Laurel McHargue -- Author/Podcaster/Public Speaker
They said it couldn’t be done. Evidently, one winter in an unheated Leadville bathroom will make you stronger…or kill you.
Perhaps it’s the shock to my system when I sit on the icy seat each morning–after ensuring that the water in the bowl is not frozen–that invigorates me. Or maybe it’s the frequency of goosebumps, regardless of the hot water in the shower, that keeps me feeling perky.
Sorry, little bamboo. We can’t all be warriors.
Booby-cake, booby-cake, mam-mo-gram,
Smash me a boob as fast as you can;
Pull it, squish it, and mark it with a B,
Crank that mother down for doctor to see.
I was very excited to hear that my mammogram center had updated their equipment to the latest 3-D imaging machine.
“Finally!” I thought, “an exam that won’t leave my bodacious tatas tortured!”
My enthusiasm drained, however, when I heard those fateful words.
“The tighter the better for an accurate image. Let me know when you can’t stand it anymore.”
Crank, crank, crank. I fight back a tear and she stops.
“Hold your breath,” she instructs me. My breathing is already shallow from the pain and I fear I may not have enough oxygen in my lungs to sustain me through the machine’s rotation, but I know that if I pass out, I’ll end up with my right one hanging way lower than my left one, and somehow I manage to remain upright.
I try not to hate her. She’s just doing her job and by the time she needs one of these exams, they will have a pain-free method.
But for now I try to pretend I don’t mind having this young booby-tech treating my lady lumps like they were pizza dough.
Finally, the assault ends and I head to the bathroom where I apply deodorant. The bathroom is lovely…updated sink, flowers, hand towels stacked in a neat pile, soap and lotion…and a picture that—without my assistance—hangs lower on one side than the other.
“Hold your breath,” I say, and snap a photo. “That wasn’t so bad, now, was it?”
I head home, wondering if all this is really necessary, and decide that I just might skip next year’s appointment. “The girls” will be tickled.
Could “one” enjoy an entire box of chocolates “oneself” in one day? Oh, yes! Will “one” enjoy the consequences one day later? Oh, no.
Do I really hate having to shovel day after day, sometimes for several hours, only to have my work undone by a city plow? Do I really hate having to bundle up on a -10 degree morning, ensuring almost no skin is exposed, to take my dog on his “time to go” walk, only to end up having to remove my hat and unzip because even though it’s freezing, the brilliant sun combined with the pumping of my blood is making me sweat? Do I really hate jumping into our Tempur-Pedic bed when the room temperature is hovering below 50, only to have my husband laugh at my “Ooof!” when I land on the brick-like surface before weaseling my way over to where his warmth has already created a snuggly cocoon?
And do I hate spending 20 extra minutes at Safeway because I know—and must chat with—someone in every aisle, or cleaning out the ashes of our wood-burning stove before starting a fire around which family and friends will gather, or having to walk to the post office instead of drive because it would be faster than shoveling out my car?
No. No, I don’t.
It’s funny, but I’ve been struggling with life in Leadville since well before we moved here nearly seven years ago. I often want to hate it, and sometimes I convince myself that I do.
But I really don’t, though I’ll never be fond of that city plow.
It’s ON! Reserve your spot now, because space is limited!
Lisa Marie Boehmke, Mindfulness in Writing
Amy Frykholm, Scheduling Productivity
Stephanie Frykholm, Write Awake: Exploring the Creative Aliveness of Embodied Writing
Al Dawson, Short Stories: Adventures in Life
Laurel McHargue, Direct Publishing (and a bonus evening field-trip/sensory writing)
Jane Provorse, Let’s Write a Play!
Karen Rinehart, Writing Off the Nose (dialogue writing)
Jeffrey A. Runyon, Prosody 101
and here are the details:
The IDES OF MARCH Writers’ Retreat is open for reservations!
Where? The Inn at Twin Lakes.
We have eight workshop presenters over two days, from 1 pm on the 15th through noon on the 16th, and two options:
$150 gets you the whole package (sessions, 2 meals, snacks/coffee/tea, sleep at the Inn).
$100 gets you everything but the sleepover!
Space is limited, and reservations will be first-come-first-served.
Call the Inn if you’re ready to escape next month: 719-486-7965
Is it even possible to turn things around in our public education system?
“Miss?”
I suppose it’s a good thing that my goal is to live to be 110 because after spending the last several hours cleaning my son’s apartment, I may inadvertently have sacrificed a year or two.
He didn’t ask me to do it, and he certainly didn’t expect that I would. We were supposed to be enjoying a merry old time tonight with a group of his friends who invited us for dinner and then an evening at the local indoor trampoline park. Awesome, right? Yes, I was ready to don a set of Nick’s sweats and hop till I dropped this evening, but an unexpected call from his workplace changed our plans, leaving me with four hours to entertain myself, and no cable television.
“I guess I’ll have some time to write after all,” I tell him as he hurriedly dresses to cover a shift. He looks great in his dress pants, shirt and tie, but cuts himself in his rush to shave.
“Why are you using a disposable razor?” I ask, knowing from personal experience how unforgiving they can be.
“I don’t know,” he says, pressing a piece of toilet paper to his chin. “A leftover habit from when I didn’t used to shave every day, I guess.”
If he could, he’d likely never shave, but his job now requires it. I make a mental note to buy him a real razor.
He leaves, and I open the refrigerator to rustle up some dinner. Looks like it’ll be a celery and peanut butter extravaganza, and when I open what should be the fruit drawer to see if there’s anything I might add, I recoil in horror.
No, there’s no severed head or any other body part in the drawer, but there’s clearly something growing, and not something anyone should eat. I decide that my young bachelor could use a little help, and set aside the celery for later.
I survey the small apartment and decide to start with the floors, drab beige-brown linoleum that almost hides months of neglect. After running the vac (note: buy new vacuum bags), I fill the tub with bleach water and search for a mop, but find only a dry-mop. Into the tub it goes, and I instantly feel better slopping it across each room and capturing all the dust bunnies.
The color of the tub water when I rinse the mop makes me think that I should repeat what I’ve just done, several times, but my time is limited and there’s much still to do. Like clean the tub, which is blooming both black and an unnatural pink. And the toilet, which rocks when you sit on it, and the sink, which is attached to the wall at the perfect height for a Lilliputian.
I look for a new sponge (note: buy new sponges), to no avail, so I use the one that keeps the bar of soap from slipping into the sink; it’s in considerably better shape than the scary one Nick has been using on dishes in the kitchen. My hands start to look like old lady’s hands (I’ve only just hit my middle-age) and I wonder if I should be wearing a haz-mat mask, but it’s too late. I’ve gone too far.
After dousing all bathroom surfaces with bleach (note: buy more bleach), I scrub what I can, including the abused trash can. Then it’s back to the kitchen. I open the refrigerator again, hoping that what I saw an hour ago isn’t really as bad as I first thought, but in fact, it is far worse.
When I remove the drawer to clean it in the sink, what I find under it at the bottom of the refrigerator defies description, and for a moment, I consider pretending I’ve not seen it. I could clean and replace the drawer, and no one would be the wiser. But then I wouldn’t be able to sleep. Ever.
And so I do what I must with a skanky sponge soaked in antibacterial spray (note: buy more antibacterial spray), and as the saying goes, one thing leads to another. I do my best not to breathe each time I go in for a scrub, but I start to hear the doctors’ dialogue when I’m 108.
“Poor old girl,” they say. “I’ll bet she cleaned her son’s refrigerator when she was just middle-aged. There’s no way she’ll make it to 110 now.”
Nevertheless, I know that I will finish what I’ve begun.
When all of the red-green gooey jelly-like substance is gone, I finish up by scraping a meal’s worth of food from the inside of the microwave and wipe down the stove front and hood. The sponge can handle no more, and my peanut butter celery is calling me.
I clean the kitchen trash can, toss in the mangled sponge, and scrub my flaky hands with the last drop of antibacterial spray. Time for dinner (note: buy more celery) and three, yes three brownies. Hey, I’m only going to live to be 108 now, so I might as well enjoy every moment!
Nick returns shortly after 10 p.m. and I note a brief expression of concern on his face. He senses that something is different, but cannot put his finger on it.
“Wow. I normally just carry the whole trash can to the dumpster. You were brave to pull out that flimsy bag,” he tells me when he sees the over-full bag by the front door.
I tell him just how brave I’ve been.
“Thanks, Mum,” he tells me, and I know that we both will sleep well tonight.
“Either he deleted his Facebook page or he’s blocked me,” said my husband first thing this morning.
“That’s ridiculous,” I said. “Why would he do either?”
Our 20-year-old son Jake is a computer guru, and has been for a very long time. He makes his living doing “computer things.” I open my Facebook page and search his name. I find it and click on it.
Black boxes and emptiness.
I pick up the phone and call him immediately.
“Hey, Mum,” he mumbles. Clearly I have woken him, but I am delighted to hear his voice.
“You okay?” I ask.
“Yeah, just a bit sleepy,” he says.
“Sorry to wake you,” I say, “but we saw that you weren’t on Facebook anymore. How come?”
“Too stressful,” he responds simply.
“Good for you,” I tell him. “If I weren’t such a famous public figure, I might do the same.” He laughs, and so do I. I laugh because I know that as soon as I write about this, I’ll post it to my blog and then link it to my Facebook page. And then I’ll wait for people to give me feedback.
I’m a feedback addict.
I understand what he means about the stress, though, and my decision to remove “Words with Friends” from my new iPhone this year seriously helped me breathe a little easier. I loved the challenge, but I always had about five games going, and although I justified playing because it was “words,” when I really looked at those hours of mental maneuvering of letters to make meaningless “points,” I see that they were hours that could have been better spent.
We live in a world that caters to people like me, the extroverts of the world, the “Look at MEs” of the world, the people who need attention and that burst of excitement that comes when we open our Facebook and see those red notification bubbles.
But I understand the stress that comes with addiction, and wonder now what I’m going to do about it. I can justify all of my status updates as necessary for me to stay connected with and to entertain my friends and family…it’s what extroverts do.
I’ll be waiting for your feedback.
http://www.amazon.com/Miss-Laurel-McHargue-ebook/dp/B00FQT4WO0/ref=cm_cr_pr_product_top
Hi my friends and family!
2013 was a year filled with challenges. What year hasn’t been?
Mighty Mike continued a year of public service as the county’s Emergency Manager, 
conducting a brilliant wildfire exercise in June (earning high accolades from FEMA evaluators) and assisting with recovery efforts after the devastating floods in the Boulder area in September. After hoping that cortisone injections in his right hip would prolong the inevitable, he went under the knife for a complete hip replacement…just four days after completing his 8th Leadville Trail (LT) 100 Mountain Bike race! Although he’s not in any hurry to replace the other, he is quite pleased with his recovery and his ability to hike and bike pain-free again!
Nick has excelled in the ROTC program at UNM and continues his studies on an extended plan 
after adding a year for course work in the Emergency Medical Services Academy. He, too, competed in and completed his first LT100 race. Still not certain about his follow-on assignment after graduation, he will be working in Albuquerque until he can find a way to return to Colorado! Jake opted for the work-over-school plan and is partnering with another young entrepreneur in Boulder. His facility with computing has allowed him to do what he enjoys while providing him with the resources to live independently while caring for his pet tortoise, Givenchy.
The Lead Ass Inn hosted many visitors this year: Sarah Collier (my good friend Nadine’s 
daughter) lived with us this summer and I got to pretend that I had a daughter for a bit! Niece Andrea and hubby started off the July revolving door, followed by race friends Brent and Lisa, then Mike’s bro Mark, his wife and two girls, then Anne and Eric from VA overlapping with Sam and Derrick from Abu Dhabi (en route to Germany), and finally Sarah’s boyfriend. Whew! Talk about musical beds! Our old Army friends from long ago (Kathy, Chris, Kristen and Michael Shalosky) visited for Thanksgiving and we made the best hand turkeys ever!
I completed the draft of my first novel (“Miss?”) in March just before my Dad underwent major surgery for cancer. Dad fought the good fight, and even helped 
organize a most memorable family reunion at my sister Carol’s home in June, but ultimately lost his battle on October 4th, not long after losing his youngest brother. I was blessed to have had several visits with Dad before he left us, one on the heels of my 30th West Point Reunion. Dad’s funeral was fitting for the wonderful man he was. Mom has been a pillar of strength, and we all are grateful that she lives in a place surrounded by friends and not far from Carol. She continues to teach us life lessons as she finds her way after 65 years of living with her best friend.
Somehow I managed to find a couple of weeks to act in a friend’s Indie film (“Peace Pass”), and I published my novel through Amazon in November shortly before Mike and I decided to adopt a German Shepherd from a local shelter. Ranger (almost 3) has brought us great joy; his temperament is much like Guntar’s was (our first dog). Wishing you all health and happiness in 2014!
With love from the Lead Ass Inn–a name my Dad suggested for our far-away home.
Laurel, Mike, Nick, Jake, and Ranger