baby Boomers everywhere were outraged at how this generation was getting rich for literally playing video games. We seem to forget how much professional sports players are paid but I digress.

How did this industry come about and how does that make sense?  How can we be parents and tell our children that they will not be the next PewDiePie any more than they will be a basketball pro?  Or how can we at least keep them away from the society low that is Logan Paul.  Why are these videos so annoying to the "older" generation?  Why can't the kids just read books?

Chances are, you haven't heard of any of the the top 20 YouTubers that are multimillionaires.  But they are as popular as movie stars with their fans.  You may have also run across at least one article about how YouTube changes are affecting these creators.  There always seems to be drama with this group.  Most of it is created to self promote and I wouldn't mind at least a little drama to get some attention to our channel.  However, if you are over 40 and you did stumble upon JackSepticEye or Markiplier, you would quickly turn it off with the same annoyance that one gets from fingernails on a chalkboard.

Aren't we better than this?

The fast paced editing, the eye catching graphical elements and the yelling, are repellent to anyone over 30.  Sort of like a Looney Tunes cartoon on steroids with no familiar characters.  It is the equivalent to what rock and roll was to the Dean Martin/Frank Sinatra generation.  Add to the fact that they are probably playing a video game, and I'm sure your level of interest just dropped even further.  Who would watch this?  Answer: Lots of people.  Young people.

In the continuing tradition of every generation jettisoning their parents culture, I present the YouTube generation gap.  For a long while, it was music that separated the generations and that tradition continues although not as divided as say, Elvis or the Beatles were back in the day.  While a '50's rock and roll fan couldn't relate to Bowie, at least they could appreciate the "White Christmas" duet with Bing Crosby.  I'm not going to weave a common thread that brings us to Elton John and Eminem singing together but you get my point.

Just for fun, lets take a trip back to the '80's for a moment.  I clearly remember my father calling Men at Work "faggots".  It was probably after seeing one of their bizarre videos but it still upset me at the time because at the time their music resonated with me the way music does with teenagers.  I even told my mom that they were "my Beatles"  Wow. I probably wanted money to go to their concert.

Take a moment to appreciate the album cover art.

Unfortunately, back then, nobody knew how to make videos for a good 5 to 10 years  (See:  I Want My MTV: The Uncensored Story of the Music Video Revolution)  Naturally, as these kind of things go, as soon as we figured out how to make music videos, we stopped making them.  Almost like we stopped going to the moon.  So I hardly blame Men at Work for making goofy videos with little appeal to anyone older than myself at the time. They were cool to me and I liked their lyrics.  That's all that mattered.  I do think my father should get some residuals from helping to inspire Dire Straits "Money for Nothing".

Believe it or not, in 1985, these graphics blew our minds. No joke.

Anyone that plays an instrument can contest to the fact that it is hard work.  Especially if you play in a band or teach.  While we may think all pop stars are overnight sensations, very few were working at Taco Bell the night before they won a Grammy.  A Star is Born is complete fiction.  Besides, where the hell was Ally's inner voice before she left Jackson to go on tour?  Couldn't she hear us collectively say "Don't Go?!!??!?". 

Like show business, it isn't easy to make it big. Same goes for creating videos.  It isn't easy.  I always knew that those that created these gaming videos had work to do from rendering to uploading to YouTube.  It can take me 4-6 hours of work to put a video together.  More if you count social media and all the extras that come with putting out a video.  It never really ends and there is always something to do or fix.  This is just my side of the video.  Shelly has already come up with the idea for the video, figured out what she is going to say and taken video and audio of her performance.

So let's get back to the point.  Kids dig stuff their parents hate. Why?  Easy. While some of the YouTube entertainment is just fluff and could resonate with any generation, these YouTubers of the last 5 to 10 years have found something that resonates with the current generation.  In addition, every generation has enjoyed knowing celebrity gossip.  What if your celebrity was available and talked to you one on one at least once a week?  What if you could turn on a friend that chats with you as they play the same video games you do or the games you WANT to play but can't afford because you are a kid?  Maybe they don't play games but they just talk about what is going on in their life.  For that period, you are escaping to their world that is edited for your viewing but still get an "inside" look. What if you could be part of the group with hardly any effort?

It is an odd bit of celebrity that I've heard some YouTubers speak to.  To have a million or two "subscribers" that know you better than your neighbor is a strange thing to get your head around.  Especially if they aren't in the same country as you.  It is a bit beyond reality to have that many people with instant access to you.  At some point, say around 10,000 subscribers, I've heard that these YouTubers had to disconnect from their fans in some way.  There is no physical way to keep up with that many comments, request or viewers.  In many ways, it is no different than the celebrity movie star copes with.  Unfortunately for the viewer, the connection is one way the majority of the time.

So there you have it.  Comfort, belonging and common ground all intertwine to give the viewer an experience that sucks you in and keeps you there.   Like the tv series that you know the ending to but watch anyway because it's comforting.  My wife and I enjoy the same effect watching "The Office" at least once a year.

While YouTube isn't going away anytime soon, the one thing you can count on is change.  In a future blog, I'll talk about some of the changes that YouTube has gone through.  Even throughout this change, we still felt like this was a good time to get into YouTube and be something a little different than what is popular.  We know it is probably a longer road to success, but it is one worth taking.

Every generations entertainment will annoy the previous. That is a fact and we will continue to neglect reading. (but audiobooks are totally cool) Maybe a few things will transcend generations, like The Beatles or The Who.  Maybe it is an older generation speaking here but I just can't imagine what is very popular on YouTube now is going to last.  I don't imagine we will want to share that with future generations.  Like popular slang that just goes out of style, or a joke that you had to be there for, it may just go away with time.  I seriously doubt there will be PewDiePie conventions 20 years from now but I used to like Men At Work so what do I know.  Seriously, I started this blog with a Van Halen quote.

- Jason Livingston

Dig the boots.

Fat Food- A Poem

 A Poem (1990) and a Blurb (2019)
By Shelly Livingston
(Way back in 1990 when I was still Shelly Locastro)
                 

 Fat Food

Eat the pie, eat the cake,

   Don't hold back.

The pounds will

        Come off- 

            Just one piece.

The food spoke.

       And I listened,

    and the guilt rose like a beginning fire. 

Just say no, 

    Just say no!

Why do they push me? Bully me? 

          I work so hard

    to push back the voices 

              of the fat food. 

I fear the pies, 

   I fear the cakes,

      I fear the chocolate candies too,

Just one piece and I'll expand like a balloon.

   My pants no longer fit,

My bras get too tight.

    Just one piece,

                They whisper to me.

                     The evil ones.

My husband touches the lumps on my hips,

     I hear him sigh.

                     I am humiliated.

The pie welcomes me,

     As well as the cake.

Go back! Go back to where you came from!

   I look to the mirror,

      The crumb of pie

              Hangs on my face.

I cry.

     Mother comforts me. 

She says she understands, 

     But I am not sure.

           Just 40 more pounds 

                 and then 

                       I will be happy.

My husband will feel my hips smooth,

My pants will fit 

and the sweats will be burned in the fire!

                        Just one bite...

                            No!

                                                Just say no. 

The living room fire burns warm.

I wish I could singe the fat 

    and watch it fall off. 

           But it's not that simple. 

Mother says she likes my figure.

     Husband says he doesn't care.

           I know he does. 

The pie enters my mouth,

     a cherry falls and hits the table.

                                               Brother just looks.

                

_________________________________________

In light of the most recent comments by Late night hosts about Fat Shaming, I decided to post this. No, it probably isn't a knee slapper for most of you. In fact, if you are like me, who had been on the "Big Dipper Roller Coaster" of weight loss and weight gain for much of my life, it is simply familiar. And kinda true. 

Food feels like it calls out to you. And here is the funny part. 

I was walking with my husband through the grocery store yesterday and we were each choosing one snack for the evening. He has a much needed day off today, and we planned on staying up late. He chose his pretzels covered in salt and I didn't know what I wanted yet. I always want chips with Ranch dip, but sometimes those have been make me sick after I eat them, so that was not an option.  I was perusing for something different and coming up short. A little discouraged, we were making our way to the checkout when there they were. The Mint Milano cookies whispering sweet nothings into my ear as I passed by and I, in one foul swoop, without even turning my face to look at them, and without even stopping, grabbed them and put them into our cart. (It was probably much funnier in person)...
    I was so close to leaving and having a night of good choices. Where I would wake up the next morning feeling better about myself because I didn't devour a whole bag of Mint Milanos.
       So close.
    As it turns out I didn't devour the entire bag, oddly, and three days later, there are still some left in the bag. But that is not my point.
    What I simply want to tell you is that you are okay. You are not alone. And if you want to change something about yourself, then seek out the love and support you need to do it. But love yourself along the way, not matter what size you are.
     Love yourself. Just be healthy. I'm not condoning a fat lifestyle, nor am I saying that skinny is the only way. But I am saying that loving yourself is the only way.

No matter what.

And that eating pies and cake every-so-often is good for the soul. I'm saying that too....

Shelly Livingston
Wife, Mom, Nana, Artist, Minister, YouTuber, Blogger, Woman Who Eats Pies and Cakes
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I Saw a Cockroach at Denny's

Cockroaches and Denial

    There is something special about second-dinner.
 It is comforting, calming, and gives you time to access your thoughts of the day. You don't have to carry them into your bed, cycle with them all night long, and wake up groggy the next morning. It can also make you gain weight. But that's for another Blog...
______________

    My husband and I excitedly headed out at about 10:00 pm for our second-dinner. It was during the early planning stages of our YouTube channel and we were swirling with ideas and plans. We had many late night planning sessions during those first few months, as both of us still worked full-time hours.

 We were anxious about spending some face-to-face time together too. So we landed at the only local spot that was close to our home, and still open at that hour, Denny's. Not the greatest food, but they had bottomless coffee for me and the Diet Pepsi's that flowed freely for Jason.
    We were seated in a booth way in the back of the restaurant that seemed to have lower lighting, which we were rather happy about, since we didn't need the bright lights to brainstorm. Plus, it was right by a window, and the night lights made us happy, relaxed, and it was kind of romantic, for a Denny's, anyway. We ordered our food. Gazed lovingly into one another's eyes, and talked YouTube.
 I was served my steaming hot cup of goodness, and Jason had already sucked down half of his Diet Pepsi when I noticed something crawling on the window next to me.
   "Ewwwww..." I said, "Look at the giant gross fly"... I didn't have my glasses on.
     I thought it was a fly. Jason started his investigation of the situation, but it was so high on the window that neither of us could tell what it was. So we went on talking for another couple of moments.
    The next thing I know this 1/2 inch "fly" was crawling right next to me on the window sill! By now I have figured out that it was, in fact, NOT a giant fly. I didn't really know what it was, but I knew it wasn't a fly. It was a creepy-crawly thing that was getting waaaaay too close for comfort!
    "Oh my God! That's not a fly! What is that?!?!" I blurted out jumping back in my booth-seat.
 

Not an actual photo of the Dirty Bug

"That's a cockroach", Jason said, in his calm-as-a-cucumber-Jason-way.

***Let me stop right here and give you a little personality background about us:
    I am an extrovert. I talk with my hands, and because of my public speaking experience, I don't whisper. I am artistic, intense, and a little goofy, to be frank. Type A personality.

    Jason is an introvert. Although his co-workers find him to be "the quiet type", he can be quite the conversationalist with me, but he does it in a a very low voice. The word he knows well from me is "what?". He is wicked smart, very witty, and very humble. Type B personality.
   He is the calm to my storm .***
   
     So, Mr. Calm said, "That's a cockroach". 
   I freaked out, and suddenly felt a little dirty. And upon closer inspection (but not too close), I realized he was right.
     It was the Dirty Bug. A cockroach. Oh...My...God...!!!!
I was so conflicted about this creature that was crawling around in the romantic, low-lights of the Denny's, hoping it didn't jump into my hair or, worse yet, into my coffee (God forbid! Not my coffee!!!). We passionately discussed saying something to the waitress.
    Then she brought us our food... We stared at it for more than a minute. Seeing if it moved.
   How could I eat it with that THING walking around right next to me? So I got up and felt I should be very discreet. I was really trying to do them a favor by not letting the other patrons at the restaurant know that their restaurant was gross and infected with diseased bugs. So I quietly let our waitress know that we had a cockroach joining us at our table for second-dinner. Once I returned to the table, she approached with a napkin, asked me where it was (right next to me, still crawling about on the window sill), and squished it, then said, matter of factly, "There, okay?"...
    I was not okay. Still really NOT OKAY.
 

We tried to make the best of a bad situation and carry on with our conversation and eat some of our food, but it was extremely difficult. I suddenly imagined (and felt) like my head had a thousand crawling itches, that my leg had something creeping up, that there might be cockroaches in my food...
     Finally, we just decided we couldn't relax any longer and got up to leave. As we left, we caught a glimpse of our waitress (who had disappeared after she killed "the beast", so she got little to no tip), and then I saw him...
      The Manager.
    Right there at the register.
 I again, tried to be discreet, but he had to be made aware of the infestation. And in my opinion, we really shouldn't have had to pay for our food.

So my title, "Cockroaches and Denial"... Here's why:
    The Manager seemed to be already aware of the situation, as he was a little nervous and jittery when I told him of the situation. He interrupted me, put his hand up as to, in a way, shush me, and actually said, "No, it was NOT a cockroach."
    "Yes, Sir, it certainly was a cockroach, and where there is one there are more, so this has to be dealt with. Plus we should get some sort of discount or something. This is ridiculous." I said.
   "It was not a cockroach." He insisted again. "But what do you want? What discount??" He was clearly agitated with me... The woman who had to eat with the Dirty Bug.
    I told him the discount amount (I should have asked for the meal to be free, but I chickened out), and he said, "Fine..."
    "Is this going to be dealt with?" I questioned back.
   "It is not a problem! I have been the Manager at this location for years and years and we have never had a problem with cockroaches."
    "You have one now", I interrupted.
          And here is where his denial got really good. 
    "Well, probably the cockroach got brought in to my restaurant on someone's purse (pointing to my pristine purple purse) or something like that!"

   Now there were others that could hear what was going on, and could hear the gross backpedaling of this desperate man.
     First, he was calling me a liar saying it wasn't a cockroach.
     Then, he was admitting it WAS a cockroach, but that I probably brought it in on my purse... that pissed me off.
Clearly, we've never been back.
   I wrote a very professional letter to Denny's and they wrote back to me telling me that the situation has been taken care of and thanked me. Not even a "Here's a Free Meal on Us". Just a thank you. Not that we would actually use a free meal coupon.
Our skin crawls at the thought of eating with the Dirty Bugs.

    But what made us more sick, was the denial. 
When we are backed into a corner, sometimes the easiest route may seem like making up excuses to absolve yourself of responsibility. But the truth, and a sincere apology, will always win out.
Every single time.

Jason and I spent many late nights (too many) at Denny's eating second-dinners before that night. . And if the Manager had said, "Oh my! I promise you this has never happened before and our protocol is to call immediately and get it dealt with, I am so very sorry." And then offered up some customer service on his own rather than barking, "What do you want?" to me, we might have returned to Denny's. But now. We won't go to any Denny's.

We're IHOP fans now. And I won't deny, that we have had about 4 second-dinners at IHOP since this happened.

In Conclusion, a little important wisdom as a cautionary take-away:
~Cockroaches are gross.
~Cockroaches carry diseases.
~Some say they are high in nutrition, but ewww... (and I've eaten scorpion, ants, cow brain, cow balls, goat eye ball, live octopus, and pupae dipped in sauces... so that's saying a lot for me)
~Second-Dinners can make you fat. But they are comforting and productive.
~Good customer service can keep people from writing Blogs about you.
~Come back to your table after you've killed the cockroach and
                                           you'll probably get a tip.
                                         ~Tell the truth.
                                         ~Denial is gross like a cockroach.
                                         ~ Just say you're sorry.

**About the Denny's cockroach photo above: I found many photos online about cockroaches at Denny's. I didn't make this one up on Photoshop. Think on that...**

Shelly Livingston
Wife, Mama, Nana, YouTuber, Minister, Woman Who Does Not Eat With Cockroaches
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I Got Kicked Out of Birthing Class

Laughter Is Good For the Soul

I grew up with an immense amount of silliness around me. There was the Italian side, which had the wine, mafia stories, loud meals and a lot of laughing, and then there was the other side... I think it’s a mixed bag of English, Irish and German, but my father, the Italian, always told me,
         “You’re Italian, nothing else matters...”

Me surrounded by two different worlds.
Both my grandmothers. 

   So I’m Italian.
   But what I really focus on is the laughter on both sides.
   The “other side” of the family, my mother’s side, was always so silly. I learned that it was okay to laugh at myself, dance weird, sing out loud and off key, be only myself, and find humor in almost anything.
    That lightened my life.
And sometimes got me in trouble.
___________________________

    I was 24 years old, married just two years, and pregnant with my first child. My husband, with whom I had all 5 of my children, was still, even at that time, getting used to the "silly" in my family.

My Mama covered in Silly String

We were the type of family that planned Silly String attacks on Christmas Eve, hid plastic rats in my mother's cabinets to see her reaction, had Hula Hoop contests, acted out skits on video and in photographs (below), and often had liquid spewing out of our noses after laughing hard. His family was a little more proper. Not that they didn't laugh, but they weren't as goofy as my family, so it was a bit of an adjustment. And I am never quite sure he got used to it, to be honest.
    So there we were, attending "Birthing Class". The class where terrified first time parents find out what they are actually getting into, and the moment where the mother has the stark realization that this monstrous thing growing in her belly has to come out- someway, somehow.

    One of the first frightening things they decided to do was to say this... "Look to your left. Now look to your right. One of the three of you is going to end up having a c-section".
    "Have the baby cut out of me!?!?" I thought,  "No freaking way!?!"!
 That was not going to be me, I decided right then and there. I was going to master the art of the birth plan and get it down pat so everything went smooth as silk. I was one determined chick.
    After some more terrifying pictures and video, they sat us in groups of two, facing our birthing partner. At the time, I didn't find this to be a joke, nor did I even find it funny. Until the teacher/nurse began to show us how to breath so we could "focus" during labor.
    "He-he-he-Hoooo....He-he-he-Hoooo"..... She kept going and going and going. It was then that I felt the giggle that seemed to start in my belly churning up like boiling water, but I managed to hold it back. ...
    "He-he-he-Hoooo... Now you do it, and focus on the eyes of your partner", she ordered.
I took one look at my husband, cracked a brief smile and he could see the look on my face was one of fear. Fear of blurting out in laughter.

    But I tried, oh I tried so hard to make the sounds, but the giggle that had been churning in my gut had been huffing it's way up to my chest, then to my throat, and all I could muster was the "He-he-he-ho-hahaha" coupled with intense laughter. Then he couldn't help himself either. "Stop laughing!" He muttered, trying to make himself seem very serious.
   We got scolded a little and tried to re-focus our "focus session". He was much better at maintaining his composure than I was. I honestly don't think I got out one complete "He-he-he-Hoooo" without cracking up.
    You could hear others around us also begin to join in on my little "giggle-focus-session", and all that led to was us getting scolded again by the teacher/nurse. Scold #2...
   But have you ever been in one of those situations where your laughter is simply uncontrollable? Where there is no reasonable expectation that you will be able to control yourself? It is like a force that cannot be reckoned with, and the laughter comes out with such vigor that you feel you are on the borderline of madness?
   That is what "He-he-he-Hooooo" was like for me...
    And I was ruining the class.... I didn't mean to, but it was just so damn funny.

This isn't me, but it was kind of like this...

So one last time. The third time would be the charm? Nope. I breathed, closed my eyes, and tried to picture myself in pain from my vagina being large enough to house a baby, but....
Nope....
   All I could hear was the soft patterns all around me, in different paces, in different voices-
"He-he-he-Hoooooooo....He-he-he-Hoooooo....He-he-he-Hoooooo"!!!!
    I broke again.
And then- Scold #3...
      we were then kicked out of Birthing Class.
 
 ***As a side note (and in my defense): Once the real labor started, it was no laughing matter and the "He-he's" and the "Hooo-Hooo's" flowed just fine. and they did help me focus. And after 24 hours of "focus" and plenty of "He-he-he-Hooo's-without laughing, I ended up being one of the three that had the C-Section... Go figure. Probably karma getting me back for not allowing others to focus properly in Birthing Class***

The reality. No laughing matter.

But the moral of the story is this:  Laughter is healthy. Laughter is healing. It is freeing and lift weights off your shoulders. Sometimes you need to laugh on purpose. Like having silly string fights or Hula Hoop contests.
   And sometimes laughter cannot be helped. Just as long as the laughter that cannot be helped is NOT at the expense of another, you'll be okay. So laugh!
   Laugh at yourself. My mother used to spill food on her shirt all the time and she would always laugh at herself. It taught me to not take myself , or my clothing so seriously. Life can be fun if you look for the good, the joy, the silly and the fun in it.
And don't be afraid of how you will "look" to others.
*Disclaimer* I have met people in my life that I actually labeled "buffoons". Not because they were silly and laughed a lot, but because they were in situations that were very serious (a memorial museum, instrumental performance, and veterans memorial ceremony) and decided that was the time to show off their humor. Don't be a buffoon.

Me as a strong young girl. (hands on the left)

But do laugh, and laugh often.

Maybe there were those at the Birthing Class that called me a buffoon for laughing at the "He-he-he-Hooo". I don't know.

But you try it, I dare you. Sit face-to-face with someone, look them in the eye and huff out a few "He-he-he-Hooo's" and try NOT to laugh.
Tell me how that goes.
 

My first born baby, Zachary

Shelly Livingston

Wife, Mom, Nana, YouTuber, Blogger, Woman Who Cannot Focus

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How I Paint an Abstract Portrait in Acrylic - Facing Challenges

In part 3 of this series of Shelly's portrait series, she talks about the challenges that every painting goes through in the process of creating it. We also include a time lapse sequence just like the last video that shows her layering process.

Chickens Actually Do Have Lips

It Is My Opinion that Chickens Have Lips

 Do you have opinions? We all do.
 I have held strong to many opinions. Some I have kept to myself, some I have blurted out with no regard for others feelings, and some I have carefully taken time to craft into Blogs and such.... *snicker*

    What can we do with opinions? According to the dictionary, opinions are "views or judgments not necessarily based on fact".   Necessarily being the key word there.

So sometimes they are based on truth and sometimes not.  

 For example, it is my strong opinion that chickens have lips. They are just hard lips. Beaks. But lips none the less. I cannot tell you how many people have argued with me about that. 

     "No, they're just beaks"...

"But a beak," I say snappily, "is a chicken's lips". Just because you call it a beak, doesn't mean they are not lips. That is my opinion. 

Is it based on a fact? I haven't really looked. And don't plan on it. 

I know lots of people ask if chickens have lips, but I choose to blindly follow my belief that they do.

 Sound like people you know? 

 We have opinions about food, art, clothing, behavior, religion, family members, friends, co-workers, sexuality, and politicians. Especially politicians. The list goes on.  We are a very opinionated people! And some follow blindly. 

For what purpose do we have opinions and feel the need to express them, and defend the virtue of our argument?

Freedom of Speech? I'm all for it! What I am NOT for is when people carry their opinions and beliefs so far that it changes the nature of relationships and families.

   I have a couple of family members that I don't really communicate with. Not because I don't agree with their politics, but because they are jerks, and I don't want jerks in my life. We all have the freedom to speak our minds, as well as choose to ignore the jerks. 

 But stating my opinion that chickens have lips doesn't make me a jerk. 

I love chickens lips. And If you think they are beaks then okay. We can still be friends.

But the next time you are spouting your "opinion' onto Facebook and causing an argument between friends that will not resolve anything nor change anyone's mind, remember this...

Opinion is poop. It sometimes stinks. Perspective is the first step to gaining more knowledge. If you're stubborn, like I am about chickens lips, you will never get anywhere. But if you are willing, you can gain some perspective. Then seek out more insight on the subject. Be honest and balanced with your judgments. Think on it. Meditate. 

When you do this, you will have a true understanding.

I will NEVER DO THIS for my opinion about chicken lips. 

never, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever.........

Ever...

Ever....

Shelly Livingston

Wife, Mother, Nana, Youtuber, Blogger, Chicken Lip Lover

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Stories Form the Funeral Home- Final/Part 5

The Purge 

This will be my final story for the "Funeral Home Stories" series.
I was so nervous about telling this story. I asked my husband, Jason, twice, "Should I actually write about the purge?". To which he said with a resolute calm,  "Yes..." both times. So here you go.
   WARNING!
**If you have a weak stomach, or have recently lost a loved one, don't read this.**

     I was often going to the "care center", where all of the loved ones were brought after being picked up from their place of deaths. I would be there to drop off/pick up paperwork, cremated remains, or to just check on the progress of a loved one that was going to be in our chapel for a service.
    It was a place where they were washed, dressed, made up and placed in a casket, or cremated for their families.  So it wasn't unusual for me to see several deceased individuals, all in different shapes, some a bit mangled from dying in odd positions, wide open mouths, sunken eyeballs.

No matter what they looked like, I still walked through the care center extending my love and respect to each of them. Yes, I was curious, but not like I was when I was a child (when I used to look at books so I could look into the eyes of the dead to try and figure out where they went). It was no longer a fascination. I would look at some and wonder how or why they died, what their life had been like, who they loved, and wondered if they had felt satisfied with their life when they left it. I would look upon the children, the teenagers, and the men and women who never had a chance to live a full life, and it would affect me. I would feel such sadness, love and respect for them.
    Who I respected most though, were the people who work(ed) at the care center. Day in and day out their subjects were dead.
Always dead.
   So I understood why some had to keep an emotional distance in order to get through their day.
    But one thing you should know, funeral home people, the morticians, the funeral arrangers, the drivers, the office folks, all of them....they are all a special breed. They care for your loved one not in a callous or flippant manner- but with precision, care and love, being fully aware of what has been lost.
    I have no idea why I was born with a curiosity about dead people, which eventually led to my working in, and loving the funeral business. I don't know why I can handle seeing a deceased person mangled and torn, but cannot bear seeing a hurt animal. I think that some of us are just made this way so we can handle what a majority of the people cannot.
   I mostly worked with the families of the deceased. And my heart went out to them as I helped them with their final services for their loved one. I sat and let them vent, ask "why", and gave them the kindest love I could. They were the ones having to live with the empty hole their loved one had left.

   As I said in one of the other blogs in this series, when a loved one was brought to our funeral home from the care center, those that were embalmed came already made up. But sometimes, due to a lack of information, or the difference in the lights, I would have to touch up the loved one to make sure they looked somewhat similar to what we knew the family was hoping for.
    The care center would not do make up on the un-embalmed.

There was a great deal of risk and it was simply the company's policy not to. However, a few of us at our funeral home didn't agree with that policy. No matter how long the family was staying to see their loved one, I would try to, at least make them look a little less dead. With the un-embalmed, they do not have preserving embalming fluids in their systems so depending on the manner in which they died, they can still manage to look fairly natural. Some even look like they are just sleeping. Honestly, it was the un-embalmed deceased that I was sometimes creeped out by. Because some really did look like they were just napping and looked like they were going to wake at any moment. Unnerving... that's probably a better word. So if there was no embalming, the skin was not preserved with that added "plastic factor".
So it, like the entire body, was going through the stages of breakdown. The skin became almost like tissue paper on the face. Push just a little too hard and the skin would literally be swept right along with the makeup brush. Additionally, you had to be very careful not to jostle an un-embalmed loved one as the fluids in the body, along with the blood was stirring, and breaking down. Kind of like the magma, stirring with a vengeance, underneath a volcano.
   The story I am about to tell was one of the more memorable moments for me. It's not one of those knee slappers, or even something one can make fun of.  But what does become humorous is when you look back on it and think of the utter shock and panic that ensued.
             None of us expected this...
    My co-worker and I had were receiving a woman into our care for what was called an "I.D. View". In other words, the family is seeing their loved one for the last time, then signing a paper for us that says, in fact, that was their loved one. Then they were back to the care center for cremation.
    Usually we would allow 15-20+ minutes for a small number of family members to come and do the I.D. View. It was not a service, nor was it a "viewing" with a lot of invited people. Just small, but intimate.
    For these views, the deceased were brought in by two drivers on a cart, similar to this one in the photograph. We had soft, cozy blankets we kept at the funeral home and would cover the deceased and try to cover as much of the cold cart that we could.

    In this case, a woman, who was only in her mid 30's, was brought in. She looked to be a little overweight, but it was fairly clear that she had been dead for a couple of days at least, as she was VERY bloated. My co-worker said she smelled as well (remember that I have no sense of smell), so we lit candles and sprayed one puff of perfume on her.  We had the doors to the chapel closed as we never wanted a family member to show up early and see their loved one before they are ready. Then I started work on her face. It was going to be very minimal, just a little powder and blush on her cheeks, nose and forehead. Anything to bring a little color to her. We were already concerned that the family was going to be in shock because of how bloated she was.
    The drivers that dropped her off stayed around, as they normally would when it was just a short I.D. View. That way they could just bring the loved one back as soon as the family was done spending time with them. So they were in the chapel, quietly chatting with my co-worker and I while we made sure the woman looked as best she could, under the circumstances.
   I was done with the make-up and my co-worker was done making the chapel pretty and smelling good. Then, my co-worker had a thought...
  "Her double chin is so smashed up on her face and she looks like she is shrugging her shoulders... Maybe if we gently pull her upper body up just a bit, then we will be able to see that she had a neck. It might look better for the family." 
    As I said, EVERY EFFORT of care and love is made to help families be able to see their loved one looking as good as possible. In this case, what she was suggesting wasn't at all unusual.
    "But we have to be careful", she said, "she is REALLY bloated".
               And we all knew what that meant.
    So we set out, along with the drivers, to make a plan to adjust the woman. We all had our jobs to do so that it would be done with minimal movement. Soft and swift. Both me and my co-worker would gently pull the upper sheet that were under her and try to lift her head a bit. One of the two drivers were down by her feet.
1...2....3!!!
We gently pulled and we caught a glimpse her neck for a split second. Then, almost like a volcano she ERUPTED!!!

She was purging bloody, foamy, and gooey lava from her mouth, her nose, her eyes!!!  It went everywhere and it kept coming!! 
    I am positive there were a couple of curse words blurted out, as well all scrambled. I am sure mine was, "SHIT"!!!
  My co-worker ran for tissues, and I told one of the drivers to go in the back to get paper towels, as we tried to get the purging-run-off to stop, shoving tissues wherever we could around her mouth and nose, and down by her neck... It was mayhem, everyone running this way or that and desperately trying to end the purging!
    This woman was a mess! There now was foamy, gooey, gelatinous dark bloody substance all over her face, in her hair, on her top, on the cozy blanket......
 THEN WE HEAR IT..... DING DONG... The front door of the funeral home. "Shit" again.
   Fortunately for us, our Office Manager came down the stairs, intercepted and greeted the family of the woman. Then he came in to check how we were doing- BEFORE HE LET THE FAMILY IN. Whew!
He saw and heard about the purging mess and went and let the family know we were going to need a few more moments to prepare her for their viewing. He never let on that there was a problem at all as that would have been incredibly upsetting for any family to hear.
   We wiped as gently as we could making sure we didn't tear her skin.  I got out the make-up again and touched up her face, then cleaned and brushed her hair. My co-worker got a fresh blanket and tucked it in all around below her neck so they didn't see the mess on the neckline of her top.
        Even after all that, we still managed to make her look beautiful for her family. But we were incredibly nervous that someone would put pressure on her stomach, or try to hug her or kiss her and it would happen all over again, right in front of the family. So we had to explain to the family about her bloating, and what it meant. And that they should not try to touch her too much.
             And I stood watch over this viewing. Like a lingering, creepy funeral home girl, I stood about two feet away from the head of that dead woman the whole time her family was there. Normally, they would have had private time with their loved one.

But not this time.

Lesson: Don't try to move bloated dead people. At least not without gloves on.

__The End____but_____Not the End___

Shelly with Black Beauty

I have more stories... Like the time I co-trained in the embalming room and saw a man who had just gotten back from the coroner. He was completely opened with no internal organs. They were all in a black bag... That was the one and only time that I was weak with grief and a little sick. He was a son, father, brother, grandfather. And his organs were in a bag.
   Or like the time that a dead guys eyes started to open a little during the service (faulty glue, I guess). And how the family came to me and asked me to close them. There I was with an "audience" of concerned family members, trying to crazy gluing a dead guys eye shut. Talk about pressure....
    Or how much I love hearses. I call them "Black Beauty"...
FOUR dreams- THREE met. One: To drive a hearse with a loved on in the back (CHECK!), Two: To lay in the back of a hearse and see what the view of the deceased is (CHECK!)  Three: To lay in a casket (CHECK!), And Four: to make love in the back of a hearse (No check on that one, yet).
____________________________
But I would like to move on from this series.  Talk about living things for a while. Perhaps I'll get back to it if there is some requests.
I hope you have enjoyed this.
By telling you these stories, I can pretty much guarantee that I will NEVER be hired to work in a funeral home again. Even though that was my heart's desire. Now I have a new heart's desire. And it has to do with helping people through YouTubing and Blogging.

Would love to hear from you,

Shelly


Shelly Livingston
Wife, Mama, Nana, YouTuber, Blogger, Woman Who Digs Hearses
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