1 Weekend of 8 Great Omaha Firsts

An Omaha Weekend to Remember

It was a weekend unlike any of the past 52. There was music, a toast, physical activity and a picnic. Also a hamburger, a priest and hail. And, shoes. Yes, disintegrating shoes.

This year I’ve committed to making time for more celebrations. Celebrating not just special occasions, but milestones. It’s not a New Year’s resolution. I’ve finally come to realize that joy matters. I’ve spent a lot of time working and ignoring milestones. Instead, I rushed to the next one without recognizing the success just achieved.

This past weekend our family experienced 8 firsts in Omaha. I understand it’s probably best to space these experiences out, but sometimes that’s just the way things work out. The difference was I actually lived in each of the moments. That’s a first too, probably the best first of the weekend!

Diana Ross

dianaI’m a Motown girl. Sure, I enjoy all types of music, but there’s something about Motown’s beats and melodies that resonate with my soul. When Ken asked if I’d like to attend our first Omaha concert by taking advantage of half-priced tickets to Diana Ross’s Friday night sold-out concert, my response was immediate and affirmative. “Of course, yes, thank you!” How could I possibly pass up the chance to be serenaded by the founding member and lead singer of the Supremes? The fact that’s she’s 72 was completely lost to my overwhelming desire to hear and sway to “Ain’t No Mountain High Enough,” “Upside Down,” and 75 minutes of other recognizable hits.

All week we looked forward to sitting in downtown Omaha’s magnificent Orpheum Theater for the first time.  We were excited for our date night and wanted to be respectful of Diva Diana. Ken donned slacks with a long-sleeved, collared shirt and I wore a floor-length summertime dress with wedge heels. Until I didn’t.

Shoes

My first Omaha embarrassing moment happened when opening the car door and stepping onto the searing pavement. I felt a bit off-balance, but grabbed Ken’s hand to make our way across the street. He’s my rock. He centers me. However, the more steps we took, the more I felt like I was tipping over. This sensation isn’t that unusual with the scoliosis curves I carry. But when I looked down and saw a portion of my shredded right wedge heel on the sidewalk, I knew this was greater than spinal curves. Oh Dear! Cork was dropping with each step.

I had a choice to make: Carry on like nothing was happening, turn around and go home, or quickly try to find a shoe store. Without flinching, I chose the shoefirst. I’d go barefoot before missing a Diana Ross concert. By the time I got to the Orpheum restroom, the left shoe heel was also ¾ shredded. Sitting on the stool, I examined both shoes and laughed aloud at the timing of their implosion. Rarely do I wear heels; these expired before I did. I slipped the “flats” back on, exited the restroom, grabbed Ken’s hand and strutted up to our balcony seats. During this entire journey,  I only heard one person utter, “Well, that’s interesting!” Yup. It was.  Despite the shoe calamity, our first Omaha concert was fantastic.

Hamburger

dinkWe ate our first Dinker’s hamburgers on Saturday. Alex, our 21-year-old son who’s here for a summer internship, has been touting this landmark restaurant. Apparently several co-workers frequent the Polish neighborhood eatery and have been lobbying him to as well. Dinker’s didn’t disappoint. After placing orders at the counter, we bellied up to the bar and enjoyed cold beverages with mouth-watering burgers, fries and onion rings. [I had the kiddie burger-more than enough for me.] It felt great to patronize a local establishment with a long family owned history.

Homily

priestWe heard our first homily from newly ordained (June 4, 2016) Father Tobias “Toby” Letak at Saturday evening’s mass at St. James.  Now I know I’m old. Father looks like a kid. He is one. However, watching him say Mass and deliver his homily, I marveled at his deep faith and gift of communication. It will be a joy to support and watch him grow as a church leader and priest. What a great vocational role model for the youth as well.

Champagne Toast

toastSaturday was a year that we moved into our Omaha home. After Mass, I gathered the Thomason men, poured Sparkling Grape Cider into champagne flutes and then we lifted glasses in a toast of gratitude. If you’ve read any of our family’s journey getting to Omaha and into a home, you understand the sentiment behind the toast. It was needed and deserved. Here’s to many more memories in this home!

Hail

Our neighborhood received significant hail in May while we were traveling in the Pacific Northwest and Canada. We obviously didn’t hear or see the hail. The insurance adjuster and seven contractors who’ve been here declared our roof, gutters and window sashes totaled. We are experiencing our first hail claim and house repairs after living here less than a year. Sunday morning, we sat down and put contractor data, by variables, into a spreadsheet to determine who to hire. We are predictably analytical and thorough in our research. It’s who we are. We know this methodology doesn’t work for all, but it always has for us. Let the roofing and other repairs begin.

Basketball

bbSunday was 20 degrees cooler than the previous week where record-setting temperatures soared over 100 degrees. It was a bit much despite our heat and humidity conditioning from decades of living in the Deep South. Like most, we stayed mostly indoors last week. So Sunday, when it was cooler, we felt like escaped convicts and completely overdid it. First, Ken and I walked two miles at Standing Bear Lake. Next, we got Alex and, for the first time, used the basketball court at Hillsborough Park.

Recreational activities are something the three of us joyfully share together. In fact, in Alex’s youth, most Saturdays Ken took him to the grassy common area in the front of our Charleston, SC neighborhood with a trunk full of sporting equipment. It warmed my soul to see them bond while throwing, kicking and putting.  It’s not much different today with the exception of more competitiveness and ribbing. The togetherness and competition still warm my aging soul, though these activities are not as kind on my joints and bones.

Picnic

picnicGoing to our first parish picnic capped off an eventful weekend. Our previous experiences have mostly involved pot-luck events. Not here! A team grilled pork loins and hot dogs, some cooked potatoes and corn, while others deep-fried squash and onions. There also were cookies and melons. A DJ played background tunes, including many Diana Ross hits.  Kids enjoyed a variety of carnival-like games and inflatables. Adults were in the Parish Center playing Bingo in the air-conditioning while others were managing the cake walk outside the church entrance. It was a festive event and one we will return to, for certain.

A weekend is 48 hours. We experienced 8 firsts in Omaha during this time and each was memorable in its own way.

I lived each moment, making each experience more joyful. Another first worth repeating.

©Copyright. July 2016. Linda Leier Thomason

All Rights Reserved.

 

FFA Advisor Lives Through Death

Family PictureBrian has led one of the most successful Agricultural Education programs in the nation for 25 years in Napoleon, ND. A proud NDSU  Bison graduate (1982), his FFA Chapter has earned over 100 individual and team championships, two national team championships and numerous other top 10 national awards.

He and his first wife, Lorie, were married in 1984 and raised two beautiful daughters, Christina, 28, and Brianna, 26, both elementary school teachers.

Brian married Mary Beth in December 2011. In his free time, he enjoys spending time with his wife, fishing, hunting, going to concerts, working in the yard and garden, and playing cards.

He also loves decorating for Christmas, something that began as a challenge from Lorie one year and continues today.

Here’s Brian’s Story

Cold sweats. Soaked sheets. Prayers through the night, pleading for a quicker sunrise.

A nightmare?

YES. A nightmare called my life. No one should experience death and grief in the prime of his life. Unfortunately this nightmare centers around the death of a spouse. It happens to many of us and we live through it, maybe even grow through it.

Our Love Story

I married my high school sweetheart at the age of 20, halfway through my college education, against the advice of some who said we were too young. They questioned our thinking. I thought I’d found the lady I loved more than myself and I wasn’t going to let her get away! Were there hard times? Absolutely! There was never enough money. I battled alcoholism and, like many, we had everyday life struggles. But, the worst was yet to come.

The Nightmare

It started with my wife Lorie’s physician’s assistant finding a lump in Lorie’s breast. We convinced each other it was nothing. Lorie was only 32. But then we received the news that she had breast cancer and that we needed to react immediately. A mastectomy was quickly done and a decade of chemo, radiation and other medical procedures ended on May 24, 2006 when my wife of 21 years, 10 months and 18 days died in my arms with our daughters at her bedside in the old house we had called home for 15 years. The cold sweats and daily washing of bed sheets began that night.

Stages of Grief after Death

We battled her cancer for a decade. There were periods of hopeful remission and then re-occurrence. I went through the stages of grief multiple times: Denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. My experience convinced me this isn’t an inclusive list and varies from person to person and situation. What I can do is reassure you that with each day it does get better and that you will eventually reach acceptance of the death and loss.

Acceptance Journey

Reaching acceptance of Lorie’s death was slow and painful and not always pretty, but maybe my journey will give you guidance and solace.

1. First and foremost I grew immensely in my faith. We’d always been a church-going family that had a “normal” amount of faithfulness. However, this experience, and the loss of my mother four years earlier, intensified my inner faith. It had to in order for me to get up and move forward. I had to believe that Lorie was now pain-free in paradise alongside those who were faithful and had gone before her. And I had to believe God still had plans for me to make this world a better place and give me purpose. Otherwise, He would have granted my prayers and taken me instead. So I say, “Believe in the power of prayer and have those real and raw conversations with God.”

2. Family and friends will reach out to you. Accept the opportunities they present. This may be a conversation over coffee, a phone call or an invitation to do something. Even if you don’t feel like going out, I’d encourage you to do so. I am so thankful for the friends and family who reached out to me and invited me to shoot pool, attend a backyard barbecue, go to area races, etc. There were many times I wanted to say no but forced myself to say yes because I knew staying home wasn’t going to help me get up, get dressed and get moving. Ask yourself often, “What would my loved one want me to do?”

3. I’m an educator by profession with an 11-month contract because of supervised summer activities. Summer 2006, after Lorie’s death, began the longest, most painful summer of my life. I simply wasn’t busy enough. Although I didn’t want to not be busy, I subconsciously sometimes made this choice. The schedule was flexible, not fixed like the academic school year, and now I know I could’ve used the structure. There were times I needed to be alone, but it’s not healthy to withdraw and wallow in self-pity. One should return to a normal routine as soon as mentally and emotionally possible. It was the reason two weeks after Lorie’s passing that my younger daughter, Brianna, and I decided we’d attend the State FFA Convention. We also knew that’s what Lorie would want us to do. Once the new school year started, the routine got easier. Obviously I had to be at work, which includes many hours of after school activities. Keeping busy and returning to a schedule made the days go by quicker and with less pain as my mind was occupied with the activities of the day.

4. Find natural ways to release stress and improve your mental health. One of the things I truly enjoy is listening to music and singing along. It is scientifically proven music has mental health benefits. It doesn’t matter what kind of music you choose. I select the music that is appropriate for my current state of mind. Sometimes I listen to Christian music.

Sometimes I’m listening to my “angry” music to vent. Sometimes I play tear jerking country and sometimes just some fun easy listening tunes. I also started exercising on daily basis-walking and lifting weights, not for the physical benefits but for the mental health benefits.

Whatever your hobbies are, or if you have none, I would encourage you to continue them or find some. I would also avoid the use of alcohol and/or drugs. I’m a recovered alcoholic, so in my mind that was never an option.

We all know that alcohol and some drugs are classified as depressants but yet many have some strange idea that it makes them feel mentally better when, in fact, it intensifies the depression we already have.

Gifted With a New Love

Two years after my wife’s death I started to experience something I never brian and marythought I would feel again. I fell in love. By attending activities with friends, I began to build a friendship with a beautiful lady whom I married three years later. It started as a friendship only because, honestly, I never thought I’d again feel the kind of love that makes a person want to commit themselves to another for a lifetime.

But, I did. Falling in love and possibly remarrying are certainly not disrespectful to the one you lost. The love and memories you have for your deceased spouse are certainly not diminished in any regard. I relish the memories Lorie and I had. I see my wife in the beauty of our daughters and I will forever cherish the love we had.

Get Up. Get Moving.

If you allow yourself to fully experience the death of a loved, you will grow. How have I chosen to grow through this experience? I grew in my faith. I am more grateful for the people in my life.

I love more deeply. I am more forgiving and less angry in my daily life. And, ironically this experience has made me a more positive person.

So, as hard as it may be-Get Up. Get Dressed. Get Moving! Your loved one would expect no less!

How has Brian’s story and journey touched you? Comment below.

Remember to encourage your loved ones to do monthly breast self-exams and to have annual mammograms.

Linda Leier Thomason is a former CEO who writes freelance business and travel stories, along with feature articles. Her work experiences include a Fortune 500 corporation, federal government, entrepreneurship and small business. Find out more about Linda by clicking the “Meet Linda” tab above. Interested in working together? Complete this form below.

©Copyright. December 2015. Linda Leier Thomason.
All Rights Reserved.

After Divorce, Love Liberates

I still love my ex-husband.

(Contributed by Maureen-an Oregon follower.)

I love him like a recovering alcoholic loves her drink of choice – with fond memories, from a great distance, and withm02 absolutely no desire to rekindle. Sobriety has gifted her with wisdom to understand the chaos of such reunion. The problem isn’t with the alcohol or the alcoholic. The problem is when they are in a relationship together.

 

Co-Parent 

My ex and I both love our children with fierce dedication. He’s an excellent co-parent: He returns my calls and gladly lets me borrow needed items. The lines of communication about our kids and their needs are very open. We cooperate while also maintaining healthy, new boundaries set after the divorce because, when children are involved, divorce does not end a relationship, it only changes it.

In fact, we filed for divorce together, submitting a stipulated judgment reached in agreement through mediation. The legal part was fast. It was reaching this point that was painfully slow and exhausting. After several rounds of pastoral and secular counseling, both as a couple, and individually, and only God knows how many tears and best efforts, I could state without reservation there was nothing left to try, no more effort to make.

Filed on Anniversary

By coincidence, we filed for divorce on July 8 – our anniversary – so, poetically, 14 years to the day we ended our marriage on the same day it began. Officially, the judgment was entered into the record six days later, but who’s nitpicking? That would mess up the way I’ve chosen to remember things.

And that’s the scary, and the beautiful part. It is my choice to remember things how I want to. Some may say I’m lying to myself, but we all lie to ourselves, all the time. I’ve chosen to stop hoping things could’ve been different. Rather, I’m grateful for how things are, which is the best definition of forgiveness I’ve found. I could list his failings and the compounded disappointments leading me to finally decide there was no hope for a shared future. But, then to be fair, I’d have to provide a list of mine. I don’t want to.

Imperfect

I was not perfect. I did things I am not proud of. Words were shouted. Names were called. Doors were slammed. Tires were squealed. Spit was spat. Yes, we’d known for years we were making each other miserable. I also knew if we split, he’d stay alone for approximately five seconds. I understood a separation would be permanent. I solved the problem of being forced to make this decision by lying in bed and crying about it for two years.

Support System

When I finally reached out to my friends, my sister, and my parents, their reactions told me I had no more time for such indulgences. They assured me they’d be there every step of the way and that if I returned to him without a full reckoning by both of us; they’d be forced to accept they could never take me at my word again. I knew once I started to share the truth of how far my marriage had gone off the rails, they’d expect me, and hope for me, to choose to do right by myself and my children. I fondly called this the Nuclear Option – drastic and irreversible, once begun.

On December 3, 2013, with the help of my sister and my parents – who could have so easily said, “I told you so,” but instead swooped in like a professionally trained search and rescue team, I pushed the red button by moving out and everything, I mean everything, has been better.

Circle of Stones

The process itself was brutal. Maybe I should say I wouldn’t wish it on anyone, but that isn’t true. Life is full of pain and disappointment and the sooner one acknowledges it, the easier it gets. Everyone is carrying their own sack of rocks, why whine about mine? Instead, I put together a team I fondly called my Circle of Stones. The inner circle was my sister and my parents, and my dear friend, Mindy, who was the first to be told and the first to withhold judgment. I honestly don’t know where I’d be if she hadn’t been the perfect friend to me in the exact time and way I needed her to be. Her nonjudgmental response gave me courage to reach out to my family – a family that, through my silence and shame of feeling like a failure, I’d metaphorically been giving the finger for over a decade.

Added to the Circle were my brothers and their wives, whose humbling, unexpected and greatly appreciated generosity arrived exactly when I needed it. Donna, Ellen, Debbi, Marta – a.k.a “My West Coast Mom,” Jim, Andrea, Ree, Char and so many others joined the Circle as did my doctor. She wisely put me on a short round of antidepressants when I asked her for something to help me sleep. And then, at just the right time, I learned of a reunion of female first cousins, some whom I’d never met or seen in over 30 years. Being with these strong, beautiful, caring women buoyed me, reminded of the stuff I was made of, helped me remember where I came from, and gave me the support and perspective I needed.  It’s taken time, counseling, grief and being embraced by this Circle but yes, I still do love my ex-husband.

Love is an Active Choice

Mr. Rogers in his book The World According to Mr. Rogers said, “Love isn’t perfect caring. It is an active noun, like struggle.” It is an active choice to behave in such a way that is beneficial and nurturing to all involved. Dr. Maya Angelou is credited with saying, “love liberates”. So it is my choice to love myself, my children and my now ex-husband enough to liberate, or set us all free.

I also choose to stop hoping things could’ve been different and instead be grateful for how things are. Rather than dragging my bag of rocks, I stand solidly inside my Circle of Stones and know I am forgiven, I am free.

We all are – or at least we can be. We only have to choose to liberate.

Linda Leier Thomason is a former CEO who writes freelance business and travel stories, along with feature articles. Her work experiences include a Fortune 500 corporation, federal government, entrepreneurship and small business. Find out more about Linda by clicking the “Meet Linda” tab above. Interested in working together? Complete this form below.

Want to share a message with or ask Maureen a question? Do so below.

If you’d like to be a guest contributor, please contact me.

©Copyright. November 2015. Linda Leier Thomason

All Rights Reserved.

 

 

The Fine Art of Moving

Ken & I at Vermillion, SD truck stop on May 2015 moving day
Ken & I at Vermillion, SD truck stop on May 2015 moving day

Decades ago while dating I recall being told the best way to determine long-term compatibility is to take a trip together. Ken and I traveled often and are celebrating 23 years of marriage in June 2015. I’d say that was timeless, sage advice.

Now I feel it’s my turn to offer some words of wisdom. If one wants to find out what character his/her partner is made of…MOVE. Move often. Who each is prior to sorting, selling, boxing, loading, driving and then unloading and unboxing remains through the entire process. I know this. We’ve moved seven times during our married life and each time the roles we play remain the same…in other words…we do not change much, despite our changing surroundings.

I am the planner, producer, facilitator and director. You get it…the boss…the leader. Ken, my husband, to use a good ole’ Southern phrase, “God bless his soul,” abides by my directives and does the heavy lifting and stacking. He hires the truck and labor. Apparently, time has taught him not to question or second guess my prep work and research. Alex, our son, the college dude, seeks to refine my directives with the precision of a logistics engineer, completely finding unnecessary my need for sentiment and time to pause and recall memories associated with items he considers ‘things.’

Sentimental item kept-my baby shoes.
Sentimental item kept-my baby shoes.

His goal is to get to the location and unpack, touching each item once while packing, once while loading and once while unloading. He fusses and hurries me along as I share legends of items stored away in cedar chests and cardboard boxes. I wonder if he thoughtfully considers his response when I ask, “Will you use or appreciate this one day?”

There is a fine art to moving. I equate it to a great symphony piece. First, I gather items by theme-kitchen cookware, flatware, linens, decorative items, etc. and sort. It sounds so cerebral, but in reality, it never gets easier, though with each move we downsize. What goes to a consignment shop? What will I attempt to sell? What is donated? What do I want to pass on to Alex? What can’t I part with just yet?

Fine art of moving-starts out messy.
Fine art of moving-starts out messy.

Actions ensue. I box and cart items to each destination. Ahhh. The house feels lighter. I feel good. I gather empty boxes we’ve saved from previous moves and do my best to pack alike items in a logical fashion. I bubble wrap breakables and touch each saved item with care, recalling how it came into our lives. I like doing this in solitude without the rush of deadlines and the push toward the end goal–boxing and moving on. I’m goal oriented, but not without nostalgia.

I call charitable organizations and schedule pick up times. During the recent move, we donated to the Furniture Mission in Sioux Falls, SD. They were gracious and expedient in their pick up. I watched them load items once considered valuable possessions but knew would not last through yet another move. I felt a loss of the material goods but joy at helping another family furnish a house. After they clear the garage, the items that escaped another cut and were boxed are moved to the garage awaiting the moving truck and the loaders. If these items had feelings, they’d be celebrating. They made the cut! They are prized and belong to the family.

Made the cut-boxed and in the garage awaiting truck.
Made the cut-boxed and in the garage awaiting truck.

I hesitantly sell items through the Internet, but never unless Alex or Ken is there with me when a potential buyer arrives. I’m 100 percent in my sales. Perhaps I missed my calling. I sell at list price and often the buyer leaves with more items than he came to get. Am I that good, or does the sentiment attached to the items I’m hawking come through so loudly that the buyer is purchasing that intangible as well? Either way. Ca..ching. Another item gone. One less thing to load on the moving truck.

All these actions happen virtually at the same time-list, respond to inquiries, arrange visits to see the items, greet potential buyers, sell, pull more items out of cupboards and cabinets, decide what goes and what stays, bubble wrap, touch each item, recall its’ origin, cart off to a donation site, wait on charitable organizations to arrive, box, move boxes to garage, on and on and on. If done well, the symphony of moving results in a feeling of relief, joy and peacefulness. If not, it’s utter chaos with shrieking and leaving in protest.

We’ve moved seven times. We each understand our role in the process and play our part. It requires practice but our individual character remains. As with musicians, each of us has learned a specialization in the process and sticks to it to make the overall piece and process flow smoothly and flawlessly.

We sorted. We donated. We sold. We packed. We loaded. We moved. We arrived safely. We can each say we enjoyed the fine art of moving in May 2015. We remember moving is like a symphony-each has a specific role to play for it to be a memorable production.

Sonata!

Jubilant moving producer arrives at destination.
Jubilant moving producer arrives at destination.

Copyright. June 2015. Linda Leier Thomason