Just Kimber

Mr. Akin - Please Try On My Shoes

2012-08-21T17:02:00.000-07:00

Dear Mr. Akin,

You want to judge me? Tell me what choices to make with my body after I am raped? Tell me how I should feel and react after I’ve been violated? Question my moral compass after I’ve been stripped of all dignity and filled quite literally with shame? You spew declarative words that call for actions you will never be asked to perform yourself.

You think you know me, because to you, all women are the same. You see women as carbon copies of one another, sharing the same ideology, displaying the same emotional reactions to any given situation. But there is no universal guidebook to the reactions I will have or the choices I will make when my body is suddenly and unwillingly at the mercy of another.

My choices are like my shoes – I change them at will and there is always a story behind the choice, but you will rarely know what it is. By looking at my shoes alone, you will never know where I’ve come from, what I believe, who has hurt me, how I want to be remembered or why I still struggle.

My shoes are a roadmap to my current psyche. But we all have a different story behind the shoes we choose. The meanings are different for each of us and those meanings are often personal and private. That is choice.

I invite you to try to stick your oversized, overbearing, uneducated, uninformed, anti-women, right winged, religious zealot feet into my lovely size 11 shoes – if only for just a day. But you could never imagine what my shoes feel like nor would you ever be willing to make the effort.

You think you know what is best for me just because you took a look at my shoes and made a judgment based on your narrow perception of your own truth. Not mine.

How do you decide who I am? What do you see when you look at my shoes?

If I wear flip-flops does that mean I am a free spirit that desires comfort and ease? Or am I too despondent over a recent fight with my partner to actually care how I look anymore?

If I wear Jimmy Choo genuine python Italian knee-high boots am I a fashion forward Wall Street success story? Or am I giving up on my dreams by trying too hard to fit into a business world that continues to reject my own individuality?

If I wear campy sandals with emerald-cut crystals set on slim, wrapped 4-inch heels am I ready to dance the night away with my best gal pals? Or am I going to saunter into a dark bar ready to explore the depths of my own sexual identity?

Your words are reckless and dangerous. Don't you want to be the kind of man your six children could be proud of? It isn't too late.

Why not take a moment to walk in my shoes?

I bet you’ll fall on the first step.

Celebrate Your Difference

2010-12-13T09:37:00.000-08:00

Good, Positive, Optimistic & Inspiring People & News Stories From Around The World

Creating a Positive Impact in Our World.

Celebrate Your Difference

Positive Impact Magazine | Dec 06, 2010 | Comments 0

By: Kimber Tabak

Too often physically challenged individuals are perceived as incomplete. As a result, they may be less accepted by society than those whose challenges are not as obvious. And it even starts when they are young. Children are frequently teased by other children; but for kids with physical disabilities, that teasing is usually more intense. Typically picked last for team sports and other group activities, they often feel different and alone.

Sarah Reinertsen was born with a condition called proximal femoral focal deficiency (PFFD) that left her with a deformed leg. She used a stiff leg brace until the age of 7 when she opted to have her leg amputated above the knee so she could take better advantage of prosthetic technology. She then decided to turn her physical challenge into an incredible and inspirational lifetime of success and has devoted her life to overcoming the challenge.

SaraBear summits Mount Everest with the other 23 members of the EVERYBody to Everest Climbing Team in 2010 • Photo By: Paul Fejtek

Because of her disability, coaches and teachers discouraged Sarah from engaging in regular play and activities that involved running. Even as a child, Sarah knew there was so much she could overcome and had a burning desire to make the world see her differently, but she didn’t have any similarly disabled role models. So she decided to become one herself. In 2005, she became the first woman with an artificial leg to complete the Hawaii Ironman triathlon, a 2.4-mile swim, 112-mile bike ride, and 26.2 mile run. She went on to become the first amputee to compete in the CBS reality TV show “The Amazing Race.”

Brian Lorenz, a longtime supporter of the Challenged Athletes Foundation, met Sarah during their annual fundraiser and was immediately moved by her drive and motivation. They became fast friends, and Brian grew to appreciate her amazing character and strength.

“I realized that Sarah was a very unique and special person,” Brian says. “She has incredible drive and motivation.”

Sarah and Brian talked often, and Brian began to wonder how different life is for people like Sarah – the stares, the comments, and the day-to-day physical challenges that she took in stride. What he discovered was that it wasn’t always easy and that many kids might not have the “Sarah-style” inner strength to overcome being treated differently.

Brian was so inspired by Sarah’s spirit that he began to brainstorm a way to change people’s internal and external perceptions of those with physical disabilities. His goal was to help society heal and accept people with differences. How could he help others better accept people with physical challenges? And, was there some way to increase the self-confidence of physically disabled individuals?

Brian founded Glabeebers, Inc., an organization whose mission is to be creative and have fun by combining thoughts that, at first glance, don’t seem to be compatible. The newest creation from Glabeebers is the SarahBear, a lovable teddy bear with a prosthetic leg device, created in honor of Sarah. A generous portion of the profits from the sale of SarahBears goes to the Challenged Athletes Foundation.

“We all are different in some way,” explains Brian. “It isn’t about our physical, mental or emotional capacity, it’s about love and acceptance – of others as well as ourselves.

A teddy bear with a prosthetic device is just as lovable as one without,” he continues. “Likewise a person with a prosthetic device is just as lovable as a person without one.”

Sarah is honored and wishes she’d had something like this as a child. “The SarahBear would have been an incredible gift to get in the hospital after my amputation,” she says. “To get a teddy bear that looked like me or had similar traits would have been incredible.”

The SarahBear is more than just a toy. It shows that it’s okay to be different and carries with it a strong message of love and acceptance.

To purchase your own SarahBear, please visit www.glabeebers.com

About the author: Kimber has spent her career working in marketing and traveling the world as an event planner. Her passions for volunteering and community service have led her to meet some incredible people. Becoming a freelance writer has given her a great vehicle to share the stories of the amazing people she has met along the way.

Would you choose a new car over a new tomorrow?

2010-12-02T20:47:00.001-08:00

Remember when what mattered most in life wasn't a plasma HDTV, a Coach bag or a Botox treatment?

There was an easier time. A time when our dreams were filled with the simplicity of just existing in a happier tomorrow. When we didn't focus so much on the materialism, climbing the corporate ladder, or besting our neighbors with a bigger house or faster car.

The other day I asked my soon to be two-year-old nephew what he wanted to be when he grew up.

him: "I wanna be 2."
me: "2? What about being a fireman or a policeman?"
him: "No Kimmy, just want to be 2."

Children can be such a beautiful reminder of what in the end, really does matter most... more tomorrows.

The "circle of life" is just death wrapped in a bow

2010-05-30T01:01:00.000-07:00

Do you ever just feel so emotionally drained that basic mental functionality becomes a luxury? How is it possible to experience extreme joy and extreme sorrow in the same moment? I am playing emotional pinball inside my mind and I don't know how to make sense of any of it.

Since my mom's cancer diagnosis, I have been bathed in this underlying anxiety that blankets everything I do. I've watched her endure chemotherapy and radiation. Our family has been on an emotional roller coaster that I wouldn't wish on anyone. We've cried together, voiced our frustrations and concerns and even painfully discussed all the possible scenarios that could unfold. Through it all, there were many wonderful moments of great comic relief; much needed inappropriate jokes to bring levity to otherwise stoic circumstances.

And now, suddenly, I am able to breathe and look to the future. A future that has my mom in it, thanks to a successful surgery to remove the last of the tumor. The doctors believe she is now cancer-free. While the recovery won't be the most pleasant of situations, she gets to be alive and continue to be an amazing part of our lives.

Extreme joy - what an understatement.

And as I was letting the joy wash over me, I received a call with news that floods my soul with sorrow so complete and finite that I am unable to stand, unable to speak, barely able to breathe. One of my dearest friends Khelly had been battling breast cancer for less than a year. She was a wonderfully spiritual woman that didn't take one moment of her life for granted. Her path to recovery was hard fought and filled with amazing discoveries for alternative treatment options.

I spent some time with her just a few short weeks ago. Her illness was not recognizable to the uninformed eye. She was beautiful, radiant and filled with an incredible spirit and illuminating energy. This was not a woman weeks away from her last breath. I am filled with shock and anger over such an injustice to the world.

The sadness is so penetrating that I have forced myself into numbness where I am almost comfortable not to feel anything, yet tragically when the moment passes, I feel everything.

It is the perversely perfect circle of life yin and yang. Life and death is so strangely obtuse and tragic yet at the same time so surprising and beautiful.

These two opposing stratospheres of temperament are dueling it out inside me and I am so at a loss of how to allow them to simply run their due course.

Let it be? I'm not built that way.

Warning: Ambien is hazardous to your wallet

2010-05-14T01:48:00.000-07:00

I suffer from insomnia. I just can't seem to quiet my mind long enough to put it to rest. I have learned to channel this energy and find that I am at my most creative and articulate in the wee hours of the night. There are times however, when I've gone for several days without real sleep and know that I am teetering on the edge of dysfunction. So I give in and take a sleeping aid. I have outgrown Melatonin and found that the only way for me to get solid sleep is Ambien. A wonderful and incredibly expensive drug (especially when one does not have health insurance - but that is a whole other blog). So I tend to use it sparingly.

I have to time it all just right. If I take it too close to going to sleep, there isn't time for it to process and insomnia still sets in. If I take it too late at night, I oversleep the next day. There is a small window to experience the thrill of the Ambien high right before peaceful sleep is granted. If I allow myself to indulge for too long in the high, it takes control and I am up for hours - incredibly productive, with almost no recollection. I've done some of my best writing in this Ambien fog of creative clarity.

I've had quite a few Ambien induced conversations with friends. They find it incredibly entertaining, and probably somewhat annoying, but nonetheless insist on sharing with me the next day all the rambling and metaphysical stories I unload on them. My memory isn't a total blackout, but there are pieces that are gone. It is almost like I am taking part in an awake dream and I can recall only vague snippets. It is oddly amusing and strangely fascinating to me.

Some time in the last 3-5 days I must have indulged in my favorite sleep aid, pushed past the short high and hung out in Nirvana for a few hours watching infomercials. All day I was interrupted with deliveries at my door that I can't remember ordering. The lure of late night channel surfing through all the latest hype of exercise videos, vitamins, software updates, hair restoration and self-help books - found their way to my family room floor, neatly stacked in brown UPS boxes.

I even have a package from the EDD with materials I apparently requested for providing special disaster relief insurance to all my employees. I don't even have any employees.

I've heard of horror stories of people on Ambien blindly raiding their refrigerators, eating their way through the night. Thank god I don't raid the cupboards, just my wallet! So I guess what happens while on Ambien, no longer stays a secret.

I sure hope all this stuff is returnable!

Wait...what time is it? Am I on Ambien right now??

Ever wonder what true love looks like?

2010-04-27T06:00:00.000-07:00

My dad's domain is his workbench in the garage. It is the one place my mother will never touch, never disturb, doesn't even glance at it as she climbs in the car. Over the years the workbench has taken on a life of its own - filled with tools, supplies and clutter. He knows exactly where everything is in his system of organized chaos.

So the other day, my dad was 5o feet in the air on a ladder painting the house so my mother found herself in front of his precious workbench looking for a paintbrush he requested.

I'm not sure she ever found the paintbrush. But what she did find was a priceless reminder of what truly matters in life: love.

Perched on its own makeshift pedestal and nestled amongst his other precious tools, was the top to their wedding cake.

For over 43 years of marriage, across 2 states, 9 different house moves and numerous garage sales - my dad, completely unbeknownst to my mom, had saved and preserved their original wedding cake top.

If you ever doubted that true love really existed....now you know.

It does.

Roots or wings? Why must I choose?

2010-04-25T16:34:00.000-07:00

I've spent a lot of years building a strong career and a stable life. I've veered off course a few times to fulfill my never-ending longing for adventure. I left a good career to work aboard a cruise ship for a year - a decision I will always be grateful I had the strength to make. Although there were definite consequences. I was never quite the same when I returned. A few friendships were sacrificed in my quest for self-discovery. I had to start over on a new career path as the economy had changed dramatically - or maybe I had just changed dramatically.

I remember a distinct crossroads I found myself in upon my return. I could either hunker down and stop running away from every adult responsibility and really begin creating a foundation for myself, or I could take flight and live out my dreams of travel and adventure. In the end the need for responsibility and security spoke louder to me than my quest for something new and exciting.

During my cruise ship days, I met some incredible people from all over the world that I continue to stay in touch with. One of those special Canadian souls happens to share the same kindred spirit for adventure that I do. His thirst for the unexpected is unquenchable. He lives in the moment and plans for very little. His life is filled with extraordinary stories and incredible experiences.

When he was at the same crossroads I was in life, where I chose roots, he chose wings without hesitation.

We often compare our lives and sit in wonderment on how two people with the same fundamental urge for excitement and a sense of belonging chose two completely different paths in life. I have a great network of lifelong friends and family, a house I own and a fulfilling career that I adore. Yet there is that nagging feeling every now and then that something is missing. My lack of courage to take flight has left me wondering what else might be out there.

He has the open road, no real responsibility, no attachments to anyone or anything and the luxury to answer to no one but himself. He has the ability to literally jump on his gorgeous motorcycle and go where the wind takes him. His life is filled with special moments in exotic lands. He has the freedom most of us only dream about. Yet his fear of settling down has left him without a place to call home.

I find that I am content, but not happy. He tells me he is very happy, but not at all content.

Is it possible to blend the two? Having roots shouldn't mean we have to clip our wings.

Maybe it's that we both have one more thing in common that neither of us are willing to admit - an all or nothing way of living.

These are the moments we live for

2010-04-03T17:39:00.000-07:00

My father is not an outwardly emotional man. He is strong, brave and keeps his feelings closely guarded. How I came to always wear my heart on my sleeve is one of those baffling twists in life.

It is almost impossible to surprise my dad. So when the opportunity presented itself, I jumped on it. All my cousins were in town to celebrate my mom's 70th birthday. As much as my dad enjoys a quiet subtle celebration, my mom loves to shout it all out from the rooftops. We planned dinners and teas and parties and ended the week with a festival extravaganza with our closest and dearest friends and family.

Everything was squarely focussed on celebrating my mom's life.

My dad's 70th birthday is just a couple of weeks after my moms. I began to hatch a secret plan.

My dad is an artist, yet rarely is able to find time to tap into his creative outlet. He has been consumed with taking care of my mother and making sure life still moved forward. He has been talking about taking a marble sculpture class for years. But it is incredibly expensive since you have to buy all the tools and materials.

We decided to help him celebrate his life as well and encourage him to tap back into a piece of him that brings him so much joy and relaxation. We presented him with a gift certificate for the entire 14 week course, tools and materials included.

My father that never shows too much emotion was overcome by love and relief and appreciation and joy. He was visibly shaken by our gesture and we were all moved beyond tears. The energy level of love and support in the room at that moment might just have been able to bring peace to the middle east.

After two cakes and singing happy birthday to BOTH mom and dad, I gave a little speech - presenting the card and gift to my dad who was a little confused and stunned that we were celebrating his birthday too.

Surprised and surrounded by his family, he began to read the card.

As he read the gift certificate out loud, the emotion started to hit him.

We believe in him and appreciate how deeply he loves my mom. His support of her is overwhelming.

My daddy - we love you so much! Thank you for all that you do.

He made me want to be a gay man

2010-02-14T09:53:00.000-08:00

I've spent 8.5 hours in hair salons in the last three days. To say I experienced a hair trauma is quite the understatement. I went into my regular salon for a regular cut and color. For whatever reason - the stars were misaligned, it was a full moon, I just don't know - but she decided to try some new product and technique on me without asking me.

My hair turned gold and brassy. Not Oscar statue gold, but tarnished stair railings at a museum that haven't been shined up in ages brassy.

I went back the next day - over three hours and 4 painful treatments later - my head was burned and blistered and the top of my head was yellow. I looked like a distraught Bozo the Clown.

The canary yellow hair can only be described as the following: picture a 55 year old, 3-pack a day smoker, wearing a stained powder blue tank top, gulping box wine sitting outside her trailer home not even bothering to wonder if something better was out there in the world - sporting a dried out home perm gone wrong with empty peroxide bottles at her feet. That's how bad it was.

I took my over processed head home for the evening with the anticipation of one more appointment the next day to get it all fixed. But the circle of trust had been broken and I couldn't handle one more hair experimentation gone wrong. I needed certainty that I wouldn't be having to wear a baseball hat for the next 3 months until is grew out.

I called up my favorite pretty boy Krav friend. I pleaded with him to help me figure out what to do. He was all about the solution. He knew exactly how to take charge and get it done. He hooked me up with his master stylist who promised he would take a look and be able to make some recommendations.

Off to Hillcrest, San Diego's artsy, eclectic liberal area, I went. When I walked in gasps of horror and amazement abounded and the gaping stares assured me that I was indeed akin to a circus freak. We consulted and they all agreed on what steps needed to be taken to rectify the unflattering situation. They wouldn't allow me to leave the salon looking like that so they were kind enough to fit me in. I just had to wait for a few minutes.

That turned out to be the best part of the whole experience.

I watched these beautiful men glide in and out of the salon and putter about making coffee and small talk. Everyone was greeted with kisses and hugs. I sat in the front of the salon in a huge bay window - as if on display for a before picture. But I also got to watch all the foot traffic on the streets. Oh my, what a show.

Everyone sported perfectly fitted jeans that hugged their man trophies in all the proper places. Supremely sculpted tushes surrounded my every visual pattern. I sat there and openly gawked at the wonderfully styled men and their long muscled limbs prancing back and forth. They were all so pretty.

My stylist was like King of the Manor and wooed me with his warm sense of humor and hard body. He had this sexy, confident voice that commanded respect. I felt like an awkward kid at the 8th grade school dance when he spoke. His easy smile drew me in and captivated me. My brazen and blunt communication style seemed a perfect match and we bonded instantly. The gossip flowed and we swapped stories like two long lost college buddies. He made my traumatic situation bearable and actually enjoyable in the end.

At the shampoo bowl I found myself locked onto his pulsating biceps that hung right at eye level as he gently massaged my aching scalp. As if on instinct, I reached up and slowly traced the smooth bulging muscle. Bold move? Maybe - but he loved it! He enjoyed the compliment and I sighed inward, knowing that wanting that bicep was a wasted dream.

What a fantastic salon experience. The people were so down to earth in a pretending not to be pretentious sort of way. And it actually worked. They were all so unique and it blended into this amazing family rainbow of absurd and wonderful personalities, each one warmer and friendlier than the next.

So is there actually a lesson in all this? Perhaps it was fate that my hair was about to fall out and I turned to my fantastically coiffed friend to direct me away from my chemical over-processing dependent hairstylist to his hip and exciting salon filled with visual enticements.

With so much eye candy to stimulate each fiber of my being, it's no wonder I had a brief jealous moment of wishing I was a gay man.

Cancer is as scary as it sounds

2010-02-08T08:56:00.000-08:00

There are certain moments in life that we will forever remember the exact details of where we were when the information was delivered to us. My memories are still vivid of where I was when I heard the news of the Oklahoma bombing, Princess Diana's death, the tragedy of 9/11 and the Berlin Wall coming down.

And most recently, the day I found out my mother has cancer.

The new year is for new beginnings, a fresh start, a time to let go of past mistakes and forgotten promises and start again with a clear outlook on what comes next.

New Years has always carried a cynical sense of loss for me. Many years ago I met my now ex-husband on New Year's Eve. It was a magical time in my life and I've allowed this memory to inflate itself in my mind's eye. So much so that nothing has ever been able to carry as much significance to replace that memory. So I tend to give New Years more validity than it deserves. I'm constantly waiting and wishing for some spectacular event to dislodge this New Year's Eve recollection and swap it out with something that doesn't make me wax poetic for a relationship that was never as good as I remember it to be.

Well, you've heard the saying - be careful what you wish for.

I was sitting on my bed in the middle of the afternoon on New Year's Eve, anxiously waiting to ring in a new decade. Clothes were strewn about as I weighed my different outfit options for the evening festivities.

The phone rang.

My mom's shaky voice came on the line. I knew she had been to the doctor that morning. There had been a lot of doctor's appointments in the few weeks prior. But she was never in any pain, never complained. So I never went there in my mind. I never imagined what was coming next.

"They found a mass. It's cancer."

I froze. My mouth went dry. My heart beat so fast I feared my breath wouldn't keep up. My hands shook with confusion. Instantly my mind was filled with millions of questions, yet I found no words to speak them. No words of comfort came from my lips. I uttered no words of fear or support.

I finally choked out a hoarse whisper of "I have to go". I hung up and sat there. I didn't cry. That would come a few days later as the processing took full effect. I just sat there frozen in the moment, thinking a thousand thoughts but not able to focus on one of them. After awhile, I called my mom back. I told her I loved her and we'd all figure this out together. Then I muttered something to the effect that I couldn't believe the doctor would deliver such devastating news on New Year's Eve. What was he thinking?

My mom didn't miss a beat. She said, "Finally you have something else to think of on New Year's Eve besides that ex-husband of yours!" No doubt she's always been the cup is half full kind of lady! Although - she is the one that introduced me to him on that night so many years ago. I just didn't think it was appropriate to bring all that up at this particular moment.

She is an incredibly strong and positive woman. She has never once acted defeated. From the moment cancer entered our world, she made the conscious decision to fight. I love that about her. I am in awe of her steadfast determination and strength. Whenever I feel doubt creeping in, I just look at her and we smile and I am reassured that this is a family fight we all intend to win. I find it so amazing that all this is happening to her, yet she can still find a way to comfort her child. It forces me to dig deeper to find my own strength.

When I talk with her I am full of hope and support. I make her laugh and focus on happy things. It's when I am alone that the panic blankets my being. The tears spring to my eyes, the fears creep into my every thought and my body aches with helplessness.

It's been a month and my life has been forever changed. I often haven't found the words to tell many of my friends. I can see the confusion in their eyes when I distance myself or show unfounded flashes of anger. The unconditional support from family and friends that do know, has been heart filled and comforting. While some have chosen to stay away instead of asking what has obviously changed in my world, I actually understand.

Because what I am learning is that this isn't about them, or me. It is about my mother and making sure she's still around next New Year's Eve.

And her fight has only just begun.

I guess clothes do make the lady

2010-01-23T10:24:00.000-08:00

I was hanging out with my 3-year-old niece Hadarya. We were having girl time and painting her toenails. As we started playing dress up with my Mardi Gras beads, she launched into all her different clothing options to wear to synagogue.

Hadarya: I'm going to services tomorrow.

Me: I know. How come you are going to services?

Hadarya: So I can look like a lady.

(Pause) Why don't you come to services too Auntie Kimmy?

Me: No thanks. Why would I want to go to services?

Hadarya: (deep sigh) I guess you don't like to look like a lady, Auntie Kimmy.

So, I'm a bit spooked. Was she channeling my Grandma Helen - whom she is named after - with that statement? Grandma Helen ALWAYS said that to me.

How do you measure a year?

2010-01-01T02:11:00.000-08:00

The year was filled with so many different experiences, accomplishments, disappointments, and adventures.

So much emotion wrapped into one year. A year filled with joy and sorrow; laughter and tears; fear and triumph; hellos and goodbyes.

I've learned a lot about myself this year. I've learned even more about the people around me. Some have surprised me with their thoughtfulness and kindness, while others have left me stunned by their selfishness.

I spent a lot of time worrying about trivial matters. I wasted a lot of moments focussing on what I don't have. I lost out on memories I could have created with some very special people had I just made more of an effort.

I accomplished things I never thought possible. I witnessed phenomenal acts of courage. I helped change people's lives. I discovered new possibilities and rekindled forgotten beliefs.

I learned that family really is what matters most to me.

I learned that certain friendships transcend time, distance and disagreement.

I learned that most people are good. They just need to be reminded of that once in awhile.

I learned that I am not as strong as I pretend to be.

I learned that big sisters can make you feel better, if you just let them.

I learned that heartbreak is not permanent nor fatal.

I learned that my family includes lifetime friendships that help hold my world together.

I learned that I don't always let people see how talented and intelligent I am.

I learned that I can make people laugh even when they believe they have no hope.

I learned that if I don't start living for today, my tomorrows will quickly disappear.

But the hardest lesson of all came today.

Reality can quickly steal away your dreams. Life is unpredictable. When the unexpected is thrown your way, the fear can paralyze your future and suffocate your soul.

And then you realize what matters most.

Because in the end, what matters most is:

How well did you live your life?

How well did you love?

How well did you learn to let go?

And I still have time to make some adjustments.

All this for a bowl of mac and cheese?

2009-10-23T08:07:00.000-07:00

I am a pretty independent woman. There isn't too much that frightens me. But we all have our breaking point, that one surprising thing that pushes us over the edge and fills our bodies with a fear so strong that we are rendered immobile.

Recently, I was forced to stare down the source of my ultimate trepidation.

It was after 7pm and I realized I hadn't begun to think about dinner. I was already cranky from the pain in my ankle from jacking it up the night before in Krav. So I hobbled into my kitchen hoping to miraculously find a cooked three course gourmet meal waiting for me. Reality hit quick as I stared into an empty fridge and bare cupboards. I pulled from the depths of my echoing pantry my emergency box of 50 cent macaroni and cheese. I knew there was a reason I had kept that thing around.

Just as I poured my macaroni into the pot, I swiveled around on my one good foot to grab the milk and that's when I saw it.

A bee.....in my kitchen.

It was hovering above me intent on stinging through the plastic covering of the fluorescent lights. At first I thought the worst - I figured it was trying to lay eggs and I imagined waking up to a swarm of baby bees buzzing at my head. I just stared at it. It was so focussed on this one particular square that I was almost mesmerized by it relentless efforts to penetrate the plastic. Over and over again it tried to jam its stinger into the cover and flailed its wings - getting more and more angry. I watched and I watched.

And then I freaked out.

Over the years I've tackled spiders, roof rats, maggots, flour beetles (don't leave open flour in your pantry for five years) and countless lizards. I'm sure the bile crept up into my throat on some of these occasions, but I never felt this powerless, debilitating fear before. Instead of tapping into that strong independent spirit I pride myself on, I ran to the phone to call my daddy. I begged him to come over and rescue me from this fierce predator.

He wasn't having any of that. He told me I was being ridiculous and to just kill it. His thought was to swat at it and as it torpedoed towards me, I could squash out its life with my bare hands. Right, and have the stinger penetrate my hand? Not working for me.

My fear was that I would miss and anger it even more and it would go straight for my eyes since I was looking up at it. After much childlike whining, I heeded my father's advice and grabbed a can of hairspray.

So there I am in my kitchen wielding a huge can of hairspray, my dad is on speakerphone and I am shrieking so loudly I am annoying myself. At this point, I wouldn't have been surprised if my neighbors called the cops in fear I was actually being attacked.

The bee is still compulsively grinding away at the plastic. I aim the can and recoil about 19 times. All the while my dad is on the phone coaching me through this. Now, to his credit, he isn't yelling at me yet, but his annoyance is becoming more and more apparent. I am oblivious to his sarcasm as I am truly gripped by this tension filled apprehension I am feeling toward this bee.

By now I have convinced myself that it is actually a wasp and it is about to turn and sting me between the eyes and I am going to have a massive allergic reaction and need to be rushed to the hospital. I saw all those Tom and Jerry cartoons. I know the power of bees.

And then I remember a lesson I learned in Krav. A strike can't hurt you much if you don't have any air in your lungs. You can recover much quicker because the wind doesn't get knocked out of you. So, I figure this could work with a bee sting, right? I gather this huge breath and let out this massive gut wrenching primal scream as I take aim with the hairspray bottle.

All chaos breaks loose. My dad starts flipping out on the phone because I am screaming so much he thinks a band of wild boar must have found their way into my house and attacked me. He's yelling to find out what's happening, I'm yelling because the bee is flying about in frantic spasms and I am spraying everywhere in my kitchen.

The bee lands on top of my refrigerator and I can't see it. I grab a chair and hop onto it - realizing that my injured ankle is taking a brutal beating as it begins to swell again. The bee has found its way to the rubber seal on the top portion of my refrigerator door. But it won't die. It is still flapping around. Since I don't seem to keep much food in there, I figure hairspray can't do too much damage to the fridge. I close my eyes and unleash the rest of the can all over the door seal. The bee finally turns to its back, legs gripping the air as it makes its final peace with Mother Earth.

I grab about 50 paper towels and scoop it up - taking one final look at my nemesis. And as it is inches away from my face, the wings begin to flutter. The roar of terror that escapes my lips probably deafened all the dogs in the neighborhood.

Still on speakerphone, my dad has lost all patience with his inept, cowardly daughter. "Smash it. Smash it already and be done with it," he bellows into the phone. With my heart racing, I squash it up in the paper towels.

The silence is so profound that I can hear the swoosh as my lungs fill with air and the repetitive thud as my heartbeat struggles to slow down.

I looked up at my fridge to see the sticky, dripping mess this episode had left behind.

My ankle is throbbing. I am sweating. My father is laughing and my mac and cheese has boiled over.

Is Krav Maga turning me into a redneck?

2009-10-11T11:40:00.000-07:00

I don't know much about guns. I've never really been a fan or felt the urge to even learn about them. Coming from a pretty liberal and wonderfully naive family, we tended to avoid any discussion that involved artillery. It didn't seem to be a necessity to expose ourselves to such a violent and hostile reality. I viewed guns as weapons that killed. They were dangerous and often mishandled and gun owners were reckless to leave them around where children could access them so easily.

My ignorance of guns caused me to fear them.

I immediately shunned the idea that people could shoot for sport. I threw out the notion that proper education and training could lead to safe gun usage. I shut my mind to any possibility of a positive relationship with a gun.

And then I began taking Krav Maga and I was exposed to gun defenses. I hated it. I was uncomfortable handling the rubber guns and it was awkward. The idea of being threatened with a gun had never even entered my realm of possibilities. I didn't take the gun training seriously as I had no situational knowledge to relate it to. This was so foreign to me and I could not figure out how to apply it to my own life.

I soon discovered that I was in the minority by not being a gun owner. Guns and Krav Maga seem to go hand in hand. It was a constant shock only to me when discussions turned to bragging rights about the contents of their own private arsenals. I had never known people who owned a gun or talked about it so openly.

Slowly, I could feel a shift in me taking place. I wanted to be exposed to this world I had always feared. I watched a few friends handle their guns in front of me and I was surprised as I began to feel a tingle of excitement course through my body. I knew I wanted more.

Turns out there is a gun called a Kimber. How fitting! I decided to find out for myself what all the excitement was about. I faced my fears and went down to the shooting range with some friends. My friend has a Kimber so I was super excited to have that as my first shooting experience. After an hour of gun protocol, proper handling and training, I was itching to get out there.

I had no idea what to expect and I let my body completely relax. As I squeezed that trigger and got the first shot off, I was stunned by the recoil. But I was instantly addicted. The power gripped my body and consumed me with an adrenaline force I had never experienced before. I couldn't get enough. I ripped of an entire magazine in seconds. I didn't have to think. I could just obliterate without thought. How strangely empowering.

My hands were pretty steady and I was focussed. I spent some time working on my aim and visualizing my target. It is amazing how the mind can drum up such specific imagery and then in a millisecond, you can destroy it.

I loved the smell of the gun powder and I relished in the sting in my eyes. My whole body was rigid with anticipation yet totally relaxed in execution. I can't wait to go back for more.

So I guess all these Krav Maga rednecks aren't as reckless with their guns as I had once thought! Seems like there is a method to their gun toting madness after all!

What is an apology?

2009-09-30T23:09:00.000-07:00

a·pol·o·gy (saying you're sorry)

noun

1. An acknowledgment intended as an atonement for some improper or injurious remark or act.

2. A voluntary admission to another of a wrong or discourtesy behavior done to her, produced by a desire to regain lost respect.

3. Expression of regret for hurting someone you once bared your soul to.

Because it seems some of us have forgotten our manners.

What is a coward?

2009-09-29T09:10:00.000-07:00

cow⋅ard

noun

1. a person who lacks courage in facing confrontation, danger, difficulty, opposition or pain, etc.; a timid or easily intimidated person.

2. a person who chooses selfish comfort or ignorance over actions and deeds that are good, true, and right, even when those deeds are difficult or frightening.

3. a person who is concerned more about preserving his ego than preserving the relationships he's built.

Just to be clear.

The Michael Franti Experience

2009-09-20T16:29:00.000-07:00

There is life in this love
There is love in this life

I went to the House of Blues the other night to enjoy a Michael Franti and Spearhead concert. What I came away with was an experience that provoked a sense of responsibility, a fearlessness, a new insight that we are limitless in our opportunities.

The passion, the energy, the love for music and people and a better world just spilled over from this phenomenal icon of spirituality. It wasn't just a concert. It was an odyssey into the possible. The surge of true belief for a better world electrified the audience and we all became a part of this journey.

You could feel the music soar through your soul as your body responded with every beat. Standing still and silent was not an option. The sounds ignited every cell in your being and propelled you to express your acceptance of the unknown through movement.

It is so difficult to explain through words the transcendence of emotions I went through that night. It wasn't a moment or a word or a song. It was a collection of the remarkable energy that burst back and forth from stage to audience. We all became part of the solution. We all became one unit of power and belief. We all wanted to love life.

So many time people turn their backs to you
Cause they don't wanna see what's inside of you
Cause lookin' inside of you they might realize
There's somethin' in side of them they might not wanna find

He is so connected to his fans. He is so genuine and sincere and makes you feel that just by being there, you've strengthened his musical output.

Every musician played and sang to the limits of human capacity.

God is too big for just one religion

Up next: the ganja, the gyrating sex, the concert Krav moves

Broken & dented - he was never really mine to lose

2009-09-08T18:35:00.000-07:00

“If you love something set it free. If it comes back to you, it’s yours. If it doesn’t, it never was.“

But what if that something decides to leave on his own, before love is actualized?

I’m not certain you can lose something that was never really yours to begin with.

---------

I’m not sure anyone has ever told you before

I’d like you to know that you’re not the man you think you are

Outside you exhibit near perfection

All the while inside you are a wreckage of abused and neglected debris

I understand what it is like to be broken

As I’ve had to put my own pieces back together

That feels like ages ago

And now I am close to whole

Your own pilgrimage has finally begun

Casting truths to those well guarded and deeply tucked away secrets

“Why are you always so happy?”

Just asking me that shows me how shattered your soul really is

I look into your empty searching eyes

And know that the fault is not mine

Holding a gun and standing post, doesn’t give you strength

Character is born from the choices that are made in everyday life

You invited me into your past, forcing me to question

my own moral compass

As you dumped the evilness into my lap

Your past is a place I don’t belong

A place I never planned on trudging through with you

You explained away your uncertain future

Hiding behind systems and policies that were suddenly out of your control

I never pressured you to be part of this unpredictable journey

It was too soon to know if I even wanted to join you out in the unknown

All I wanted was your present; your today; this moment

But you’re too busy running from demons and chasing down simulated ambition

To realize that today is all I’ve ever asked for

Your busted up perception forces you to keep one eye staring

in the rearview mirror

While the other anxiously searches out a better tomorrow

Left blinded to what stands right in front of you

Shielding yourself from present day emotions

Choosing numbness over sensation

I married the military mindset once before

I know that I just don’t have it in me to do again

If that makes me weak or unkind or selfish

I’ll own it all.

This same self-indulgent narcissistic methodology came close to destroying me once

Who would I be if I allowed history to repeat itself, having learned nothing?

Could you wipe your conscience clean if you found the courage to answer why

You feel the urgency to volunteer to return to war once more?

Are you running to help a nation in crisis?

Or running away from a fear far greater than war?

…the dread of the unknown

…the horror of what comes next when war is no more

The answers you’ve been struggling to find

Don’t lie in the sands of Afghanistan

But you’ll soon discover

That those very questions you’re trying to escape from

will still be here to slap you in the face upon your return

Why did he get off the train?

2009-09-06T21:38:00.000-07:00

At the last minute I decided not to drive. I was burnt out and just needed to clear my mind. I walked into the train station with my morning coffee, ready for a little adventure. Since I had never taken the train, I wasn’t really certain of what to expect. But my mind was wide open with possibilities and I was just thrilled not to be burdened with the stress of driving through traffic. I walked towards the platform, climbed the stairs and began looking for a suitable place to make myself comfortable for the next three hours until I got to Los Angeles.

I noticed him the moment I turned the corner and silently cursed myself for choosing the comfort of jeans and a sweatshirt over something a little more fashionable for the trip. I could feel his energy drawing me into his personal space. My first thought, “Scrumptious!” My eyes danced over his lion’s mane of blond hair.

I chose the empty row of seats in front of him and as I lifted my bags up to the storage bin I slowly turned and gave him a very deliberate glance. I smiled, lingering a fraction of a moment longer than socially acceptable.

I flashed my dimples and cast my gaze downward until I locked onto his. I managed an almost inaudible, “Hi.”

He grinned back and said hello. It was in that unscripted exchange that I knew instantly of our mutual desire for one another. With a warm glow burning inside, I slid into my seat and waited.

It had only been a moment’s glance, but already etched in my mind’s eye were those inviting green eyes sprinkled with flecks of gold. I dozed off with images of his sun drenched long hair flying recklessly in the wind, surfboard tucked under his arm running down the beach in search of the next perfect wave.

After two hours of daydreaming, I was yearning to experience more of the reality. As I got up to stretch in the back of the train car I turned to him and smiled. I could feel our eyes burning into each other’s soul, searching, wanting, and silently asking all those things strangers never ask each other.

When I walked out of the lavatory, there he was, his eyes teasing me and daring me to make a play. I could feel the lust rising in my throat as I was silently begging him to push me back into the small compartment, thrust me on the counter and quench this unspoken desire we had burning between us.

Instead I returned to my seat. Moments later he leaned over the seat and the quiet lusting took on a voice as we began to explore one another through seductive banter. The chemistry was palpable and our growing connection was deepening each time his eyes bore into mine. We both felt the synergy. We were acutely aware that this went way beyond a chance encounter. The meaning would be far greater than either of us would comprehend at that exact time.

He leaned in and with an urgent huskiness in his voice he told me how sexy I was. My insides danced and my pulse quickened. My body was throbbing with such an intense yearning that I could barely utter a word for fear that my erratic breathing would leave my raw hunger exposed. That same necessity to quench a developing craving was reflected in his eyes.

Our time was limited. His stop was coming up, his departure from my life imminent. He didn’t want to get off the train. I desperately wanted him to stay on with me, but uttered not a word. I wanted his lust to boil over from within him, forcing him to make the decision to stay. He was unsure of himself and I understood. The force of our sexual energy was making my head spin and our judgment was being marred by the fog of our sheer physical needs waiting to be fulfilled.

We felt the magnitude of importance to not let this gift of fate from the universe slip away. We just stared at each other, hoping the other would understand all the things we were too uncertain to put into words. The urgency of desire and the pressure of time were engulfing us. We needed longer to explore the realm of possibilities that were staring us in the face. Yet our own hunger was making it impossible to live beyond the present moment.

As the minutes ticked by we knew we were being tested. There were too many needs left unmet, too many questions not yet asked. And we were lost in a magnetic attraction where time and space held no boundaries. We pushed away the outer world and breathed in each other’s intoxicating essence until the final call for his departure was heard.

With momentary defeat and unfulfilled desire thundering in his chest, he reluctantly stumbled off the train with my number in his front pocket and the glimmer of hope that one day soon we would capitalize on this once in a lifetime chance meeting.

Discovering reality in all those erotic visions wasn’t to be this time around. And yet with every fiber of my being, I know that there will be another encounter where we will fully explore the depths of these fantasies.

So for now, I am content in the knowledge that every time he mounts his surf board and rides a wave, he’ll be imagining, contemplating, romanticizing and he’ll absolutely be smiling in wonderment.

Boundaries? What boundaries?

2009-08-23T11:28:00.000-07:00

While my dad was busy succumbing to one of his greatest passions - laboring in the earth's soil planting flowers and gardening in his backyard, I was chatting with my mom on the telephone.

So goes the conversation:

Mom: "Your father just walked in from the yard. He is totally black from head to toe."

Me: "Oh that could be fun. You can go live out your fantasy of being with a black man."

Mom: .....silence

Me: (Laughing hysterically) "Believe me, it's pretty amazing."

Mom: "I think I'm gonna hang up now."

Where do I come from - for real?

2009-08-21T21:01:00.000-07:00

I was having this random conversation the other night with Dreamy Eyes after Krav class. We were talking about my last name and I told him it was German. I tell everyone that my name is German. I am quite proud of that heritage. In fact, when I was over in Austria, I was flattered to see my named splayed across building after building as it means tobacco in German. Very popular name.

Unmoved by my genealogy, Dreamy Eyes said if I pronounced it with a slight variation it sounded Israeli. He thought that was funny since I'm Jewish and we were in an Israeli martial arts class. For some reason I found this funny too.

Wanting to share the humor over the oddity of our family name, I repeated it a few days later to my father in another very random conversation.

Note to self - start having meaningful conversations that have some substance rather than random exchanges of nothingness.

My father just rolled his eyes, shook his head and made the most unexpected declaration I've ever heard.

"Our name isn't German. It's Russian."

I was aghast. "That's not true. It means tobacco in German."

"It means tobacco in French too. Doesn't mean you're French. My father was from Russia."

My mother pipes in. "I think my father's family was from Germany. But my father hated Germans because of the war."

So there is a small part of me that is German, although there is apparent reluctance to shout it out from the family tree.

I spent my entire life believing my name was German and I therefore was predominantly German. How did I not know my namesake, my direct lineage is Russian?

That must have been the third of me that's a Pollack.

Leap and love will catch you

2009-08-17T00:31:00.000-07:00

I lay awake at night

Can’t seem to stop the stream of tears that cascade down my cheeks

Questions and doubts fill my thoughts

And I feel a scream rising up from the bowels of my being

Confusion replaces confidence

As the uncertainty of tomorrow reveals itself

A gesture left unstirred, untaken

Burns deeply in the soul from which it was offered

Rationalizations swarm the parameters of the desperation

Attempts to harvest a barrier result in foolish mockery

You can feel it. You can want it. You can hope for it.

But you can’t lose what you’ve never really had

I understand that now more than ever

We make it into something it never was, not wanting to see it for what it really is, just because we are too afraid to admit that it could never be what we had hoped it would turn into.

But do I truly believe it was never mine, not even a flicker of spark was for me alone to own?

And so the sadness beckons and the healing must begin

As the pain proves to be the one prevailing constant – it is always the same

Even as the sorrow leaks from my eyes, I am reminded of a faint hope of what could one day be mine again.

For now the loneliness echoes in my head and my body hungers for a touch that will not come tonight

Yet I am still unafraid to feel, unafraid to trust, unafraid to love

So thankful for those precious few moments where I was once again reminded

Of what it’s like to let yourself be loved, no matter what

I have loved from my soul and I have loved with great magnitudes of strength, commitment and desire.

And that love once crushed me.

Living in that fear serves me no purpose. For now I know I can survive love at any level.

I will leap….and love will catch me.

Blurring the boundaries of family

2009-08-01T08:06:00.000-07:00

I have been searching for months for my linens to match my summer bedspread. I figured in my quest to purge the clutter, I swept them up with the other donations and sent them off to the thrift store for a second chance at happiness.

Fast forward to hanging out at my sister's house a month later and playing with my niece in her bedroom. My niece has me lay down on her makeshift bed, covers me with blankets and starts reading me a story. I know - super adorable. She decided I needed to be more comfortable and drags in this huge king size pillow for me to lay my head on. As I get situated, I gasp in total shock as I note the pattern on the pillow sham is an exact match for my missing linens.

Me: "Hadarya, where did you get this pillow?"

Hadarya: "It's mine Kimmy."

Cut me some slack - reasoning with 2 year olds is not my strength.

I hop up and ransack my sister's linen closet where I find the matching pillow sham.

I run into the family room with the evidence dripping from my grip and stare at her in utter disbelief.

Me: "How in the hell did my pillow shams get in your house?"

Sister: "I don't know. But if you had helped me clean out my linen closet like I asked, you would have found them much sooner."

Classic.

Are we showing compassion for our soldiers?

2009-07-24T08:25:00.000-07:00

When a soldier comes home, he finds it hard....

...to listen to his son whine about being bored.

...to keep a straight face when people complain about potholes.

...to be tolerant of people who complain about the hassle of getting ready for work.

...to be understanding when a co-worker complains about a bad night's sleep

...to be silent when people pray to God for a new car.

...to control his panic when his wife tells him he needs to drive slower.

...to be compassionate when a businessman expresses a fear of flying.

...to keep from laughing when anxious parents say they're afraid to send their kids off to summer camp.

...to keep from ridiculing someone who complains about hot weather.

...to control his frustration when a colleague gripes about his coffee being cold.
...to remain calm when his daughter complains about having to walk the dog.
...to be civil to people who complain about their jobs.

...to just walk away when someone says they only get two weeks vacation a year.
...to be forgiving when someone says how hard it is to have a new baby in the house.

The only thing harder than being a Soldier...

Is loving one.

Pull up your pants on your own time

2009-07-17T11:21:00.000-07:00

I went to a client's office building the other day.

Working from home, I tend to forget the importance some people put on the corporate rat race and all the facets that go along with creating that perfect image and style just to compete with the guy in the next cubicle. So much time is spent trying to be who we think others want us to be without regard to who we really are. I find it all exhausting and downright silly.

Our true character always comes through in due time - no matter what.

So maybe it is my new calling - to keep us all in check of our authentic selves.

I'm walking out of the women's restroom - it is shared by multiple office suites. The door faces the men's room. Some overly coiffed guy is standing in the doorway, absently propping the door open with his much too obvious Italian loafers while zipping up his tailored suit pants, tucking in his Ralph Lauren designer shirt and adjusting his snakeskin belt.

I paused briefly and locked onto his arrogant gaze. His eyes suddenly betrayed him as I recognized his own acknowledgement to the fact that I had just cut through his facade and seen him for what he truly was instead of what he was pretending to be.

With an obvious edge of disgust, I threw out some timely advice. "You might want to try doing all that with the door shut next time."

With a downward glance he shuffled back to his office.

It won't ever matter how much money you spend to buy things to impress the people you don't even know - if you don't have the class to back it all up.

Some things just need to be said.