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Yes, I admit it. I watch TV. I probably turn it on everyday and spend some evenings watching it for way longer that I’ll cop to. But now that my favorite programs have each closed up shop for a few months, I’m forced to dig deeper into options for entertaining myself while staring numbly at a screen. (the screen is a good thing; it keeps me from staring at the wall). So knowing that Derek and Meredith didn’t get married, Pam might be preggers and Holly may move in with some guy, either or both George and Izzy may flatline, Red John is still out there, Castle will, uh, oh I don’t care; I just have fun smiling back at him every week and I have neither Top Chefs nor Runway Projects to follow, I decided to DVR a few second string things.
So yesterday evening I watched/fast forwarded through:
1. The View - Glenn Beck, Mr Right Wing Drama Queen, was the guest
2. Oprah – part two of her “Live With Less” challenge that had families giving up their I-can’t-live-without-it stuff like cell phones, TV, computers, etc for a week.
3. Brave New Voices – an HBO teenage slam poetry competition
My conclusions IN ORDER are as follows:
1. No matter how much someone irks me, listening a group of shrill women yell at him is only fun for about a minute and a half. Question for future post: I can say “everyone is entitled to his/her own opinion” until the cows come home but the truth is – Some people’s opinions bug the shit out of me.
2. For all her Tom Cruise, Suzanne Somers, The Secret baloney, the girl still occasionally hits one out of the park. Question for future post: Could you? Would you? Live without ‘stuff’ I mean.
3. They were all exceptional but Hawaii kids won! (doing one of those embarrassing woo hoo stirring the pot dances, but luckily, you can’t see me) Question for future post: It appears that we trade passion for wisdom. Why is that? Do we have do? Is there ever a point in time where we can really have both?
But for now…
Just feel free to beat me up for my TV habits.
He's about to turn 16 and for the last ten years or so, I've forced him to get/buy/make/do something for me for Mothers' Day and Christmas. Not that I want the stuff necessarily (how many $7.95 'diamond' rings from Wal-Mart do I need, really?) but because I want him to become the kind of man who does nice things for his mom. However this year I told him he was financially off the hook because rather than buying stuff, I only wanted him to do things with me. And there were only two, relatively painless specifics:
1. go to Unity (the closest I get to Church stuff) with me
2. go to Sears and have a mother/son portrait done - to capture who 'we' are at this point in our relationship
My only caveat was that he had to be a good sport, or at least pretend he didn't hate it.
Now this a basically good kid, but also one who would rather give me his entire paycheck than to do either of those two things. In fact he even tried to lure me away from the idea with "what if I buy you something really, really nice, something EXPENSIVE?" But I stood firm.
Okay, so we got through Unity just fine with only minimal "oh, you're such a handsome young man" embarrassment from my friends. And Sears was booked, so Portrait Day was postponed until yesterday.
Unfortunately, since Mothers Day had passed, his temporary ability to put me first had also faded and we'd both fallen back into the comfortable groove of Taking Mom for Granted (every)Day. So he whined. And grumbled. And groused about how he HATES to have his picture taken. I did relent on a couple of points - he didn't have to smile and he could use the left side of his face and display the fresh cut below his left eye. He liked that part, but still wasn't happy.
So we arrive at the most middle of Middle American stores, and the little minimum wage photographer lady (and I mean little - barely five feet tall, literally buzzing around all 5''9" of me and 6'1" of my monster kid) whipped up a Seuss-like stack of props and risers and pillows and whatnot and finally - after we again reminded her that the kid didn't have to smile - got us turned and twisted into that fake positioning that is unique to portrait studios whose packages retail for something.99, and we were ready to go. Except that ---
One of us got the giggles.
Which of course, set off the other one.
This was followed by apologies, shaking it off, thinking of sad stuff, taking deep breaths, and swearing we were now ready.
"Okay then, one, two, three and ----"
Fit of giggles.
Over and over and over.
I felt really terrible about it. There must have been three families in the waiting room, not to mention the people who had finally decided on two 5X7s instead of the 10x13, But we just couldn't stop.
The worst round was during the hokey back-to-back pose. The good part was that we couldn't see each other. The bad part was that one could feel it when the other ribcage began to oh-so-slightly shake.
This went on for about 45 minutes and about forty attempted shots (I can still hear that little "pouf!" sound the flash makes) until finally the little photo lady declared the session over.
Surprisingly, we did manage to get a few decent shots. And yes, there's a great solo pic of my kid, looking all serious and quasi-menacing, and it will make people assume that the cut below his eye happened way more interestingly than by grazing the corner of his desk. And omg yes, he is a handsome boy. When did that happen, anyway?
We have a couple traditional 'awww' shots in there. But my favorite is gonna be picture #1; poorly lit with odd facial expressions that happen only when people are trying not to laugh.
Yeah, I bought it. That's exactly the one I was looking for.
note: online proof version of photos will be available by Tuesday. Check back and I'll post 'em.
The worst trouble I’d ever gotten into were the times she thought evil had befallen her only daughter.
The first time I remember was the afternoon I called out to her, through Dad’s winter coat and my snowsuit, to let her know I’d locked myself in the closet and needed her to rescue me and no, I was NOT lying at the bottom of the basement stairs with a broken neck.
Then there was the time, while taking huge steps through the fresh mud with my red rubber boots and brand new white socks, the left boot got stuck in the ooze and I yelled for help because I knew if the perfectly clean white sock came into the house covered with wet brown dirt, there would be hell to pay. And no, I was NOT about to be swallowed up by quick mud (in the middle of Ohio).
By adulthood our roles reversed, as evidenced by the time an ostrich got loose from the petting zoo and barreled down the Fort Steuben mall towards us and she dealt with it by using me – her only offspring and light of her life (allegedly) as a shield, for cryin’ out loud.
She would have been eighty-three today.
Garden of the Gods, Colorado, 1977
Nevertheless, I also instinctively believe there is a basis for the idea. Yes, I believe - through belief, projection and behavior - we do in fact "create" our own reality. Sort of. Somehow.
See that little waver at the end there? Well that little 'yeah, then prove it' voice way up in the attic of my brain makes the whole Law of Attraction stuff yet another reason to explore the place where science meets intuitive belief.
Honestly, I don't think anything lights me up quite like finding tangible proof for something that I know in my gut is true. I love that "Yes, I knew it!" feeling of eureka. Sort of quantifying the unquantifiable, or reinforcing the validity of intution. Not that I NEED that reinforcement, of course...
This quest has led me to to a number of interesting places. The What the Bleep Do We Know video is my favorite. Quantum mechanics, or at least the .001% of it that I understand of it, is another. The rather odd result of all this is that someone like Fred Alan Wolfe ends up becoming my George Clooney. Okay, so I don't fantasize about Wolfe. But still...
A couple of years ago I stumbled onto a book by British psychologist Richard Wiseman called The Luck Factor. His theory, backed by fairly impressive research, is that luck certainly exists, and it's driven not by chance but by behavior. One of his more famous experiments involved setting up various people in identical situations and then monitoring the results of those who consider themselves lucky vs. those who don't. The 'lucky' ones found randomly placed money, chatted up strangers who were potentially great business connections and basically were simply more open and aware of possiblities. The unlucky-by-their-own-definition ones, did not.
The thing about Wiseman is - he's not a stuffy scientist as much as a smart goofball. Just my kind of person, lol. And this finally leads me to the point of the post, which is some interesting fun.
Okay, this is what I want you to do:
This link will take you to a 30 second video of people playing with a basketball. What I want you to do after you click on the link and start the video is to count the number of passes that are made. Count each time one person passes a ball to another.
Then, and only then, I want you to come back here and click on the comments.
K? Do it!
Tom Hanks in "The Terminal."
My grandmother came to the United States when she was only sixteen years old and never looked backed. Baba loved the US, loved being here, was grateful for the opportunity. But the thing is - due to literacy and other issues, she never became a citizen. She was considered, in politically correct terms, a resident alien. For the remaining 58 years of her post US life, she and the rest of my grandparents had to visit the immigration office to have their green cards renewed, to recertify their status of Resident Alien. It always struck me as odd - she was the same as the rest of us, but different. Never completely in sync, always the permanent visitor. I must also say that - although it bothered me - she was fine with it and just laughed at her silly grandstanding granddaughter.
But this post is not about my grandmother or immigrants.
When I was that same age - 16 - I got my first 'real' job. First at the Dairy Queen, and then at our local department store. For the next twenty years, all of my jobs/career moves were in private sector business. Well, okay, ITT Sheraton was publicly traded, but that's a digression. Point is - I cut my work teeth on business and that's what I know, understand and feel connected to.
About eight years ago, through a series of events that are too hard to explain on a blog, I stepped out of the world of free enterprise and into the world of academia. AND the world of being a government employee. I am currently a college instructor. I like my job. Some days it frustrates me but on other days I love it. Other than how sucky my pay is, it's a very good gig and I'm quite happy with it.
But you know...
As far as those two worlds - academia and working for the state of Hawaii goes, I'll always be a resident alien.
Resident Alien. Now I get it.
On the other hand, although I am not a fan of Newtonian science, I nevertheless have a very healthy respect for deductive reasoning. I mean after all, one plus one really does equal two. In most cases.
But what fascinates me more that either of these two extremes is the place where, in a given situation, they intersect. Sometimes those two ideas fit together well, other times they radically clash. I am interested in both - in much the same way that I enjoy both concerts and fireworks. During the past few weeks I've been particularly aware of that place, due to where I've been spending my time. But I digress.
On a good day I might refer to that point as quantum mechanics. But today I am going light. So light in fact, that this whole intro is a superficial prelude to:
Has anyone been watching The Mentalist? Quality-wise, the show kinda sucks. The plots are sloppy and not particularly plausible. But the underlying concept is what intrigues me. The main guy (played by Simon Baker, who alone, has a face worth watching for an hour) is a former fake psychic who - after extreme personal tragedy - is now working for an elite detective team in order to determine the whodunnit answer within the alloted TV drama time frame. He does it by using skills honed in the 'psychic trade' that basically has to do with observation of details, leading comments and being a quick study of human nature. Again, the show itself can be an eye roller, but... isn't the concept interesting?
A whole bunch of years ago I had the privilege of working with a theatre group that studied method acting. Method Acting has to do with becoming the character from the inside out, and figuring out "who" the person is from just a handful of facts - dialog by the person and about the person, stage directions and, well, not much else. I worked hard and - since I am interested in human nature anyway - got pretty good at it. The downside was, if I went to a party or interacted with a group of people, I'd often say things that shouldn't be said. Such as "oh, so how long have you and _______ been dating?" to someone who had been fairly successful at keeping a relationship under the radar. Stuff like that happened a lot. Did I have any great powers? Nope. It was more along the lines of going to the gym faithfully and then one day realizing you have strong biceps. Kinda like, 'whoa...where'd that come from?'
I know there was originally a point to this.
Oh yeah, I remember...
Does this cause me to be jaded and cynical? Hmmmm...I don't think so. But it does cause me - when interacting with the more metaphysical concepts - to take a couple extra beats and casually look around for some Newtonian, Five Senses type of confirmations. And right now, that balance serves me well.
That was my point.
“Mom, you’re old. Face it.”
Now right click on this and cue it up in another window while you read the rest of the post.
Did ya? Okay then…
Sold I to the merchant ships,
Minutes after they took i
From the bottomless pit.
But my hand was made strong
By the hand of the almighty.
We forward in this generation
Triumphantly.
Wont you help to sing
These songs of freedom? -
cause all I ever have:
Redemption songs;
Redemption songs.
Emancipate yourselves from mental slavery;
None but ourselves can free our minds.
Have no fear for atomic energy,
cause none of them can stop the time.
How long shall they kill our prophets,
While we stand aside and look? ooh!
Some say its just a part of it:
We’ve got to fulfill de book.
Wont you help to sing
These songs of freedom? -
cause all I ever have:
Redemption songs;
Redemption songs;
Redemption songs.
- Mood:open
Started the morning on my deck with a lovely, lovely meditation. Then wandered around, emailed, chatted, and finally got whacked with a sudden inspiration to hit the gym - first time in nearly two weeks.
I took life's "stuff" out on the Elliptical Machine, from deadline concerns to thinking unkind things about whoever the gym member is that insists on the TV being set to Fox News. It mocks me. Hoping he was there to see me take a swig from my Obama08 water bottle (take THAT Conservative Gym Guy) I instead decided to laugh at my silliness and own it. On to the the weight machines, headphones in place...
Ever notice how often a random song matches the external situation? From Beatles to Rascal Flatts to Transiberian Railway - it all fit. Digging on the synchronicity ... kind of like my own little Life Soundtrack...I got into the movie of it. Gawd, I love music.
Yes, I tend to live in my head. But I've gotta admit - there's something about a physical workout. It's tough and sweaty and occasionally monumentally unpleasant but when those endorphins kick in...there's nothing like it.
Finished.
Happy and tired - blissfully so - I left the gym and walked towards my car. Catching a glimpse of something shiny in my peripheral vision, I turned to look. It was the sunlight dancing across the turquoise blue Pacific. Twenty some years later it never fails to take my breath away. Forgetting that my tunes were still plugged in to me, I walked across the lot to fully enjoy it.
I was hot and sticky but felt oddly cool. Know that thing that happens when the breeze wafts across wet skin? Yeah, that.
Just as I was being swept up into yet another island girl moment, a familiar piano riff began to play in my head. WTF??? Oh yeah. The headphones. Listening to that solitary and deliberate prelude, I knew what was coming--
"Some folks want to get away, take a holiday from the neighborhood...
Hop a flight for Miami Beach or Hollywood
But me, I'm taking the Greyhound on the Hudson River Line.
I'm in a New York State of Mind..."
Followed by that sax...Hop a flight for Miami Beach or Hollywood
But me, I'm taking the Greyhound on the Hudson River Line.
I'm in a New York State of Mind..."
Oh, there is something about a slow, bluesy saxophone that touches me like only it can. From the very first note, it insinuates itself into a place within me that nothing else can reach. Don't know why or what it means. It's just so.
So there I was...lost in the paradox of tropical breezes and saxophones and breaking waves until the song about The City played itself out. Made my way back to the car and drove home, slowly, deliberately. The same way Billy plays, I guess.
I walked up my stairs, thinking about doors - closing, opening, closing, opening...There is a wistful magnificence to life sometimes. A little melancholy perhaps, but oh, so exquisitely beautiful.
My last picture from my last night during my last trip to New York.
(writes, backspaces deletes)
I started to say that I don't write much these days but realized that's not exactly true. I write almost CONSTANTLY these days - reports, Instant Messages, emails, notes to my students, lecture notes, articles for the Lahaina News, contract renewals, zzzzzzz.... ooops, sorry! Put myself to sleep there for a minute. Point is - I'm so burned out on Hafta Writes and Friend Writes that I have let other stuff fall by the wayside.
Not sure how I feel about that.
Anyway, just a note to say, 'It's all good."
- Music:Redemption Song - Bob Marley
Everything is going to be all right.
Remember that's how this story ends, okay?
I am continually amazed at how we humans allow things that really shouldn't matter hold way more influence than common sense and what we know to be true. Case in point: kids who only occasionally and casually skateboard. No big tricks, so no need for helmets, right?
In the small town where we lived for most of my kid's life, NO ONE wore a helmet. Ever. They owned them, and we parents told them to wear them, but never enforced it. What I did do is a totally useless form of quasi protection. I would look at him sternly and say, "Now you be CAREFUL, you understand? Do you know what a brain injury is???" He'd sigh and reply, "Yeah, Mom, I'm careful. I really am."
So I'd let him go, stern look following him all the way until he was out of my line of vision. Turning away, that I hate skateboards thought would cross my mind yet again. Can't wait till he outgrows those damn things, I'd think to myself.
This past weekend he and his half brother were visiting their dad on the Big Island. Saturday night my cell phone rang. Seeing his name pop up I jokingly answered, "What? A kid actually calling his MOM?"
My stepson replied, "No, It's me. But your actual kid is here and he's fine. Dad just wanted me to call and tell you he's gonna have him checked out to make sure he didn't get a concussion."
Concussion? Huh? He continued:
"Yeah, he was messing around on a skateboard and kinda hit his head. So Dad just wants to make sure everything's ok."
Will someone please remind me to reward this kid for having such excellent Parent Handling Skills? I owe him. Big time.
Then he quietly added, "but Dad is not handling it well. So if you talk to him, it's not as bad as he thinks it is, okay?"
Big reward. I owe him BIG.
'Cause he was right. When I spoke to my Ex later, he was a basket case. I am usually the calm one in non-gore related emergencies (for me blood = fainting) so what I was able to piece together via pre and post flight conversation, the web, questions, etc, was this: The small neighbor island hospital's CT scan found a small amount of bleeding on the left side of his brain. Feeling they were not equipped to properly handle any possible worst case scenario, they made the decision to fly him to Queen's Medical Center, on a different island, which is the prime care facility in the state (remember "the state" is thousands of miles from ANYTHING else). This is precautionary and a good thing. But try telling that to the irrational Parent Gene that resides within us all. (Interestingly, I just flashed on two "blog friends" -Kate and Mike- who just became parents to a wonderful baby boy, and my RL friend Holly, who is probably on her twentieth EPT test so see if the double lines are still there. I smile and think 'fasten your seatbelts, kids, you have no idea where this ride is takin ya...)
Anyway, where was I?
Oh yeah, yadda yadda yadda...freak outs, stress, prayers and meditations, friendship and other support, getting jobs and lives covered while we are in this three island triangulation thing of who flies where and when...and here's the bottom line again:
He's out of ICU and I might be able to bring him home tomorrow. All looks good and he'll be back to his normal and questionable self, only with doctor's orders of "nothing stenuous for the next six weeks." WHAT??? He worships at the altar of Nothing Strenuous. His goal in life is Nothing Strenuous. Did my kid PLAN this??? Kidding, of course. (Whew, feels good to joke, finally) He's not completely out of the woods yet, but we're within sight of the clearing.
But the real bottom line is---
What does it say about us (me, many others) who puts their kid's intense desire to "not look like a dork" above their very real safety? This is the issue that nags at me, and will continue to do so. It might also be a banner that I pick up and carry for a bit.
Was about to log on to good-naturedly grumble about my day - from speeding tickets to $40 mystery charges to take out lunches that spill open while still in the bag - when I caught the bulletin announcing that Tim Russert has died.
Without exaggeration, I cannot think of any other person in the public eye whose death would upset me more. But it's not about me.
It's about the arguably best journalist on television today. Granted, that's not necessarily a field of high standards at this moment in our history. But what a journalist he is.
In a world where TV News is a cacaphony of sensationalized talking heads and stations created to push a political agenda, Russert is like an oasis of no nonsense practicality, warmth and humor, with a relentless, pitbull-like focus on the questions that will make 'em squirm or shine, depending on the person.
And the timing...
Those of you who actually watch the news programs know the magnitude of what we just lost. I can't even imagine how this void will be filled. He was my "rock star."
Seems like only a few weeks ago I was blogging this:
Kool and the Gang
- Mood:crushed
Today is Towel Day!!!!!!
The only thing I can say is...
42.
If this post makes no sense to you, you probably forgot your Babel Fish.
In a given week, my diet can range from tofu and fish to baby backs and steak. I seriously love good ribs and they will probably be my downfall someday. But I also love how Down to Earth does this weird Mock Chicken thing. It isn't anything even remotely resembling chicken, in appearance or flavor, but damn, it's good.
So when I discovered the local Health Food store on the other side of the parking lot of my new apt last week, I decided to check it out.
First of all, it has that third generation hippy street cred thing going on. What was my first clue? The "Beware - your cell phone may be giving you cancer!" poster on the front door. Surreptitiously repositioning the verizonwireless in my pocket, I went in.
Okay, lemme interrupt myself for a minute. WHAT is it that those places, particularly the ones that serve prepared food, smell like? Is it a combination of spices, or is it one particular thing? "Back in the day" they smelled like patchouli oil in the front and curry in the back. Love curry, hate patchouli (which always struck me as a weird variation on spice gumdrops, which , ironically, I DO like) but the combination really sucked. Anyway, back to the post--
I passed the Frozen Yogurt station and made my way to the Hot Food Buffet.
Okay, another digression:
Whoever invented the charge-by-weight buffet bar is a marketing genius. I think $6.99 per pound sounds like a very reasonable price. But damn...healthy food is VERY HEAVY. Being consciously frugal, I walked to the register and...$11.03???!! Shit. Making a mental note to step away from the steamed asparagus and move towards the raw spinach salad the next time, I bought a fructose sweetened frozen yogurt topped with diced fresh papaya and started back across the parking lot with my bounty - already feeling pounds lighter! No, wait - that's my wallet. Anyway--
I got back to the apartment, grabbed a real fork and settled in to eat. My son came over to investigate and pointed to a clump of something on my plate.
"What's that?"
"My lunch."
"I know. But I mean, what is it?"
"Uh, it's uh, I think it has some, uh, that looks like it might be..." I pause before admitting defeat.
"I have no idea."
Then - like a 2008 version of the Life Cereal Mikey commercial, we both lean towards the plate as I take my first tentative bite. There's some kind of nut in it, and I think I recognize rice but that could be something else. Ah, cheese! It has a hint of parmesean cheese! I go for the second bite.
"This is good!"
The kid looked at my plate, considering the un-considerable.
"So," I tempt him, "wanna tryyyyyyy some?"
This child, this fruit of my loin, who has bungee jumped, driven the Hana Highway like a champ, has even dived off Black Rock for heaven's sake, glanced up with a look of total fear and said simply, "I'm afraid."
So I continued eating. And I'll tell ya...I have no idea what it was, but "it" tasted really, really good. I wolfed it.
About 3/4 of the way through he yelled, "Wait! I wanna taste it."
"You sure?"
Holding a fresh fork like a lance, he takes a deep breath. "Yep, I'm going in."
And then...
The little &^%$#@ ate the rest of my lunch.
- Mood:still hungry
I was respectable at jumping rope (even the dreaded Hot Peppers!) and could throw a baseball fairly well but couldn't catch it worth a damn (later found out it was an eyesight thing). Then, in the the beginning of sixth grade we discovered something--
I could outrun anyone. Wow! That was great.
Unfortunately by the middle of sixth grade, "it" happened. For the first time, with many more occurances to follow...
...my knee went out.
I'm not even sure what it means, other than wrenching, nausea-inducing pain and a knee that inflates like an emergency lifeboat, but it's a phrase I've heard and used since I was twelve.
"Yeah, my knee went out again."
"Nah, you can't do the trampoline. It'll probably make your knee go out."
"I don't know, Miss Kenny. She was just sitting there and her knee went out."
Hospitals, traction, big fluid draining needles...first the right knee, then the left. Remember this was the 60s and early 70s - pre arthroscopic days - so it was all sort of hit or miss. I had surgery my senior year, which didn't work. But I had a crush on my surgeon so it wasn't a total loss.
I was excused from gym class all through junior and senior high school. At the beginning of seventh and then again at the beginning of ninth grade, I had overly enthusiastic gym teachers who made me participate anyway. Once. Both times, my knee went out and instantly inflated. Each time, I saw the look of lawsuit horror in their eyes and was able to spend the rest of the year goofing off.
Did I mention that my mom was also deathly afraid of me drowning? Yep. And like my parents, I never learned to swim. Over the years people have tried to teach me but all have given it up as a lost cause. Teaching an adult to swim is pretty tough - too much logic and reason going on.
There have been a few non-couchy phases over the years. I played on a softball team a half a season, and bowled in a league even. And then there was the volleyball on the beach summer. Fell on my face or ass every time but sand is relatively soft and the game was friendly, so it was all good.
Do fishing and billiards and kitchen table poker count as sports? Love those.
By the time I hit my thirties, I started walking for exercise. That's been my thing for years. Long walks that started as exercise turned into mega stress relievers, think time, church and who knows what else. I love to walk.
But middle age, love of food and the M word (shh...don't tell the guys; it'll freak 'em out) are just too much for my happy little walks. When 'cutting back' could no longer fix my expanding, sagging, bumpy self , I knew it was time to up the game. Enter: move to West Maui, enter: Valley Isle Fitness, enter: old negotiation skills to get a smokin' membership deal for my son and me.
So that is how this life long Couch Potato turned Computer Spud ended up with a membership to a serious gym/fitness center.
And you know...I love it. And I hate it, of course. But I love it. I think it's because science has really taught us a lot about what works for the body and what doesn't. For example, stairmaster or bike - ugh, no! Not for these knees! Treadmill - yeah, that's okay. Elliptical - perfect. Hate that Sonofabitch Machine, but love it too. Hell, I didn't even know I HAD muscles in the top part of my ass. But now I know. Ugh.
It's been over a month and so far, so good. Aside from a slight early weight loss (which was probably from running around like an idiot doing the moving thing) I haven't seen much external change. And I still don't know what a delt fly is and whether it's something I should be doing or swatting. And I still have to push myself to go. But ah, the peace of mind...I sleep better, I handle stress better...all that stuff.
The other night, I got the giggles. There we were - three serious fitness club members, lined up on our respective benches, with our respective handweights, watching ourselves in the mirror for form.
Unfortunately I glanced to the left and saw how the three of us looked. Big huge blonde guy with his 110 lb weights. Big huge Hawaiian guy with his 110 lb weights. And me with my 8 lb weights. Seriously, it looked like a scene from a Jim Abrams movie. I couldn't stop giggling so I had to leave and go do something else.
My knees are still messed up, of course - arthritis has set in and I'm very limited in some things because of it. But in my experience, dropping about 15 or even 10 pounds from where I am now will relieve quite a bit of the stress on them. And I'm coming to the realization that I need to only go every OTHER day, so I can rest the 'stuff' in between. And I still spend a lot of time sitting on my okole. But so be it.
Anyway, I love my gym. Even when I hate it.
Oh, all the things I’ve ever heard about the universe giving us what we deserve! I, who have struggled my whole life with the three challenge from the title, am suddenly faced with the ultimate test: In order to get on with this new phase of life that I’m so excited about, I’ve got to first do the grunt work necessary and close out the old. Damn.
Using creative solutions (i.e. no funds so I can’t hire someone to do it all) I must sort through and pack up five rooms worth of stuff, figure out a way to get it a great but small apartment three hours and 55 one-way bridges away and make this current house clean and rent-able. And all within the next thee weeks, and while I’m living existing in three separate places on the island.
This week is Spring Break, so I’m utilizing the time to really pack. No, wait. I’m using the time to look through all the photo albums, journals and mementos I rediscover, and occasionally to pack.
But you know what feels good? Throwing shit away. There’s a very metaphoric aspect to it, you know?
My kid – who has picked up two of the titled traits to an alarming degree – saw about ten seconds of an Oprah segment on hoarding and announced, “Mom, that’s gonna be you someday.”
Yikes!
Not true, though. It’s more of the lazy procrastinator thing than a hoarding thing. For me it’s not an issue of wanting to keep this stuff as much as “but someone could use it!” So I’m theoretically going through it all, separating into keep, throw and yard sale/giveaway.
I say theoretically because I’ve needed to borrow a pick up truck to cart a load of old mattress type stuff to the dump so that I have room to organize.
Well guess what.
Today is THE day.
My neighbor is going to drop off the keys to his truck in a few minutes and we’re gonna DO IT.
I’m psyched.
What about you? You have any questionable traits that are still a challenge?
Here's a load of stuff headed
OUT THE DOOR!!!!
- Mood:overwhelmed, but motivated
Well whaddya know, it’s Easter again. For the first time in many years, I am in a totally unconflicted, happy place about this holiday. If you’re interested in my past angst, you can go read this:
http://martiw.livejournal.com/27928.html
but the truth is…that was then and this is now so let’s just focus on today.
Like many of you, the assortment of folks who I consider friends represents a panoply of ideas, beliefs, cultures and everything else. When it comes to my friends – or to life at large, come to think of it – I tend to gravitate towards the spirit of a situation rather than concrete absolutes. I look for not the lowest common denominator, but the highest. Yes, I know there is no such thing as a ‘highest common denominator.” But there should be. (Take that, Euclid)
So when it comes to religion, I try to find the essence of the event. In the case of Easter, I celebrate the following:
the idea of rebirth or second chances.
Or that when one follows the courage of their convictions, they ultimately triumph in one way or the other, even if it means going through the darkest of night first.
And that, while the concept of justice is manufactured by us as a way to live, the idea of a just universe is undeniable.
And that power and humility do not have to be mutually exclusive traits.
In the past year or so I’ve returned to experiencing the idea of Jesus in much of the same manner as I did when I was a child . Was just cruising around the ‘net and found this incredibly kitschy sculpture that expresses it better than my words ever could.
Wishing you all these good things today and always.
His Own Words
I'm serious. We cannot not elect this man.
- Mood:hopeful
What really knocks me out about this flick - other than the incredible cast - is the writing, the dialog. Damn. And the way Davis reacts to dialog. Just one roll of those Bette Davis Eyes and hoowee...you "get" the whole thing.
Oh, and I think that this might have been Marilyn Monroe's first bit role, but I'm not sure. Secondary consideration.
That did it. I was in for the whole two hours.
I LOVE old movies. I realize that I'm opening a can of worms when some of the people reading this are less than half my age but...
When you think of "old movies" what comes to mind? What movie can you see over and over? And why?
the picture is a still from when she says "Fasten your seatbelts everyone. We're in for a bumpy ride."
