I was driving to work today and noticed this woman walking along the side of the road, alone, smiling and laughing. I believe she might have even been singing or talking to herself. She looked like she was having the best time. Which got me thinking.

I think I’m one of those people. The people you see who seem to always be having a great time, alone. The people who laugh outloud when they’re by themselves, the ones who sing in their cars, radio blasting, nodding their heads to the beat. I’m one of them.

I used to make fun of those people. You know, the standard… man… look at her/him, they must be a bit off, a bit strange, a bit… challenged. When I was a kid I’d see my mom whistling in public (hands down, she’s the best whistler you’ve ever heard, and I’m not just saying that), or volunteering to participate in a sing along and I’d slink down in my seat and think… oh god, everyone is going to know she’s my mom… how embarassing. As if there was some sort of spot light on her that would suddenly then jump to me and everyone around would look at me sadly saying to themselves… there’s the poor pitiful girl who’s mother is… gasp… singing.

Now, here I am, one of them. I don’t volunteer to sing, though I haven’t been given the chance. And I still don’t and won’t do karaoke (what can I say, it’s not for me), but I do blast the radio, singing along, not afraid to bob my head and play the drums on the steering wheel. And yes, people do look, occasionally, but I don’t care. I also find myself being incredibly chipper in stores, restaurants, or wherever. I make chit chat with clerks and waitstaff, in genuine attempts to engage them, find out about them, and set them at ease. I have even danced in public, at a park, when there was no obvious music playing. Shocking… I know.

I think maybe this is something that happens as we get older. I am over 40 now. In fact, I’m a couple years into my 40′s. So maybe that is it. Maybe we just don’t care as much what others think. Maybe we don’t worry so much about how what we do is going to look to everyone else around us. Maybe, just maybe, we decide that living and being happy, being out there with who we are, being alive, is so much better than hiding ourselves behind our fears and insecurities. Or maybe it’s just that I am off a bit, strange, or a bit challenged myself. I don’t know. Ingnorance could be bliss. And in fact, if that’s the case, I’m glad about it.

One thing I do know… I’d rather be like this, free to be me, without hesitation or reservation, than worried all the time about appearances. I’d rather be one of those smiling happy people. I’d rather be singing aloud.

After 35 years working in this field, Ted has decided it’s time to sail off into the sunset. He’s had a spectacular career, starting work in March of 1972 for Jackson County. While there he worked a variety of caseloads including intensive, intake and field supervision. Also with Jackson County, for a period of three years, Ted worked as a Circuit Court appointed Referee. In 1995, after deciding he needed a change, he moved up to this County. We were, and have been, very lucky to have him.

When I asked Ted what his favorite things about doing this work have been he said working with the kids, something he still likes, and the variety and freedom this job provides. About the kids he said he’s done this long enough that he’s had adults, who were once on his caseload, seek him out and let him know that what he’d done for them had made a difference in their lives. He told me, “they never forget us”.

One of the most stellar things about Ted, and something we’ll all miss very much, is how he always manages to put things in the proper perspective. I asked him what he was most proud of and his answer, like the man, was unpretentious and matter of fact, “I’m most proud of my climbing (he was a part of the 1984 Ama Dablam Expedition in Nepal), my sailing, and my two world class kids.” He’s a man who knows what’s really important in life, which has, in turn, made him so very good at doing the work we do.

We here at the Department are going miss Ted’s humor, his candor, his incredible knowledge and experience, his friendship, and that amazing perspective of his. We know, as he said, that he’s “earned the chance to play”, and we agree with him. But when he says, maybe for the last time, “I’m in this for the groupies”, we’ll have to let him know that even though he’s made the comment in jest, he actually does have a very strong fan base here in the County who are going to miss him very much.

Ted… good luck, and bon voyage. Though you will be missed, it will be great thinking of you in shorts and sandals, Cindy at your side, a Martini in one hand and the wheel in another, sailing that boat of yours down to Baja, off into the sunset.

I’ve been sitting here quietly, thinking. It’s lunch time for me at work and everyone is out. The office is hushed. All I hear is the buzzing of my computer. Outside on the river, it’s also a bit quiet. There aren’t many boats visible and the water is lapping. The whole world seems to be silenced, exept for the occassional sound of a chirping bird.

My mood is quiet as well. It’s Monday now, but yesterday… yesterday was father’s day. It was my first father’s day without a dad. No Bill, my step-dad, who passed away a few years ago… and no dad, who passed away last year. It feels strange.

I was lucky in my life. Lucky to have two dad’s who loved me very much. Lucky to have them and lucky to know it. My life has always been full to overflowing with family. It’s big. Lots of grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, brothers, sisters, and yes, parents. More than just the usual two of this or that, and I’ve enjoyed it, felt a fuller life because of it. There was and never has been a shortage of love. It’s the bonus a person gets for having so much family. I’ve never been without it and I’ve known, somehow, not to take it for granted. I’ve known I’ve had a good thing. And again I say… lucky.

In the last few years my larger than life family has suffered significant loss, as families eventually do. At times it hasn’t been easy, and yet we’ve always managed to handle it with grace and dignity intact. We’ve always honored those we’ve loved and lost, and we’ve gone on missing them, and honoring them, even after they’ve passed. I’m proud of that and proud of us for it.

Now though, sitting here, I’m feeling a bit sad, which is OK. I’m sad because I’m missing my dad’s. Sad because they gave something to my life that’s irreplaceable, and I’m feeling their absence.

But then, the optimist in me only lets me indulge the sadness for a time. Even now, having talked about it a bit, I am once again feeling the hope and happiness of what I still have in my life, and the luck I feel at having known these two guys. After all, I still have some fabulous fathers in my life… My grandfather has been and continues to be a stellar man who has been a wonderful father to my mom and her siblings. My uncles, a great group of guys the lot of them, outstanding fathers all. My brothers, each and every one who’s had the fortune of having children in their lives, are fantastic dad’s. My mom’s husband, Don, who is a terrific guy and a great dad to his three kids. Many of my friends who are so outstanding as men and as fathers. The list of dad’s I know and care for is long, and I have to say that each and every one has been terrific, spectacular, in his own way.

I guess maybe what I’m feeling most is grateful for the gift of knowing what I’m missing, and because of that, knowing what I still have. I’m feeling an appreciation for the men in my life. For all the dad’s in my life who are or will be. So to them I’ll say… Happy belated father’s day. I’ve been thinking about you, thinking about the job you do, every day, just by being who you are. Feel appreciated, feel loved… you deserve it. And Dad, Bill… I’m thinking of you, loving you, missing you, and wishing you both a very happy and heart felt father’s day. I was lucky to know you, lucky to have you, and lucky to be able to call you both dad.

I was watching the Today show yesterday morning and one of the first news bits I heard after tuning in was a brief story about Paris Hilton’s latest debacle and her upcoming jail time. Apparently she’s appealing the decision that’s sending her to the clink. A couple of things mentioned, unabashedly, by the young celeb included comments about how she has people to read her mail, as if she couldn’t be bothered to pick up her own letter opener, and how she felt the sentence was cruel and unusual punishment. She also allegedly started an online campaign to encourage the Governor of California to pardon her. Watching, I laughed, and waited for the people on Today to move on to something with a little more substance.

Later, driving to work, I heard a little tidbit of info about how there are now photos of Lindsay Lohan on the internet showing the little starlet snorting cocaine in a bathroom somewhere. Seems her “friend”, who was with her at the time, decided to snap some pics and share them with the rest of the world. Probably, of course, for a price. Great friend.

Then I got to work and I started thinking… what’s up with these girls? Which lead to my questioning of these kid’s parents. Who are they? And then finally, what’s up with us for even spending time talking about, taking pictures of, reading about, or watching stories on them? What’s our problem? Why are we so interested? Because really, it’s our interest and continued consumption of the information about them that keeps stories like these alive and well.

We spend so much time on stuff like this, people like them. And… who are they, really. Kids with loads of money, not completely grown up, who are privileged, yet sort of sad. They lead lives we can’t really imagine, yet we are fascinated. When something sad or embarrassing or unfortunate happens in a celebrity’s life, the tabloid media, and sometimes the supposed legitimate media, pounces all over it. And we jump right in, avidly soaking it all up. We stay tuned, buy magazines, listen to the radio, never turning it off, or putting it aside. It seems to grab us, takes hold, and becomes a massive wave breaking over us again and again, from all angles, all sources of mass media. A wave we want to jump and play in for days and days. Why?

So OK… I believe there’s a threefold answer to the question of why we have a constant zombie-like attraction to stories like these. On one hand, their lives are so different from ours and because of that we get sucked into hearing about them, which really is something akin to watching an educational documentary. We are shocked that something so different and strange exists, and we want to know how it works. On the other hand, our lives, by comparison, seem somehow normal, mellow, and unfettered by the chaos that seems to follow some of these famous people around. And because of that, we feel good about ourselves, and say things like… oh, that’s what happens when a person has a lot of money, they get out of control. Good thing that’s not me. Or, gee, that’s what happens when someone has so much privilege… whew… I’m so lucky not to be in their position. Or possibly… if I had their money, I would do something good with it. I wouldn’t throw it around, take it for granted, or ruin myself with it. But really… would we? Lastly I think maybe it’s because they are us… exposed. Normal people, meaning us non-celebrities, have strange and tragic things happen in our lives all the time, we’re just not famous, so no one cares. So maybe when we see terrible things happen to them, we feel somehow closer to them, we feel a sort of strange kinship. Like… see, these kinds of things happen in everyone’s lives, even theirs.

Then I had an interesting thought… this kind of media, which is growing and expanding every day, is changing us… and honestly… is that a good thing? I don’t think so. I think our world view, the way we think about ourselves as a society, what we find acceptable and tolerable is expanding right along with the fast paced information spewing world. I think our tolerance level is going way up, like the tolerance levels of long time substance abusers. Things we found unacceptable a few years ago are now more normal to us. And the raised tolerance and all that we are taking in is influencing and informing how we live our lives. It’s pushing the limits, speeding up the pace, contributing to a culture that’s losing it’s depth in favor of a quick fix and a glossy finish. So… what can we do…

The thing is… People are people… and that’s the way it will always be. We should probably be slowing things down, and ignoring ersatz stories like the ones I heard earlier. But sadly, we’ll probably always have an appetite for voyeurism of the strange, the unusual. It distracts us. We as a society will probably always want to know every detail about a celebrity’s stumble or fall. People who are famous will always fascinate us. We’ve become our own zoo.

So… the crux for me? What’s all of this pondering boil down to for this girl? I’ll tell you… Just for a second, imagine what would happen if we stopped watching, buying, looking, and wanting to know about all the fluff. Just think what would happen if we spent all that time and energy on say… really helping the people in Louisiana who still haven’t recovered from the ravages of Katrina or the people in this country and around the world who are in need, suffering, poor, without health care, dying… what could happen? What would happen? Maybe… just maybe… we’d stop watching, get up, and do something… participate in something meaningful. And people like Paris and Lindsay, who no doubt would still be crashing cars and snorting coke, would fade into distant memory, living their lives and getting no attention at all. And maybe, just maybe, we could change the world, instead of having the world change us… now that, that would be something worthy of our attention.

Written yesterday….

This morning I was driving to work and ended up following a school bus for a bit. The funny thing was, as it came to a stop in front of me, as they do when they’re picking kids up, I thought to myself, damn, how can I get around this thing. I went on thinking, OK, if this happens again, as it has many times in the past, I’ll cut through the bank parking lot and avoid this wait. Then I paused… and I thought… am I in such a hurry that I can’t even wait the extra 3 minutes this stop will take? I wasn’t even running late. In fact, I was early, because a girl has to have enough time to stop to get her chai on the way to work. So I knew I wasn’t going to be late, even with the stops the school bus made. And I had to ask myself, what’s with that? Why are we always in such a dang hurry?

That thought, as others have in the past, got me thinking. We rush around all the time. Get up in the morning and rush to get ready for work. Push leaving the house to the last minute and then rush to get to work. Rush through phone calls at work to get to the next thing, and the next, and the next. Rush toward 5 o’clock to then rush home after work. Rush to get dinner done, take the dog out, possibly get some exercise, spend some time with our spouses to actually talk, and then rush to get to bed so we can rush to get to sleep so we can start the whole process over. I want to know… what’s the hurry?

I find myself in these moments thinking and realizing, if I’m not careful, I’ll miss something spectacular and small because I’m in too much of a hurry to notice it. If I’m not careful I’ll be moving to the next thing before I’ve finished the thing I’m on and not really experience what I’m actually doing. If I’m not careful I’ll rush through a day, or a week, or a year and then not really remember what happened during that time because I wasn’t fully paying attention. If I’m not careful, I’m going to rush right through my life, and miss most of it.

I need to remember, as we all need to remember, to slow down. To not take every little thing so seriously. To appreciate the moment. To, when I’m stopped behind a bus, look around, see the sky, notice the flowering trees, look at how beautiful everything is after the rain… to drink in life. That’s living. Not the rush, but the pause. Not being in a hurry, but being present. And when I’m given a moment, like I was this morning, I need to stop… realize that it’s a great opportunity, realize that I’m living, right then… as I am, right now. This is life… fingers hitting the keys, the quiet of my office during the lunch hour, the sound of birds singing outside, the feeling of my stomach growling, the beauty of the sunshine outside hitting the river. This is life, and I’m in no hurry to let this moment, or any others I can capture, rush away from me.

… or with you?

How many times have I heard that already this Christmas season? I can’t even count. Shopping, shopping, shopping… it’s what we all do this time of year. Unless, for those of you who are slightly more industrious than I, a person makes the gifts they give. I don’t. Well, let me clarify, we do, partially. But otherwise, no. We don’t. We shop, just like everyone else. Out to boutiques, and chain stores, and our favorite place to get Christmas presents… Saturday Market. At least there, we figure, the goods are made by local artists and craftspeople. At least, there’s that. At least those gifts, to a certain extent, are unique. And, by buying at the market, we support the local economy and the local arts culture. The thought of it makes us feel better. It makes us feel better buying from local Portland boutiques, buying Oregon wines and Washington cheeses. And yet, somehow, I still feel caught up in the economy of Christmas.

I like getting stuff for the people I love. I mean, really, what’s better than getting something specific for someone, something meaningful, and then watching the person open it. The expressions of joy, if you got it right, or even the attempts at gratitude, if you got it wrong, are worth it. I love giving… it’s pure joy. Much better than receiving, to me anyway. But when you’re out and about, in the holiday hustle and bustle, fighting crowds, looking desperately for THE item, it’s a bummer. You look at your list, and think… OK, I have this for that person and that for this person and DAMN, I haven’t gotten anything yet for them. I feel the pressure. What’s that about? Really, I shouldn’t feel pressure. I tell myself… don’t, it’s not about that. And honestly, it isn’t. The thing with gift giving, truthfully, is that someone thought of you. Not so much what they got you, though there’s always a reaction to it, good or bad, but really… it’s just that someone thought of you. Someone went out of their way.

To me Christmas is supposed to be a quiet time… peaceful. A celebration of family and togetherness. The time of year we shine that special spotlight on the magic, mystery and underlying joy present in every day life. It’s not supposed to be about shopping, though it is supposed to be about giving. We’re supposed to take some moments to really look at our lives and the people in them. We’re supposed to celebrate connection, be thankful for home and family, and be mindful of the gifts we get and give every day. Gifts of kindness, love, compassion, sincerity, generosity, forgiveness, joy, support, honesty, and gratitude. All of the gifts we can give, and should, throughout the year.

So, I guess, as I go through the rush of this holiday season, I will remember that yes, I’m participating in the economy of it all, but also, if I remember to say thank you every time someone helps me, or waits on me, or rings me up, I will be spreading my own little version of gratitude and joy. And if, when I’m asked, “do you want the receipt with you, or in the bag”, I say, “with me, and… thanks for asking”, I’ll be spreading a generosity of spirit. And that, most definitely, is a gift worth giving.

I’m in the middle of a project. I’ve decided to digitize all my music, or at least the majority of it. So I’ve been grabbing a stack of CDs, when I have some time, and plugging them into the computer. From there it’s a matter of uploading them to my ipod and then deleting them off the hard drive. There might be an easier way, but I don’t think so.

At times it’s kind of tedious. I listen to snippets of songs on the discs to see if I want all of them, or just some. I choose the tracks I want and then import them. Disc after disc. The thing is… I get to hear music I’ve had for 20 years. I was looking at my collection and I purchased my first CDs in 1986/87. In fact, I know the first one I bought. Basia. I know, I know… everyone is saying… who? But really, it’s pretty good. Anyway… I find myself listening to music and feeling all of these unexpected emotions. It’s amazing how much music is connected to our emotional lives… it’s phenomenal. It’s like taking a trip down memory lane listening to it. It brings back actual memories of things I was doing and people I was with while listening to a particular song or CD. The music definitely reflects my “self” back then. What a great thing to be able to experience again. That and the other part of it… which is, I’m so happy now.

What prompted this whole little diatribe is that I was listening to a CD and thinking and feeling how sad I was when I was listening to it all those years ago. How much I was wishing I had someone in my life, etc., etc. How comforted the me then would’ve been to know how happy I was going to be. Because now, today, I have what I was missing and wanting… I have a big big love in my life. One that fills me up to overflowing. I was feeling that so strongly, listening to the CD, that when Karen walked in I was tearing up. So happy with how happy I am today, compared to the little bit of crazy I was feeling so long ago.

That is the power of music. It lifts our souls to soaring, helps us feel lighter when we are adrift, and brings us down to earth when our hearts need quieting. All of that while being a time machine to our past and a conduit to what our future could be. It’s truly magic, and wonderful.

Something I wrote in an email to a friend about being an emotional person….

Being emotional isn’t always a bad thing. I’m an extremely emotional person, it doesn’t take much for me to cry, and sometimes it’s a pain in the ass, especially when I can’t much control it. But, I’d rather be somewhat overly emotional and feel everything deeply than be cut off and separated from my emotions. It’s a trade off, but I’ll take it. So what if sometimes those sappy commercials or great moments in sports make me cry. I also notice when the sky is beautiful, how the wind feels, that clouds make shapes, that music moves my soul, and that Karen’s eyes shine differently when she looks at me… all of which make me cry too. It’s a blessing, and sometimes a little bit of a curse, but again… I’ll take it.

Oregon State, fight, fight, fight!

I just spent most of the last 4 days at a conference held at Oregon State University. Which, if you haven’t been able to tell already, is the college I graduated from.

My experience there in the mid to late 80’s was great, and every time I step foot on campus I get a rush of those feelings of freedom and independence I had when I first cruised into Corvallis with my carload of belongings.

It was the summer of 1985. Linda and I drove down to check out the campus and spent a day looking at places for rent. We were 19 and had no clue, really, what we were doing. Neither of us had lived on our own. Fortunately for us, fortune does favor the foolish. We lucked out and after not much looking we found an apartment. It was a funky little place that was actually the top floor apartment in a house. Two bedrooms, one bath, tiny kitchen, decent living room with window seats, and an excellent roof we could climb out on and smoke cigarettes. Yes, we smoked then. What were we thinking? I surely don’t know, but we’re better now.

I loved that place… so many great memories from that time. Linda and Dan ended up getting together (introduced by me… a fact I like to remind them of even now, 20 years later) while we lived there; our furnace exploded and spewed soot everywhere while Linda, poor girl, was at the apartment… I came home to find her, bundled up in soot-covered blankets trying to stay warm; we danced around the place to Prince and hung out with James Taylor playing in the background; ordered sandwiches delivered from Togo’s even though it was only a block away; ate a lot of pizza from Woodstock’s; spent many nights studying to the crack of dawn; attended meetings of the Psych Club (yeah, we were officers); wore garbage bags over us at football games to protect us from the rain; saw Howard Jones; handled Hugo the rat; learned a little something; and laughed, a lot.

All of it comes back to me when I step on the campus, and if close my eyes I can still see us dancing… and I can still hear us yelling… O-S-U… Oregon State, fight, fight, fight.

Written July 14, 2006

I’m taking this moment to confess. Yes, I have to get something off my chest. I am… without a doubt… are you sitting down?… a… a… a softball addict. It’s true.

I can’t stop myself. I’ve been consumed by first going to the super regional last Sunday down in Corvallis, which we won… wooo hooo!!, and then by watching other super regionals and now the Women’s College World Series on ESPN. I’m obsessed. It’s getting so bad that before I left for work this morning, I put a tape in to record the Texas game.

I don’t really know how or when this all happened. I have never been, before this year, really into it. Personally, I think it’s Karen’s doing. Well, maybe not, but partially. I’m laughing now, somewhat hysterically. Seriously though, I think it’s her influence. She played when she was younger, and actually, into adulthood. She knows the game. Plus, we have friends who are very into it as well. They like to watch, she likes to watch, and so… I watched.

I guess maybe, it started last year. We all watched the Women’s College World Series together. We got to know who some of the players were, developed favorites, rooted for teams we liked. It was fun. And still, at least at that point, my problem hadn’t developed into the mania it is today.

I wonder what went wrong? I could try to quit cold turkey. Not watch the games, not look up the scores or peruse player stats online. I could quit it… if I really wanted to. But, do I? Do I really want to? I don’t know, probably not… right now all I want is for the work day to be done, the drive home to be over, the changing into sweats from work clothes to have happened, and the VCR not to have messed up the recording in any way. I want to get back to the action. Maybe this year I’m a lost cause. And maybe, next year, I won’t fall into this consuming trap. Maybe…. or, maybe we’ll just decide to actually fly out to Oklahoma City and watch the games in person. Yeah… that sounds like the ticket… yeah… fly out… watch the games in person…

The night before last we went out with some friends to a BBQ and Blues place. We had decent food, good conversation, and enjoyed some great music. The only dilemma? I had to go the bathroom when we first arrived. And, I never went. Afterwards we moved the group to a pub, ordered coffee and dessert, and played Scrabble for an hour or so. Again, we had a great time. And yes, I still had to go to the bathroom. And again, I didn’t. So, here’s the thing… going into a public restroom as a woman is, how should I say it… a bit of an adventure. As Forrest Gump said, “You never know what you’re going to get”. And in this instance, that Forrest, he knew what he was talking about. There are so many issues awaiting a woman who decides to go into a public restroom. It’s exhausting really. So much so that sometimes it’s just easier not to go in. Holding it is less complicated… not as fraught with the possible dangers and decisions one might have to make.

Here’s what I mean… Right off the bat there’s the cleanliness factor. Some places keep their restrooms tidy, clean, and well looked after. Others? You walk in and feel as though something could crawl up your pant leg at any moment. They are, in a word, scary. Even still, sometimes, because we just can’t wait, we have to make the decision to proceed. To venture into the places we would never, under normal circumstances, walk into. It’s then that we are faced with all of the other things that can annoy, freak out, or cause alarm of one sort or another.

Ladies, you know what I mean. There are so many factors to consider. First, there’s the approach. It could be you, or maybe the woman in front of you in line. She approaches the stall and hesitantly pulls the door back to reveal what’s inside. Her expression says it all, helping to determine whether or not you, in your turn, will approach that same stall. If she looks and walks in, no problem. But, if she looks and closes the door, stepping back from the stall to look for another available stall you know it’s not good. Especially if she makes… the face. You all know the one. The classic… EW… I WON’T be going in there and neither should anyone else. It’s like she’s looking at the most nasty thing she could possibly imagine. Those stalls, you avoid. Then, if you can go in, there are the other things. Like… is there a seat cover and if not, can one hover, or maybe just sit. Is there actually paper available, or do you have to ask total strangers to pass you some under the side of the stall. Men wonder why women go in packs, now you know. It’s better to ask a friend or loved one to pass you some tissue or Kleenex than it is to ask that total stranger. There’s also the question of balance, because some stalls don’t have latches. So, there a girl is, balancing on one cheek, foot in the air pressed against the door hoping the seat cover doesn’t slip off with her on it… another reason for the pack mentality. If you go with friends, they can guard your door.

Then… there are the things we don’t want to talk about, but always notice. Like the women who pee so loud you wonder why they aren’t shooting off the toilet into mid air. You hear them and you wonder to yourself, am I a loud pee-er? Then you try to be quiet, as if you can. I admire the people who don’t seem to care. Women who go in, do their business, no matter how loud or boisterous it might be, and afterwards walk out confidently, as if to say, yeah, that was me, and I am damn proud of it. And the other big issue… the opening of the dreaded feminine hygiene product. You just know, as you peel away the loud wrapping that, any minute, a man will come over the loud speaker and announce, “woman in stall 3 opening feminine product, woman in stall 3.”

I guess there is the bright side to all of this. In many public restrooms, we don’t only get to tend to our bodily functions… we also get to read, thanks to the long line of people who preceded us in the stall. I always think, they obviously had time to kill and a handy pencil, pen, or other scratching item. I don’t know about you, but I’ve been privy to fine works of literature I’m sure I’d never have gotten a chance to read anywhere else.

Which brings me back, once again, to where I started. I guess I didn’t want the adventure of it all. I didn’t want to use the facilities at any of the places we ventured into that night. I held off. I waited for a place I didn’t have to peek into first. A place I knew would be clean. Where seat covers weren’t necessary and paper was plentiful. Because, when you get right down to the bottom of it, sometimes it’s just better to wait. It’s less complicated, and it’s definitely not as exhausting.

Home improvement. What a phrase that is. Here I sit, tired and worn out after two days of trying to do a little upgrade to our house. Whew. I was, I have discovered, not made to be a painter. And what’s more, I don’t have the nerve to be an electrician, though today, I tried my hand at both of those things.

There are three phases when attempting to do an upgrade to your house. First, you decide on the concept. You picture it… complete, flawless, and stunning. Next, you shop for supplies. You wander around to 10 different stores looking for the right paint color, the right light fixtures, and just the right tools too put that paint on and affix those fixtures. Then… you’re ready… You think.

The man at Hippo Hardware, a really great first and second hand parts hardware store, said that we had everything we needed in the little baggie he handed us. It wasn’t exactly what we went in for, but it was what we came out with. Seems that they don’t just make ready made light fixtures like we needed. It wouldn’t be as easy as that. Noooooo. We had been to a couple of hardware stores before Hippo, always asking the same question, “You mean they don’t come like this?”. They didn’t. The man who’d had this house before us was quite the woodworker. He made all of these custom little wood details, all of which we loved, of course, when we bought the house. Trouble is, when you want to replace just part of something, you can never get the whole part. We didn’t know before Hippo Hardware, but we certainly knew it when we came out of there. So there we were, with our little baggie of parts, and the really nice men who were helping us said, “Oh, you’ll love doing this. You’ll want to do it all the time when you’re finished with this project.” We were not so certain. And… we were right. Ok, so what he didn’t tell us was that we had to figure out which wires attached to which parts of the socket, how the socket then fit into the fixture, and then we had to figure out how to feed the wires through a curvy piece of brass. A tip for all of you home improvement types out there… tweezers can be an invaluable tool when working on electrical projects.

Ok, so we made it through the electrical maze. And, we did it without raising our voices at each other. There were only a couple of seconds of a partial tense moment, but it passed as soon as the wire slipped through the little hole. We won’t know for sure until we put them up, but we think they’ll work. And if not, at least they look good.

After our electrical endeavors, we moved on to painting. The room isn’t that big. After all, it’s just a small bathroom. We got out our supplies… brushes of various sizes, a stir stick, a flat head screwdriver to open the can of paint, drop cloths, rags to wipe up errant spills, tape to put on the crown molding and around the doors, etc., old towels because it seems when you’re doing home improvement, of any kind, you need lots of old towels, a step stool, and a paint pad with handle. We finished, after only a few mishaps, in a couple of hours. During the process though, we realized it probably would’ve gone a lot faster with a roller. And besides that, we were trying to cover up old wallboard that still had the design of the wallpaper that had been covering it for years imbedded in it. Rolling paint on tends to cover that stuff up a bit better, in my vast painting experience… wait, I have to pause here to laugh. Whew… OK, got that out of my system. Anyway… my better half went to the store and bought a roller. We waited the appropriate amount of time to allow for proper drying and went in again, to apply the second coat. It took us about an hour. So… here’s another tip for all of you amateur painters out there… A paint roller can, possibly, cut your painting time in half.

All of this, in the last couple of days, plus… we also purchased a new bookcase, my better half stained it, and we put it in our family room.

Now… I am off to scrub some of this green paint off my elbow, which I somehow missed when I was washing up. I know I also have paint on my backside, because at one point I backed into a wall, and I also, most likely, have paint in my hair. No worries about that though, it comes out over time. At least, the white paint did, after a couple of weeks or so, from the time we did our last home improvement project. I’m sure, looking myself over later, I’ll have green, sage to be exact, in places I’m surprised about. It’s just a part of the adventure called home improvement.

It’s a good thing spring is just around the corner… lucky us, we’ve got some home improvement projects planned for our yard, flower beds, and walkways. I can’t wait….

Karen’s making pancakes and I’m sitting here with newly applied butterfly tape on my hand. The moral of this story… don’t attempt to clean out aluminum cans by trying to pry off the lid you’ve tried, unsuccessfully, to completely remove with a can opener. The prying motion is usually what does you in. So if the can is fighting you, let it win. Otherwise, it takes revenge and bites back. Just a little hint for anyone out there who needs a helpful tip today.

Otherwise… I was sitting here reflecting on the Olympics. With last nights coverage I was struck by two different incidents. First, the big deal that was made of the young woman snow boarder who, in her excitement to just be there in the Olympics, got caught up in the moment and ended up, sadly, on her backside watching another boarder pass her by for the gold. The commentators were all talking about it as though she “gave away” the gold medal. They had a somewhat accusatory tone when discussing it, as if she did it on purpose or something. I say this… snow boarding is an exuberant sport and the moment you take that away, it’s changed forever. The girl is 20, just a kid. She’s young, excited, and full of life. She knows, better than anyone, what the cost was. After all, she’s the one going home with a different color medal. We don’t have to tell her. She’s learned the lesson for herself. So… leave her alone. Let her shake it off, look at her silver medal with pride, and start moving forward toward the possibilities she could have in Vancouver.

The other thing that struck me about the coverage last night was the commentating for ice dancing and skeleton. These people, who we never see, are absolutely wonderful. They love the sports they are covering. They bring so much enthusiasm to the events that I find myself getting into sports I normally wouldn’t care about. But, there I was… cheering on a pair of ice dancers, wearing costumes I would normally make fun of, as the lady announcer said, “She really knows how to make the Twizzle zing”. And I was like… yeah! She does! Having no idea what the twizzle was, or what might constitute a zinging twizzle. Similarly, when the skeleton commentators would exclaim, “Whoa! Did you see that? He was flying wildly down that section, off his line, and he’s still in first place!” And there I was, again, feeling exhilarated myself, as if it was I who had just been flying down the hill and triumphantly crossed the finish line.

Which, finally, brings me to talking about the Olympics in general. I’m so impressed with anyone who’s had a dream, worked his or her butt off, and reached a goal. These athletes, most who won’t see a podium during the games, are admirable human beings. And to me, that’s what the celebration should be about, not some medal count. We shouldn’t be talking about failed attempts and how we aren’t performing as well as we should be as a country. Our athletes are there, fulfilling a dream, with thousands of other individuals who, in the name of sport, accomplishment, dedication, and love of what they do, have gathered to celebrate their sport and each other. They all represent the best in us. They show us what the world could be like, would be like, if we ignored the borders and found in each other what they have found during these magical two weeks… that we are, as human beings, more alike than we are different. Our beliefs might be divergent, but our lives, for the most part, are not. All over the world people are loving their families, striving, achieving, suffering mistakes… making their way the best they can, and trying, with everything they have, to make their own personal twizzle zing!

It’s a word I’ve used to describe, ever since seeing the movie, the feeling of being free. From bonds, from constraints, from ideas that bog us down and try to pigeon hole us. And today, I feel that way. It’s amazing what truth does to a person. Being honest, opening ourselves up to someone, ourselves, the world. It’s beautiful. That, for myself, and the fact that my mom is now, as of today, enjoying a bit o’ sunshine in Mexico with her new man. She, more than anyone I know, deserves to be happy… and free. Free to do and be whatever and whoever she wants. I wish nothing more for her than days filled with sunshine, margaritas, and adventure… and nights filled with warm romantic strolls and yes, adventure. I can see her smiling eyes and hear her laughing from here. I can’t wait to hear her tell me all about it when she comes home.

Also… a good friend is going in for surgery that’s supposed to determine if the cancer has spread. From there directions are decided and a course of action will be taken. Seeing people I love in stress is so difficult. I wanted to hug him tight as he left today. He’s not one to show too much emotion though, so I respected that and just gave him a brief squeeze. I told him I would be burning incense and doing the healing dance. He laughed, which was the intention. Levity in the face of something so serious is sometimes necessary, especially when he was trying to say goodbye without getting too emotional. He’s a lovely man and I care about him very much.

So here it is, once again… life brings dual emotions to us constantly. Happy, sad, exuberant, quieting… all present, and accounted for. These moments make me appreciate life more each day. I know that sounds trite. But… it’s true. The rollercoaster of feelings I’ve experienced in one day is, to me, phenomenal. It let’s me know I am very much alive.

I have, over the course of the last few years, learned to appreciate everything. The light of the day, the smile of a friend, the way the sun feels on my face, any time I can get with the people I love, a well put together sentence in a novel, or something that makes me laugh. There are so many shades to life, so many little nuances. Sometimes just a sip of great tasting coffee makes the day. The fantastic part is that we get to wake up and do this over and over… every day. It’s magical. And I… well… I’m looking forward to what tomorrow and the day after might bring. I know, with certainty, that there will be one sort of adventure or another. We just have to be daring… be free… and live.