An Obvious One

It's been too long since I updated this blog.  I told myself that I would write daily, at least 4 times a week, but no.  I haven't.  Truth is, I'm in a funk I cannot deny and I just haven't had much to say.

Last night, though, I had a dream, whose meaning was abundantly clear.  In it, I was sitting in the very back seat of our family vehicle, as far as possible from the driver's seat.  My husband was driving.  Well, he collapsed and someone had to take over driving. 

In my dream, the steering console suddenly appeared in the back seat where I was sitting, so I tried to drive from there...but I could not see where I was going, and I could not keep the car on the right spot on the road.  The end results were that I ended up wrecking us all.

I know what this means.  It means that I can't take over and drive if I don't put myself in the driver seat.

Now I just gotta do it.

Twilight Beckoning

So many things I would share with you
If only I could
So many moments drenched in golden sunshine
As we walked the path together
You, bathed in the warmth
Me, all smiles as the sun spilled across us.
So many things I want to hear from you
The story of your life
And how you came to be.
So much unknown
As if you could breathe life into your words
As if, as you spoke, colors came into being
And forms took their shape within us
And your stories could become mine too
If only you would share them with me.
But for now the sun fades
And the moon spills its shadows
Shields it secrets
And you and I walk no paths together,
Share no stories
Touch each other not.
Silenced and saddened
By the things that might have been.

The Cost of Devotion

My friend who had cancer has now passed.  I shall miss her terribly.  She was a hurricane and a half housed in a size 2 frame.  She laughed a lot, had this bawdy sort of humor and got a twinkle in her eye whenever someone was telling a joke, especially if it lingered on the blue side. Despite this, she was the picture of loyalty.

For two years now, every time I would see her she would say to me "I am retiring in 2 years." and then it became "A year and a half".  She could have retired a few years back, and wanted to.  The truth is, that, while she didn't love the company she worked for, she did love the people she worked with, and she did love her customers--and they loved her back.  She would complain and talk about how awful things were at work and how much she felt that she was being used by upper management at her company; how there was no work-life balance, how she toiled 12 hours a day 6 days a week or more for people who didn't appreciate it.  And yet, as much as she felt put upon, she would take herself into that office, throw herself into her job, and give of herself until it hurt.

I guess if anything about her passing bothers me is not the fact that she is gone--although selfishly, I am sorry to see her go.  In ways, she is the better for leaving behind a body wracked with pain and cancer.  No, what bothers me is this:  I am troubled by the image of the woman who never lived to see that retirement she kept talking about--the one thing that kept her sane in the insane world of work that she didn't enjoy.

It makes me wonder why we do it, and if the return on investment is worth the price we pay...

Striving for Mediocrity

What did you want to be when you grew up?

Did you have grandiose dreams of being a hero--some firefighter or police officer maybe?  Or maybe a doctor or a nurse or a princess or a teacher?

I don't think many young children ever think to themselves "When I grow up, I really want to be an accountant" and yet, the world needs them and by the time people reach adulthood, there are those who gravitate toward that profession.

How far away from your childhood plans for yourself are you?  If you could meet your 8 year old self, would you get a high-five or crossed arms and a look of disappointment?  What would you say to yourself?

What diminishes the dream?  How do we get from being self-assured and bold to being complacent and willing to compromise on the big stuff--and it is BIG stuff--selling out, letting your potential drain, not becoming the person you were meant to be, nor having what was intended for you?

I have been on this journey of rediscovery for sometime now .  I see so many missed steps and so many more missed opportunities.  I think my 8 year old me would be quite disappointed, but then again, maybe not.  Maybe the whole purpose of introspection is the opportunity to continually strive forward until we finally get it right.  Or at least if I ever see her lurking in some shadow somewhere, that's going to be the angle I work...

The Killer In Me Is the Killer In You

We've all been there...

We get that intuitive sense that something just isn't right but we can't quite put our fingers on it.

You watch a couple together and it seems "off" somehow, you sense a secret but don't know what it is....before you know it some stories just don't add up and the whole thing kinda mushrooms until it explodes.

The big secret might be an affair, an impending divorce, an addiction, an arrest, a job loss, any number of things, but the point is that nobody acknowledges the 4 ton elephant in the room.

How many times do we want to confront a situation but lack the stones to do so?  We see someone whose child is doing something foolish or downright life threatening, but we mind our own business.  We watch someone's flirty behavior around the office take on tones that probably wouldn't be appreciated by a devoted spouse--but we tell ourselves that we aren't seeing what we truly are.  Pills go missing from the cabinet right after a visit from so-and-so, but we tell ourselves that it isn't possible and that we must have miscounted somewhere along the way. 

Or worse, someone asks us not to mention or tell someone what they know we know.  We are now a willing participant in a direct cover up.

Why is confrontation so difficult, and what is wrong with holding people accountable for their actions?  If approached in a loving, non-judgmental way, why is it such a bad thing to go to someone and say, "hey, can we talk?  I'm a little worried about (insert life-altering train wreck here).

Just wondering....

What are your thoughts?

The Value of Connection in a Digital Age

Today I went to the hospital to visit a friend who has cancer, and her prognosis isn't good.  The reality of this disease is that in her case, it isn't *if* she will succumb to it; unfortunately, it is more a matter of *when* she will. 

That's how we know we value someone isn't it?  When we share with them in their highs and lows.  We visit them in hospitals and jail cells and in funeral homes.  We rejoice when they have babies or graduate from school and we cry with them when they are hurting.

In our digital age, it is easy to forget the value of connection, of human touch.  In our digital age, we send a text when we should show up with a box of Kleenex and some homemade cookies.  In our digital age, we send an eCard, or write on someones Facebook wall.  And it isn't that these gestures are without meaning; rather, they just can't replicate the significance of a good old-fashioned hug.  Of showing up and loving someone through their tragedies.  Of being there with a paintbrush and some Glad trash bags when the tornado strikes, or an offer to babysit for an overwhelmed mom, or even with cash in hand to cover a light bill when someone is having more month than money.

Showing up, not phoning it in.  Being there--to offer a hug, a shoulder to cry on, a hand up, a smile.  It is funny how in our digital age we have more ways to communicate than ever before, and yet, we are more disconnected than we ever have been.

I learned just yesterday that someone I once valued very much as a beautiful and brilliant man--of both science and spiritual expanded consciousness, poetic and practical in a way few can manage--well that man died two years ago.  Some say it was a suicide and others believe it was an accidental overdose.  Regardless, the world is the lesser because he isn't here, and the thought that he might have chosen to leave too young--that he somehow thought he wasn't valued, that he was so disconnected from others that he took his own life, I can't think of anything that could possibly sadden me more.

I guess the point of all of this is this:  Be there, in the flesh, for those you really love.  The only thing any of us know for certain is that there ain't none of us getting out of here alive--so take the time while you have the time to let those you love know you love them.

A Look Beyond the Veil

By the time a child has the language skills to equip him otherwise, he also has enough intellect to realize that not all thoughts or feelings are to be shared.  We begin building that mask pretty early, don't we?

By the time a child goes to school, she learns that if she wants to survive socially, she had better not say all she is thinking or feeling--she better give an appearance of being tougher than she really is and not wear her feelings on her sleeve or she will be eaten alive by her peers. 

Transparency.  As incredibly curious as we are about what goes on beyond that wall, the reality of it is that sometimes we even build walls within ourselves so that we can't even get a full glimpse of what and who WE are, much less, what really happens deep within the innermost psyche of another.  We only know as much about the next guy as he or she is willing to share and everything else is pure speculation.  And that is if they are being honest.

Do we really want to know?  What would we find out about our parents, lovers, neighbors, employers and children?  If every secret and every sin were laid out on the table would we discover that inside we all possess the coldness of a killer, the vulnerability of a child, the spiritual nature of a Gandhi?  Would it be easier to compare ourselves to others--and thereby assign rank--or would it be easier to see that we are truly all alike; each of us riddled with the same insecurities and fears; the same failings and frailties?  And would that level the playing field or leave us all scattered and weak?

Intimacy is a difficult thing to achieve, and yet, we crave it.  We both fear and need someone to look beyond that veil and love us anyway--and yet, for our own safety, we often push those who try away. 

Have you ever shared too much?  Have you ever held back and lost someone because they couldn't connect with you?  Have you ever invested too much in someone else?  What was the outcome?  Just curious....

The Two-Minute Microwaved Burrito Dilemma

We live in a society that values speed and efficiency, often at the expense of quality.

When my great grandparents were young, they roasted and ground their own coffee beans, bought flour from a local mill, chopped wood to feed the stove on which they would cook and my great grandmother would spend hours preparing meals, serving them and cleaning up afterwards.

My great-grandparents were not wealthy people, in fact, quite the opposite.  They eeked out a living raising tobacco on some rock-infested hillsides in north central Kentucky, raised a huge vegetable garden, and had some cattle they ran.  They lived in a small cottage on one of the hilltops in what still is the middle of nowhere.  Until the time I was about eight, my great-grandmother did her cooking on a wood-fired stove which made the house unbearably hot. There was no indoor bathroom in the home until I was well into my teens--it was a short walk to the outhouse--for some reason a fact I regarded as a novelty and not an inconvenience.

Despite their sparse accomodations, my great-grandmother made meals that were lavish and large.  They had to be.  Farming works up an appetite.  I have yet to find anyone who could make custard pie the equal of my great grandma--and her homemade apple butter served on warm homemade zucchini bread just can not be duplicated.  As hard as the men worked in the fields, my great-grandmother worked in the kitchen, and never, not once, did I ever hear her utter a complaint.

Meals were served at six a.m., noon, and six p.m.  On the dot.  If you did not come in, you did not eat.  My great-grandfather would say a blessing over the food and then everyone would eat their fill.  There was talking, and teasing, and the kind of connection that can only be found in family.  It was a great way to grow up and I always enjoyed visiting my great-grandmother.  I felt safe and loved there.

I give this backdrop today in contrast to our own modern way of living.  We stand in front of a microwave where two minutes seems like an eternity to wait for a burrito.  Many of our meals are taken by way of a drive-thru window.  Venture inside any restaurant and we are bombarded by wall-mounted television or televisions, cell phones, and video gaming systems.  The art of conversation at the dinner table seems like one in danger of expiring.  Meals at home are served often with family members missing due to other committments or in front of the television or in a rushed resignation to a harried lifestyle.

I guess I just wonder if the cost of all this "convenience" is worth the price we've paid for it.  If my great-grandmother were alive today I have no doubt which path she'd rather take.

What do you think?

the Cost of Consumption

Thanks to a daughter who recently adopted a vegan lifestyle and some related synchronicities, it has become increasingly abundantly clear just how disconnected we are from our food sources.

Most of us have no idea how are meat and poultry and dairy products are raised.  Truthfully, we probably do not want to spend a lot of time thinking about the living conditions of these animals--whether or not they are treated humanely while alive--most of us couldn't even tell you the source of these food products.  I do know that if we were more connected to them--gave these sentient creatures any thought at all, we would find the conditions appalling.

In the name of the almighty dollar, chickens are raised by the millions in cages that are so small that they cannot even turn around. They spend their entire lives in those cages where there soul function is to produce eggs.  Our cattle and pigs do not fare much better.

Dairy?  Those poor creatures are pumped so full of hormones that it should frighten anyone who gives it any thought and I think it plays into our levels of hormone-driven cancers, type II diabetes and obesity.  Those that are my age (42) might think back to our childhood.  In my elementary school, girls did not start to physically develop en masse until late in the 5th grade--and mostly the 6th.  Go into any elementary school and it is obvious that girls are starting development as early as the 3rd grade.  If it were an option to me, I would totally have bought only organic non-hormone milk for my daughters.  If they were young now, I would do this thing precisely.

I'm not sure what to do about these things, but I know that changes are coming in my household.  Already, I am more willing to spend extra money buying organics, reading labels and at least THINKING about the animals whose lives are given up so that I might eat.  I'm trying to practice gratitude regarding the same.  In many cultures, Native Americans for example, they would thank the animal they hunted for giving their lives for them.  I think that this is a good practice.  I am also trying to cut down on the amount of meat consumption in my life--we eat far too much of it in America.  I've been told that that is one of the first tells that we are American to foreigners--we smell like meat.  I don't know if that's true or not, but it makes sense.

I would like to source and buy local products--animals that I know have free ranged and were not raised or killed under cruel circumstances.  I can't go the full on PETA route as they are too militant for my tastes.  You can lose the message in its delivery--and these folks just kinda turn me off...

Life is such an odd thing--because it takes death to sustain it.  The very least I can do is to be cognizant of that fact always, and grateful as its result.

Your view?

Daffodil Remains

Far back a country lane
The sun splays across the forest floor
To light a row of daffodils.
One would not notice casually
The crumbling steps, for they betray the sight.
In looking closer, it appears
It was somebody's home.
Someone built this place
Poured all their love and money to it.
In it, they raised children,
There were Sunday dinners
And Christmas stockings
And bedtime stories shared.
Someone did their homework
At a kitchen table,
And someone hung the laundry out to dry.
There were tears here, and laughter,
A life built around such a home as this.
And so I wonder with a degree of sorrow
Why someone merely saw a house
Where there used to be a home,
Why in just a few scant generations
Someone left it behind to be reclaimed
By earth-- why no one fought for them
Who labored long and loved within those walls.
Sunny, happy, daffodils on a forest floor
Planted once by loving hands,
But then abandoned,
The home, it is no more.

Passion

I am of the opinion that oftentimes, the children have it right, and the adults are the one who have things messed up.

When we are children, we notice the details.  A two year old can stare at ants on a blade of grass for what seems like hours, completely mezmerized, learning.  Adults do not even notice the blade of grass.

Children make deep connections to their possessions.  They have prized toys, dolls, books, movies.  They LOVE with everything they have.  And there are adults who have that depth of feeling about things, but generally, if the TV dies or the computer breaks or whatnot--we simply buy another.  We don't grieve the loss...it is just a bump in the road.

Children get enthusiastic about everything.  And when they are sad, they are sad to the core of their being.  They haven't learned to control or deny their emotions.  They are genuine.  Offer them an ice cream and there are times when that will be accompanied by jumping up and down and peals of laughter.  Man, I take the ice cream and then count the calories in my head--with a mix of self-loathing and placation.

I want that innocense.  I want that passion.  I want that purity of heart.  I want to be that connected both to my spiritual nature and my feelings.

Where does passion go?  How does it fade?  When do we lose that sense of wonder and magic and mystery?  Where all the universe is a museum and we have nothing but endless days to explore and learn?  Certainly as adults we still have so much to learn--but it seems we'd rather check out in front of yet another episode of Law and Order.

And yes, I understand the need to be practical.  One must balance the checkbook and keep the electricity on and blah blah blah blah...but I think we forget sometimes that there is an entire planet just outside our door begging to be explored.

I never want to lose those goosebumps--you know the ones you get when you find something completely new to you?  I never want to forget that there is magic and mystery just outside the door...that there is an entire hum and throb to the universe that we must shut out all distraction to discover--and when we do--we are amazed at its existence.
 
We live in a wonderous and wild place--and lest we forget--we must not let our passion fade.  We must keep the eyes and hearts of children--and look at life anew each and every day of our lives.

Patterns

My eyes scanned the aisles of cotton print, looking for a certain aesthetic quality that I didn't quite have the words to describe, something arts-n-crafts-y, Americana-ish, in good ole red white and blue on a dark beige background, like that weeping willow or the two-story red house with the black windows I've seen so much of--but not that, it's overdone.  Anything but roosters, which seem to be everywhere now.

Patterns.  On fabric, it is just an image that repeats itself over and over again, familiar, symmetrical, soothing somehow, a nice contrast or gentle blending with whatever the background is.  The human eye is trained to look for them.  Something about the familiarity is soothing, it feels safe, it pleases the eye.

But here is the interesting and somewhat paradoxical thing about a pattern:  after awhile, even though the brain is trained to see them, they somehow fade into the background and become un-noticeable with too much exposure.

How does that play out when we are talking not about fabrics, but our lives?  A life pattern can be good or bad.  To the good, it can keep us safe; but sometimes, a pattern can be extremely detrimental, limiting our potential and damaging the outcome of our very lives.  The most extreme example is that of an alcoholic or junkie or sex addict, who has a pattern that shapes their entire lives and yet, they are not able to let it go.  Most of us, thankfully are not alcoholics or junkies or sex addicts, and yet, our patterns can be just as harmful.

Just today I saw dear friends of mine who lost a child born stillborn 25 years ago.  I don't want to minimize their loss or their pain, but they have allowed that single event to mar their joy for 25 years now.  It has limited them and damaged what they could be.  I'm not being insensitive, so if I am coming off that way, I do not mean to--but a quarter of a century has passed and they are still bound to the pain.  I would like to think that we don't have to live our lives this way and that this child would certainly not want her parents to continue to anguish over her in this manner.

In order to accept something we often have to let something else go.  If your hands are already full--with grief, or anxiety, or hurt--you can't pick up joy or happiness or peace until you put those other things down.
The danger here is that often we don't know our own hands are full because they have been full longer than we can remember and we no longer know what it is like not to have those things present in our lives.

So here is what I'm trying to do--and what I encourage you to do.  Examine yourself with a fresh perspective.  Look for patterns that no longer suit you.  Let them go.  Embrace life.

Chasing Perfect

One of the most interesting and sad things about life is that mankind has the ability to perceive perfection but never acheive it.

I wonder why that is?  What is so deeply engrained in the human psyche that we are never satisfied with what we have or where we are in life....or worse, is this just me?

Where is that line drawn between healthy ambition and depraved obsession?  And why are those markers we set up for ourselves so important?  How many times do we say "If I could only lose five more pounds, I'll be a better person" or "If I could only make X more money, I'd be happier?"  It is a wheel that doesn't stop turning.  We meet those goalposts and push onward for even bigger and even better and even more.  As if having newer stuff or dropping a pant size really matters in the grand scheme of the universe. 

I think we have the notion of perfect completely wrong.  I'm not saying it isn't good to push for something better or try to make the most of what we have, but, we are often perfect in our imperfections and in spite of ourselves.  It is those endearing quirks, funny habits, and strange little fears that separate us from each other--they make us unique, and unique is beautiful. 

One of the things that bothers me most about modern culture is that uniqueness is not valued more.  Pull off any expressway at any exit and what you find is that it largely, at a sweeping glance anyway, looks like every other exit off every other expressway.  Big box corporations have conglomerized much of our way of life, taking away that unique flavor and expression.  Gone are the days of wandering into some unique little enclave and finding some special spin, some hidden treasure, some unique gem. 

The same goes for people.  We want what everyone else has and we push ourselves to have and do and be exactly like everyone else.  We don't value the individual and we stress conformity.  We are Stepford.  Uggh!  Give me someone with the courage to be different any day.  Rock that funky hat!  Paint your house orange!  Take that path less travelled and do it with a SMILE on your face.  It's OK to not be just like everyone else.  As long as you are happy with who you are...Even if it isn't perfect, it is perfect enough for me. 

I promise.

A little more Carmichael's Bookstore and a lot less Wal-mart for me, please....

Hold the Wheel and Drive

There are only two kinds of people on this planet of ours:  Those who make their mark and those who just mark time.  In looking back, I see so many missed opportunities, so many days-weeks-years? that I spent emotionally checked out and not living deliberately.  If it came to any good at all, I'd regret that choice and ask for a do-over.

Who is behind the wheel in your life?  Are you driving or sitting in the passenger seat?  Why? 

I think we get overhwhelmed sometimes with all the demands of life.  It is so easy to be passive--to let your life happen to you instead of being the agent of change in your own life.

I see it all the time in people all around me.  People who seem to have one calamity happen to them after another.  They think they are cursed.  I think differently.  I think that as long as they are caught up in these little dramas they never have to dig too deep or look too hard or do any real work to fix the big stuff.  I think they attract that drama and create their own problems just to have something that takes their energy, focus, and resources.  And while bad things can sometimes happen to good people, people who are constantly caught up in some disaster or another tend to be self-fulfilling prophets.  They chew on their own little problems and create their own self-inflicted pain.  It's easier than accountability, and there is a false sense of overcoming something which leads to a sort of false pride. 

And lest you think I'm being judgmental here, I am too aware that every time you point a finger at someone, you have three of 'em coming right back at you.

In learning this lesson, this is all I have to say:  I don't know that I have always been the driver in my own life, but I damn sure have no intention of EVER going back to being the passenger.  Oh, and I fully intend to trade up--no more 1978 Pinto with the missing back bumper and bad paint job.  I'm going for a Mercedes, baby--or maybe even one of those pretty new Camaros....   :)    Have a blessed day.

And enjoy this relevant song--one of my personal favs....Incubus....Drive
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fgT9zGkiLig

Dreaming....

Let's talk about dreams.  Carl Jung and Sigmund Freud had a lot to say about dreaming and dream interpretation.  Carl Jung theorized about the collective unconcious, dream symbology, and archetypes in dreams.  Freud thought that our dreams represented a subconcious tap on the figurative shoulder of conciousness--a "hey, you might want to pay attention to this", followed by a series of images conjured deep from the recesses...usually about sex, but hey, that's a different topic.

My dreams are never straightforward...but there are some common reoccuring things that happen.  Last night, I dreamt of tornados.  I do that a lot.  In last night's dream I was in Alabama (why or even how I knew that is beyond me, but I live about 3 States away) in the passenger seat while my best friend from high school was driving.  As we were going down the road, a tornado came up behind us and we were trying to outrun it by driving very fast.  We were making some progress on that end when, an even bigger darker tornado sprang up beside us, so Tina ditched the road and began driving through a field.  Not sure how, but we came out unscathed.

When I was a child, I lived pretty high atop a hill and had a good view in all directions.  I could see storms miles away, found them quite fascinating, and yet, never really being in the midst of anything too frightening gave me a sense of security that comes from distance.  My tornado dreams usually have me viewing them from a distance, and I always come out unhurt, even if there is complete devastation around me.

And I think THAT'S what my subconcious keeps trying to tell me:  Bad things will happen and will be devastating....but I'm ultimately gonna come out of it OK.

I'd LOVE to hear what you dream about and what you think it means....It is a fascinating subject.
http://www.dreammoods.com/

Just a Thought

Bear with me here, as I work through this:

Matter cannot be created or destroyed, only transferred.

Energy cannot be created or destroyed, only transferred.

Matter can act as a transfer case to energy and energy to matter.

What we know in this dimension as having physical property, be it a blade of grass or a bowl of jello or a human being is only compacted atoms (matter) moving at specific rates (energy) to create a form.

So what is a thought?  Is it a thing?  It has no physical property, but it comes from that fantastic transfer case known as a brain.  It takes energy to formulate one.  And since we know that energy cannot be created or destroyed, what happens to our thoughts after we think them?  Even the ones that we don't act upon must continue to exist somewhere, right?

I think that what we put out there into the universe we are responsible for forever.  And thus, what we put out there into the universe, be it a blade of grass or a bowl of jello or another human being, or a thought--well, that ought to be something we do deliberately....

Your thoughts?

The Freedom in Ephiphanies

Do you know what it is like when you are working a puzzle and you try to force two pieces together that just don't fit?  You can fight and struggle with them, tell yourself that yes indeed it will work, force "tab a" into "slot b" so many times that both "tab a" and "slot b" are afterwards rendered useless.  You can ruin the whole damned thing just by insisting when it would be far better for yourself AND the puzzle just to let it go.

Persistence.  It is one of my strong suits, and yet, like all things, it has this dark underbelly.  Not knowing when to let things go has cost me big on many occasions, and yet, I have not quite learned this lesson.  Getting there though.

I spent last year approaching a crossroad.  I left a job mid-year where I loved my coworkers and was paid adequately, but was personally unchallenged at what I did (part of what I need to be happy on a job) and uncomfortable with some of the things happening at high ends of the company--things that I won't elaborate on, but what I will say is that nothing I have seen from them since then has eased my concerns there. 

My gut feelings told me that the job I went to from there would not pan out.  It paid more and would initially be challenging to me, but I could tell that my personality--positive, dynamic, and collaborative, would not work in a company that liked processes, knee-jerk reactionism, and negative micromanagement.  My immediate manager was the worst example of management I have ever seen.

Now I need to add here that I have cut my teeth in warehouse environments and am no prude.  I have seen and heard all manner of blue language and have a basic understanding that this environment is typically not the penthouse suite in the office tower downtown.  In a warehouse, people are usually blue collar.  They swear.  They sweat.  They talk openly of sex and drugs and rock and roll.  That filter in place in office environments is missing in warehouses.  Truthfully, somewhere in the middle is what personally suits me, but I'm not one to get too knotted up about someone dropping the f-bomb on the plant floor.  It is real life, and I'm always cool with that.

But having said that, my view of management is that they should be respectful of the people who make it happen.  They should lead by example.  They should be inclusive and collaborative.  Professional.  Any of the above, please, and preferably ALL of it.

My manager was none of those things.  She commonly referred to the people on the floor as "f**ktards", could not handle anyone questioning her authority on something, constantly changed the objectives (in the six months I spent there I never did learn what rabbit I was really supposed to chase), would shred anyone publicly who dare take something over her head, could not plan--but would throw us supervisors under the bus when things fell apart, hold me accountable to reports she refused to train me how to run, and had no people skills to speak of.  She knew the system, was loyal to the company, and was brutally intelligent--these things I'll give her--but that this company would promote someone like that meant that someone like me just wasn't going to make it.

Outside of my professional life, my personal life was no less chaotic.  My home was a literal and figurative mess that 50 hour work weeks left little time or energy to straighten out.  My frustration levels with other members of my family who did not seem like they were carrying their fair share of the workload at home was at an all-time high. 

Chaos at home followed by chaos on the job.  NOTHING about my life was what I wanted it to be and none of it made any sense.  Hey, you only get one spin on this little blue marble--and if life isn't everything you want it to be, YOU own that.  Something had to give. 

The "right" thing to do would have involved lining up another job, giving a two week notice, and making a smooth transition.  I didn't do the "right" thing.  December first of last year came around...their peak season, by the way, and I knew that if I gave two weeks not only would it be in the height of their peak season, but in the mean-time, I would have put in many, many more hours of work where I was going to be treated like garbage by this shrew of a manager and it would come to naught anyway.  December might have rolled in like that--but I was determined I would not let a new year roll in the same.

So I just quit.  Walked out.  Sent her a text that read:  "I quit.  Find someone else to not train, not support, and set up to fail.  It will not be me.  Good luck."

I'm not that girl!  I've NEVER done this on a job and I'm not proud of my actions here.  And I'll go on record saying that if I owe anyone an apology or have caused a problem for anyone, I will apologize and try to make it right. 

Quitting a job in an economy where one in ten can't find work is a ballsy thing to do.  I'll admit, finding a new one hasn't been a cakewalk.  I've had several interviews, but there is a lot of talent out there to compete against.  I want the RIGHT job this time.  One I love.  One that loves me back. 

In the meantime, I am using my time to get my home life, and all that it entails back on track.  I'm taking the long, slow path back to myself.  Trying to figure out who I am and what I like.  What I want from my one spin on this little blue marble. 

It is the single-most empowering thing I have ever done.  Gonna get it right this time.  My problem is not that I haven't been trying.  My problem is one of persistence.  I hung on way too long, trying to make the puzzle pieces work when they were just not meant to fit together.

Unlikely Friends....

Small, furry things with big eyes and pure hearts?  Yep, I'm a fan.  Here we have Morgan (the Schorkie--schnauzer/yorkie mix) participating in one of her favorite past-times....aggravating the snot out of Edgar, the black cat, who apparently likes it enough to hang around for more...while Tucker, a grey/white tabby just kinda takes in the scene.  This happens all the time--and I love it!  :)

Stemming the Breach

My grandma once told me that if you take care of the little things, the big things will take care of themselves.  It is one of many truths I learned from my grandparents, who I now know had the wisdom of Solomon without the recognition or power.

I live on the bend of a small river.  It is a lovely view, wild and untouched, and if I use enough imagination to erase the sounds of the expressway that sits about a mile away, I can get to a place where there is no trace of man.  Just the other day, I watched in delight as two river otters swam back and forth across my field of vision along the opposite bank.  Hope they hang around...those are the best kinds of neighbors.

Anyway, like all things, there is a price to pay for having a river as a backyard.  Namely, if you are going to live on a riverbank, you are going to be on the downhill side of a slope.  The road in front of my house sits about window-level to it, and the slope continues from there quite steeply. 

Yesterday I went through my front yard picking up little pieces of gravel that have washed from the road.  It is almost time to mow, and if the challenges of mowing on a slope aren't enough, it certainly adds a dimension to have pieces of gravel hurtling toward you at breakneck speeds.  So, yeah, this tedious task is a necessary one. 

Somewhere in the middle of this chore, I noticed a pattern:  that the amount of gravel in the yard directly corrolated to where there were not railroad ties or large rocks placed by the road to keep them in place.  The gravel, then, was in the yard because there was a breach in the system.  It all goes back to cause and effect--if someone would just take care of the cause, then the effect would change. 

So the whole purpose of this rambling post was to get to this point:

How many times do we pick up the pieces instead of putting the work into it to keep things in place?

How many times do we not act until it blows up in our faces?

We watch our marriages crumble and fade, ignore the small bad habits of our children until we have major behavioral problems to correct, charge yet one more thing on our credit cards, stick around in crummy jobs because of benefits or vacation time or because we are just too damn lazy to find something else. 

We settle for less than we have to because investing the time to fix it right the first time is just too much work--until there is a breach--

And then if we don't take the time to pick the pieces up, somebody could actually lose an eye...

Me?  I'm going to finish picking up those little pieces of gravel--and then I'm going to take my grandma's advice--and stem that breach for good.

Geocaching

It is so beautiful outside today!  What a good day it would be to go geocaching...one of my personal favorite hobbies.

Ever been?  Know what it entails?  For those of you who don't, let me tell you all about it.

You need internet access and a handheld GPS or an iPhone with downloaded ap.  Go to THIS website:  http://www.geocaching.com/. From there, type in your postal code--and you will be taken to a web page where dozens of potential geocaches await.  Drill down into one of them, and you can get all the information you need to go on your own treasure hunt!

Plug the coordinates into your GPS and away you go!

But what IS a geocache?  At minimum, it will be a miniscule container containing a piece of paper to sign, but it can be FAR larger (five gallon bucket size!)...The bigger ones will contain non-expensive articles of swag to trade out and you might get very lucky and find a travel bug, pathtag, or geocoin inside.  Those last three articles have unique tracking numbers on them and their respective owners are watching them progress across several geocaches.

There are a lot of cool things about geocaching....First, you can go by yourself or you can go with a group.  Your physical health doesn't really matter--while some caches are located in physically challenging places, there are many that are completely accessible to anyone.  It is a family-friendly activity--any age group can get involved.  The geocaching community encourages environmental responsibility.  They ask you to cache in and trash out--meaning spend some time picking up litter while you are caching.  It is an inexpensive hobby.  Once you have a handheld GPS, your only costs are some gas money.  I have two GPS units--one I bought off eBay for $75 and the second I spent $50 for at a pawn shop, but of course, you could pay full retail for a top of the line model at a store.  If you have an iPhone, the ap is $9.99 to download.

But for me, geocaching is more.  It hits on all four cyclinders.

It is physical....gets me out there, hiking, involved.  I NEED that.

It is mental...there is a puzzle involved, you have to hunt, look for, FIND something.  I NEED mental challenges as often as possible.

It is emotional...I get caught up in the hunt, disappointed if I don't find it, elated if I do....I NEED that.

It is spiritual...I am out in creation, often the woods or by a lake or a stream.  I feel connected to God in places like this, so yeah, I can get there while out caching.

Any time you find a hobby that can hit you on so many levels, it is in fact, a keeper.  If you haven't been, it IS cool.

Whatever you do on this beautiful day, make it enjoyable!

Eating our Young

What did you do as a child? 

I played outside all summer, every summer.  Well out into the fall.  Every winter day I could.  At the very first signs of spring. 

When I was a kid, my back yard was a blank canvas and I could create anything I wanted.  I could play on the swings or ride my bicycle or shoot hoops or toss a frisbee.  Or do them all.  As a matter of fact, on good days, we were not allowed to play in the house.  Eat breakfast-make your bed-go outside til lunch.  Eat lunch-do a small chore-and go back outside until dinner.  Eat dinner-and back outside til dark.  Come in smelling like the summer air, covered in dirt and sweat and mosquito bites.  Take a bath, go to bed and sleep, windows open, sound of little pond frogs singing their summer song.

It was fantastic, for I was never more free than this.  Running around the yard chasing lightening bugs as the sun dipped below the horizon.  Braiding little clovers into flower bracelets.  Riding my bicycle for HOURS.  Playing frisbee with the dog.  The choice was mine, within reason, how I wanted to script my day.  How empowering...

I just don't see children getting this opportunity these days, or truthfully, seeming all that interested in it.  When I do see them outside, it is usually in group activities like soccer, and while that's fine, it just isn't the same.  There are some legitimate reasons I suppose.  It might be that I had more of a tolerance for it then, but it gets HOT out there in the summertime.  (Was it always this hot?)  I know that things like asthma are on the rise in children....and then there are safety concerns that come into play for most kids that didn't apply to me.  I lived 2 miles back a dead end street where everyone KNEW and liked everyone else.  A stranger was instantly recognizable and everybody looked after everybody else's kids.  Safety just was a given.

Anyway, I wonder what our society has given up.  We have traded unscripted freedom and imaginative active play for hours inside on an Xbox or Playstation.  And we scratch our heads and question the childhood obesity epidemic. 

We arm our elementary school children with cell phones and give them Facebook at ten.  There are even padded swimsuits available for seven year olds at Abercrombie and Fitch, you know, because a seven year old girl needs the message reinforced that her body isn't perfect just like it is. 

There seems to be an increasing push to make children into small adults.  We eat our young, reinforcing in them early and often that if they don't act a certain way, look a certain way and have certain material possessions then they are no one.  Popularity is defined by how old you were when you got your first iPhone and what gaming systems you have and little emphasis is placed on character, committment, or accepting yourself just as you are.

What do we teach our children about grace and compassion and empathy?  Just this past week in Louisville, KY, a 2nd grade boy was found unconcious hanging on the back of a school bathroom door and no one knows why.  Allegedly, 5th graders did it.  How many times do we read about bullying or cyber-bulling?  How many of our young girls are pressured into sexting?  WHEN DO WE STOP EATING OUR YOUNG?

We water our education system down and do what we can to discourage our children to NOT think for themselves, question the status quo, or use their own imagination to solve a problem or arise to a challenge.  Numb them with reality TV and Nintendo DS.  Saddle them and generations after them with financial debts they can't pay.  Poison their environment.  Do we really love our children?  Really?

Truthfully, it frightens me, what our society has become.  Where are the militants on this one?  Why are we not fighting harder for our children and grandchildren?  Is this the best we can do?  Do we want the reality we are creating for them?

And if we don't, what are we doing about it?

I, for one, intend to take any grandchildren I might one day have out to catch lightening bugs on a summer's night...and put them to bed someplace where the frogs in the pond can sing them a lullaby to put them to sleep.

Connection

Cozumel, Mexico, the most wild and remote beach on the island.

I stand there, just watching.  Mesmerized.  The deep azure sky meets an ocean of imponderable blue, a hue I've never known and could not have imagined.  This water spills across a honey-white shore, and I am lost, caught up in the sound of the wave upon the rock.  This view stretches forever, not another person in sight--in fact, a feeling overtakes me--that I am the only one among seven billion to occupy the planet, the only one who ever existed in all of time to see this beautiful place.

Outside of that moment, I am heartbroken, having come through a tragedy so painful and personal that I really don't know if I'll ever be OK.  In spite of this, I long for release, for healing, for renewal--redemption.  And so, as I look out across the sea, listless and broken, I am swept up in both melancholy and peace--a feeling that a God who could create such beauty could not let me languish in my own pain. 

The healing begins.

Welcome!

What is the value of a word?

For me, they are among the most powerful creations we have.

I am as passionate about words as some are about sports, or children, or cooking, or any other of a number of pursuits.  I love words--the way they roll off the tongues of other people, the way they crash, and bump, and settle into each other--to form pictures, to create thought. It's beautiful and messy and often brutal, but it has worked since the beginnings of language itself.

Words inspire us, help us transcend.  They break our hearts and they uplift our spirits.  With them we injure.  With them we heal.  Words are mutable and yet constant.  They mark permanent places in time, and yet, long after we are nothing more than nameless faces hidden behind dusty frames, what we have written can reach through time and still touch lives.

Words correct and words demand.  They hold accountable.  And they also wash over us in languid tones that let us know that we are in fact on the right path, that all is OK, that WE are OK.

And so, that you are here, reading these words is incredibly gratifying.  I thank you kindly.

"If you build it, they will come....." Field of Dreams
(and here you are)