Outside

I believe I was meant to live outside, by some sort of  body of water.
It is also possible, that I am part dog, because of my need for a fresh breeze on my face.  Believe you me, I love my air-conditioning as much as the next person, especially on a day like today with 87% humidity.  But, I have come to have more tolerance to warmth, if it includes a breeze.  There is just a better...smell...and feel...to fresh air.

It is also entirely possible that these parts of me have become a more intense need because of my move from Southern California to a place where living outside, near water, would mean having frostbite for half or more of the year.

But, still, I can remember my pull towards the water going all the way back to my childhood.
I can remember spending so much time in the church camp pool, floating, swimming, jumping, having underwater tea parties....that I wore the skin off the bottoms of my toes.  I remember my dad carrying me and my bloody toes, back from the pool to our cabin, a good half mile walk.
I can also remember my cousin and I making a pact that we were going to stay in the pool, at his house, from sun up to sun down.  His mom said we had to get out of the pool for lunch and not go back in for an hour.  We compromised by having our lunch and break in the raft in the middle of the pool.  I also remember being very sunburned that day and my aunt having to drive us to the drugstore to get some aloe for our poor backs.
I can remember beach trips that lasted until the sunset over the pacific.  And beach vacations in which we were back on the beach even after the sun was gone.
I remember being pummeled by the surf and riding the waves, and even once, getting caught in a rip current and being rescued by a life guard.

I was also raised camping and backpacking and llama packing my way around California, Mexico, Arizona, Oregon, and other various Western national parks and and mountains.

It seems that being outside is a part of my soul.

And here, in Indiana, as a responsible adult with a family and a mortgage and a job, my summers are fleeting.
And I find that being in the house (or come august 3rd, my office) on a day in which the sun is shining, makes me feel claustrophobic.   And so I get out.  I go to the beach.  I go to my best friend's pool which I truly believe she had installed just for me.  Or sometimes, I just sit on my deck and read and dream of having my feet in the ocean.  And sometimes, it seems like I am the only one that wants to get out.  But, more often than not, I can convince my boys to go with me.  And if all else fails, I walk around my yard and check on my plants.  It is not so much that I have become a master gardener (although my mom did laugh the first time she heard I was growing something), but, checking the tomatoes and the strawberries, and the squash, and the peppers, is an excuse to go outside when I don't seem to have any other reason.

Today, it was hot.  But, more than hot, it was humid.  The kind of humid that all you have to do is open the front door and you start sweating.  And I spent the morning being the responsible adult that I am, vacuuming, mopping, planting, mulching, laundrying.  Then, more for me than anyone else, I asked my boys if they wanted to go swimming.  And I was outside.  And I was the right mixture of warm and cool as I floated in the pool, my feet dangling in the water.  And I soaked up as much as I could.  Maybe I can get enough that I wont go through withdrawls when I have to go back to work?

Telling Stories

I am still waiting for my 300 photos I have taken of our vacation thus far, to be uploaded so that I can sort them and send some to facebook and play with them and make them tell a story.

In the meanwhile, I am going to share just one photo, and it isn't mine.  And it wasn't taken with a fancy camera or by a professional photographer.

But, the picture does tell a story.  It tells a story about the almost twelve year old who hiked four miles to this lake at 8200 feet of elevation in the Sierra's, snapped this photo with his ipod touch, hiked the four miles back to camp and said "I could do this forever."  It also tells a story about my middle child who has decided that he wants to be a Yosemite ranger when he grows up. It tells a story of Dash hearing tales from his great uncle and great grandfather, who also camped with us, about their adventures living near these mountains and traversing these mountains and fishing in these mountains.  It tells a story about passing the love of these mountains through the generations.  It tells a story about why I keep coming back, even though I live so far away.

Happiness and Joy

I felt happy today.

Actually, I tend toward the happy side of life most of the time.  I am one of those people who is optimistic, most of the time.  I am not Pollyanna, though.  I don't walk around talking about how wonderful things are all the time.  And sometimes I am feeling my way through anxiety and self doubt and worry, and crabbiness, especially the crabbiness, just ask my husband, he'll tell you.  But, the sunny side....yeah, I usually live there.

But, real and true happiness....how do you know when you have it and when you are feeling it?  Because most of life is made up of tasks and chores that have nothing to do with happiness.  Most of life is more of a contentment than a happiness.  And contentment is good.  But happiness feels better.

And oddly, I noticed this while driving back from the grocery store.  And I took notice because, although it wasn't a bad day, it wasn't anything special in terms of days either.  But, there it was again, that feeling that life is good and I am living it.

There were reasons to not be happy.  The weather was gray and cool.  I have a sick middle child who couldn't go to the batting cages like he wanted to.  I couldn't go to the yoga class I was invited to this morning because I had other things to do.  It was too cold for the beach.  The sun was hiding.  We couldn't try out the new slip and slide.

But, then there was the other stuff.  There was watching Jack Jack have a great time playing t-ball.  There was getting stuff done.  There was a feeling that I was doing things the right way.  There was the promise of the husband BBQing.  There was some of my favorite beer in my grocery bags.  There is the fact that I have only three more work days.  There was a time for a run this morning.  There was snuggling with my boys.  There was a Mary Poppins video (yes a real live VHS tape...so old school) and Jack Jack being amazed that I knew all the words to all the songs in the entire movie.

And these are such...plain old, normal, every day things.  And yet, today they made me happy.  And isn't that what true happiness is? Finding the joy in the every day things?

Be the Ball

"Just be the ball, be the ball, be the ball" - Good advice from a classic movie.  If you want to hit that ball, visualize yourself as that ball.  Where do you want to the ball to go?  How far would you like it to fly?  Which direction should it head when the course turns up ahead?  You can't just swing wildly and hope for magic to happen.  You have to have a plan for the ball. You have to get into the core of the ball, the "mind" of the ball, and become one with the ball.


Sometimes we call that focus.  Sometimes it feels more like pretending.  Sometimes we are just "acting as if" we are the ball in hopes that we will learn to really feel like we are the ball and maybe we can figure out how to get that ball through the rough?


Sometimes the hardest part in being the ball is remembering where the heck we are trying to get that darn ball.  Other times, it is remembering that there even is a ball.  Sometimes we are certainly not at all "on the ball."  Our focuses wavers.  


Being one with the ball is not a state of constancy.  It is a narrowing of our focus, our focus that is easily distracted and widened and scattered.  


Being the ball.  Being the change we want to see.  Being the selves that we want to be.  It is a reminder.  A mantra.  A way to remind ourselves how to fly.


Be the Ball.  "Just be the ball, be the ball, be the ball"

Story Telling

An old friend stopped by for dinner the other night.  She was one of my best friends in high school and we keep in loose contact here and there.  Her daughter is super smart and has been accepted to several really big deal colleges in our area and is waiting to hear from a few more and they were taking a trip to visit the campuses and would be driving right through our town between one tour and another.

 

Her daughter and my daughter are just over a year apart in age, but two years apart in school due to different states and different cut-off dates for kindergarten enrollment.

So we set up a dinner date for the four of us.

 

A lot of years have passed since she and my other high school BFF practically lived at my house.  And a lot of life has been lived since we last spent considerable time together in her college apartment.  But, it was so easy to talk to my old friend and her daughter.  We talked about the college selection process that they have been going through and we are just beginning.  We talked about what they have liked so far on their tour and what else they have to see.  We talked about the future for both of our girls.

 

And then, we talked about the past. 

 

"Remember when?...." was a common theme.

 

I think both of our daughters found it interesting and amusing and it probably gave them a different perspective on these people that they really only know as mom.  Our daughters, who are living high school right now, heard about high school almost twenty years ago.  And it is amazing how different high school is twenty years later.

 

"Remember when we ditched school and called ourselves off and went to the library on our ditch day?  Remember that neither the school administrators nor our parents could really figure out what to do with two honors students who ditched school and went to the library all day?  Remember that my parents had a hard time believing that we really went to the library?"

 

And, as we talked about religion and my friend and her daughter took the time to pray for their meal: "Remember when you called yourself agnostic? And we would have conversations about religion late into the night and that one night you said excitedly 'what if there IS something out there!' and I screamed, because I thought you meant outside my window and then you screamed because I screamed and it all dissolved into a fit of late night laughter as you explained that you meant God, not intruders?"

 

"Remember when our track team was really bad, but the two of us managed to score every point for our team, one of us in the sprints and jumps and the other in distance and we ran the relays together?"

 

"Remember when you snuck into my house in the middle of the night and went to sleep on my couch in my room, and I found you there in the morning and that really wasn't all that strange?  Because you guys were ALWAYS at my house?" 

 

And there was a lot of explaining about how we got from there to here.  And it was an interesting look back and sideways and even forwards and we look at the young ladies sitting next to us, their futures ready to be made, as well as the changes in our own lives and our kids move on to the next big thing. 

 

Mistakes were made.  Neither one of us took the "easy" road to here.  And we hope that our children don't make the mistakes that we made.  But, here we are, with two pretty darn good kids next to us.  And they will make their own mistakes, but as evidenced by their mothers, we are not defined by our mistakes; we are defined by how we pick ourselves up and move forward.   And I hope that our girls heard through our stories of "remember when" that with your family and friends by your side, moving forward is always possible.

Crash

A crash is coming
It can't be stopped
Headlights flying through the night
Rushing headlong through space and time
Time holds it's breath
And stands in front of the speeding force
Arms out wide
But it's not enough to stop the inevitable

A crash is coming
There will be survivors
Survivors who will hereafter mark time in befores and afters
This will be a day lost
It will be neither a before or an after
But a day that changed everything.

The Worst Cat Story Ever That Was Also Funny, But Not Really

One night, just this past week, after a wife was already laying in bed, the husband realized that the master bathroom toilet was clogged. Instead of walking himself down to the garage to get the plunger and walking back upstairs to unclog the the toilet, he went to sleep. But before he did, he asked his wonderful wife if she could remember to get the plunger in the morning, after she ran.

Being the wonderful wife that she is, she DID remember the plunger in the morning after her run, and she plunged that toilet herself, because she is just that wonderful.

After a shower and scrambling to get herself and kids dressed for a day at work/school, she stepped into the hallway with just moments to spare before she was superduper late for work. As she stepped into the hallway, her lovely middle child, let her know that his bathroom was clogged. Apparently, this wonderful wife is the only person in the house capable of unclogging toilets. Having just unclogged one toilet, she did not relish the thought of unclogging another toilet, plus, she needed to get in the car and get a move on. So, she told her lovely son that she would take care of it later. Thinking to herself that there are three other toilets in their house, she did not think leaving one clogged for the morning would be a big deal.

However....upon returning home with her oldest child who had just finished running and was sweaty and wanted to take a shower in the bathroom with a clogged toilet, the wonderful wife told her daughter to wait while she got the plunger and fixed yet another toilet. Her daughter waited, and the wonderful wife lifted the lid to the toilet and almost threw up with the realization that this toilet was not just clogged, this toilet had been very much used by what looked like an entire household full of non-constipated people.

Wonderful wife then stated aloud and in earshot of her daughter who was still standing there that "I think I might throw up." Before she threw up, she decided to open the small window above the toilet for some fresh air and then get to work on the plunging. After opening the window she turned to reach for the plunger just as a small furry orange cat came streaking into the bathroom.

The wonderful wife and her daughter watched and knew what was going to happen next, but were powerless to prevent the orange cat from jumping onto the toilet, who's lid was in the open position. The orange cat realized this as well, too late and scrambled to find a foothold on the narrow rim of the toilet. This proved to be futile and as the wonderful wife and her daughter watched in horror, the cat slipped and gripped and slipped again falling into the bowl of wet sewage below.

The cat, not too excited about this turn of events himself, leaped out of the toilet as fast as he could, but not before his rear end and his back legs were submerged in the putrid toilet water.

"No! No! Nooooo!" The wonderful wife yelled, in a high pitched voice she was not sure she had ever heard escape her lips before.

And quick as a flash, before anyone could think to contain the now wet cat, the small orange cat dashed away, leaving a trail of stinky wetness behind.

Also left behind, were the wonderful wife and her daughter, who were now, not only faced with a disgusting toilet to plunge, but an entire bathroom to clean and disinfect and a carpet trail to clean and a cat to find, contain and sanitize.

In the wake of this horrid turn of events, there was not much that the wonderful wife could do but laugh in that hysterical laugh of someone who is about to be committed to an institution. And as she cleaned, and laughed and sobbed quietly to herself, she heard a cry from yet a third household bathroom, "Mom! The toilet's clogged!" And she vowed that no longer would she allow her family to eat solid foods, ever again. The End.

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A not nearly as disgusting of a post is up over here, talking about homework, and whether kids should even have homework.

Nervous, In 100 Words

Hollowing out the book was harder than she had though. But she kept carving. Slowly, the knife edge went around the rectangle hole, that started on page 56.

She was not normally patient, but she took her time, cognizant of the sharp knife edges pointed towards her legs, sprawled out on the bathroom floor. She had made many mistakes, but did not want her next one to cause her to need to explain a knife wound.

The scraps, were slowly brushed into an empty tampon box, in the trash. Her husband, she was sure, would never look in that box.

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A 100 word challenge, issued by Velvet Verbosity, and introduced to me by Slouchy. Go visit them both for more Nervousness.