Residual Anxiety

If you’re a long-time reader or know me in real life you probably know that when I was eight, my house caught fire while we were out shopping.

Because it was dark, the dead of winter (January 9, 1988), and the flames were just beginning to smolder … no one knew til my dad opened the door and yelled that one word that changed my childhood  forever: “FIRE!”

Our fire was a tragic piece of my past that inevitably brought my family closer together, but scarred me for life in many ways.

Though I didn’t go into it in this post detailing that frigid January day that changed our lives forever, the residual effects of that day have influenced much of my childhood, teenage years and adult existence — especially with respect to my anxiety levels. Continue reading “Residual Anxiety”

The Day Our House Burned Down: Jan. 9, 1988

Today’s post has nothing to do with body image, weight, fitness, or anything … I am just feeling nostalgic and wanted to put my family’s fire story into words. I don’t have a photo on hand to share from that day, and I didn’t want to use anyone else’s random photos … but sometimes a post doesn’t need it to resonate. I hope this is one of those.

Female intuition is a very powerful thing, and not something I take lightly.

A Saturday morning 22 years ago, while preparing to head out for the day on a family outing, I innocently asked my dad, “Daddy, what would happen if our house caught fire at night?”

He seemed a little surprised by my question (as it was completely out of the blue), but told me what we’d do — find each other, get out safely, and go to our neighbors’ house to call for help.

As planned, we ran some errands, and pretty much forgot about our conversation. But when we came home later that day … our lives were changed in an instant … and that “what if” conversation we had that morning haunts me to this day.

My dad opened the front door and (I’ll never forget this) screamed the one word that will forever echo in my mind: “FIRE”! Continue reading “The Day Our House Burned Down: Jan. 9, 1988”

Prayers for Jenna

The blog world is a small, intimate place. Even though we don’t always know one another personally, I read tons of blogs each day and feel like I know some of these women.

My heart stopped when I read Jenna’s post today at Eat, Live, Run.

As she writes, her 19-yr old brother died tragically last night of an accidental gunshot wound to the head, and I imagine her family is in complete shock.

Please say a prayer for her and her family as they navigate through their grief, and keep them in your thoughts.

That Sunny September Day …

Some people deal with stress, tragedy, heart-aches, loss of loved ones, job misery, etc. by not eating.

Not me. Food has always been on my mind. My dad even says, “Lis, you were born hungry!”

September 11, 2001 was probably the only day in my entire life I did not have food on the brain.

At all.

No, I didn’t lose anyone that I knew that day, but 9/11 hit me personally on several accounts. That morning, I was on a 6:00 a.m. N.Y.C.-bound Amtrak train from D.C. for a work event so I ended up in New York that day.

(I was a a grad student who has just begun an internship at the National Education Association two weeks prior, and our Read Across America kick-off and photo shoot with Garth Brooks was set for September 11 in NYC).

I fell asleep reading Tom Clancy’s Rainbow Six (ironically about terrorism) in about Delaware or so, so I’d been asleep a while.

A little before 9 a.m. the conductor woke me (and others) up by yelling, “Oh my god, the World Trade Center is on fire!” I looked to my right and sure enough, there was the New York skyline I, being a Jersey girl, grew up with … but something was definitely wrong.

From our vantage point, the north tower looked as though a giant, gaping hole had been carved our of one side … or like a huge hunk of metal was hanging. We couldn’t tell from that far away.

On the train, it was chaos as people were craning their necks to get a look, saying they thought it was a small charter plane that had crashed (But why not into the river, I’d wondered). No one knew anything.

By the time we got to Penn Station, the second tower had been hit and America was officially under attack. Continue reading “That Sunny September Day …”