Riches to Rags to Riches

The woman pushes her cart slowly down the aisle of Walmart. She pauses occasionally to take an item off a shelf and carefully place it in the cart, Tetris fashion, or to check her list that is on a notebook laying on the seat of the cart.

 She blends in with many of the shoppers around her, in jeans and the bulky sweatshirt with two very faint stains on the front that she hopes only she can see. After all, the Walmart crowd in the town she lives is a mix of people from all social and economic walks of life. A social microcosm where each individual tries either to stand out, or to blend in.

Then, in Aisle 3, the woman casually scrutinizes a lady heading in her direction. The lady is decked out in her finest, like she is headed right after this to go to dinner with the girls at Tommy Bahamas. She walks with her head held too high, almost like she thinks she is better than everyone else around her. Perfect hair, makeup, nails, jewelry. She probably will even go out to the parking lot to get into her perfect car. On her way, she will drop some money in the Salvation Army pot and be secretly proud of herself at how charitable she is to those in need. Of course, this will be after she stands in line for 15 minutes and secretly broils over how she has to demean herself by coming to Walmart with all of the town’s filth. She will stand in line and try not to touch anything, as she clutches her bag close to her and tries not to make eye contact with anyone.  But, at the same time as she tries to remain invisible, she still thrives on standing out, polished and shiny, among these grey pedestrians.

In another aisle, the woman practically runs into a man with 3 very young happy children scurrying around and past him. He tries to keep them gently under control while at the same time he holds a calculator and a slip of paper, looking at various options on the shelf and punching numbers in as he selects items and places them in his cart, already brimming with white, Walmart-brand generics. He appears to have come right from work, after picking up his 3 kids from wherever they spent the day. He is desperately trying to keep himself moving; he is tossled and smells like a garage. The woman immediately understands who he is and what he is doing, for she is there now, immersed in the survival instinct as she scrapes by from paycheck to paycheck.

As she finds her way to the freezer aisle, she is troubled. She thinks about her own appearance and how it reflects where she is in life now.  Her shabby clothes and de-jeweled hands and ears. Her messy ponytail. Her beat up car, complete with squeaks, rattles, and scratches.  

The woman wonders what the polished people think of her, if they even care. Then she wonders what they would think if they knew her story, of the beauty that she had come from, from which she had fallen out. Would the polished people, like the woman in Aisle 3, pity her? Understand? Or continue to lump her into “the Walmart kind”?

As the woman stands in line with her almost full cart, thinking about how long all of this stuff will last and how she will replenish it, her thoughts move to how the shift in her social and financial circumstances, riches to rags, has inversely affected her understanding of her quality of life and that of her children. She compares the happiness and contentment that they enjoy now, even despite the tenuous finances, with the despair and frustration of the supposed place of beauty from which she has come. In that sense, she has moved from rags to riches. She reflects on the lady from Aisle 3 and wonders if the same inverse relationship applies to her. Does she have things and money, but lack the depth of a content family group?

And what about the effect on how she views those around her? That is a rags to riches story, for once upon a time she felt about “the Walmart kind” the same way the Aisle 3 lady must feel now. A group that she had to be a part of in order to get a good deal, not that she needed it or anything. She never understood the need involved; she never needed to get a good deal before. She never needed to shave a few dollars off her shopping bill in order to make ends meet.

Rags to riches, riches to rags…the directions in which we move in our lives have lessons to teach all of us. These lessons are gifts. All we have to do is open our eyes so that we may open our hearts to those gifts. Once in receipt of those gifts, we can then share with those around us.

So, next time you are at Walmart, or anywhere different walks of life converge, try to remember that each of those individuals carries his or her own story…a story that you don’t even know the title to. If all you see is the picture on the cover, how can you know what is inside? If you don’t know what is inside, how can you make a judgment? Instead, why not give the gift of your smile, your conversation, your warmth. Who knows, you might make someone's day.

Forward We Change

Things change. The seasons, the time...these are predictable, welcome, almost comforting.

Other things change but are not predictable, and many times chaotic.

Sometimes changes bring good; sometimes they bring bad.

Most always the unexpected ~

The changes that are for good might even feel bad while they are happening but when looked at after the fact and with an open mind and heart, many times one can see where the change was necessary. As painful and difficult as it was.

Or, at least that is how my faith paints it for me.

Change is on my mind big time today. Change has been pervasive in my life of late. And highly unpreditable. It comes in waves, daily. Sometimes hourly. It messes with my equilibrium. Sometimes it brings me to my knees.

In fact, not many aspects of my old life have escaped change, except for my true family and my true friends. I know they are devoted to me (and I to them) because they are still hanging around.

My home, my job, my sustenance, my stability, my faith, my church, my identity, my relationships. Each and every one of these has seen major elements of change over the past two years, sometimes more than once. Sometimes reversals.

The reversals are the worst. It is during the reversals where I have fear, and doubt. If I am not vigilant, those reversals gain momentum and cause angst.

And not minor changes. Major upheavals....like God decided at this juncture to throw out all except the core ingredients and start all over because I have so screwed up His plan. I can see Him thumbing through His recipe book looking for another recipe, an easier one, one that I won't screw up. Kids Cook instead of Julia Child.

In the meantime, I try to remain reflective. Inspired and inspiring. Relaxed and relaxing. Pragmatic. Accepting. Loving. Open heart. Open mind.

I came across quite a few poignant quotes about change that I would like to share. These, and many more, can all be found at Change Quotes at BrainyQuotes.com. Here are my top 3:

By Bruce Barton, "Action and reaction, ebb and flow, trial and error, change - this is the rhythm of living. Out of our over-confidence, fear; out of our fear, clearer vision, fresh hope. And out of hope, progress."

By Denise McCluggage, "Change is the only constant; hanging on is the only sin."

By Frederick Douglass, "If there is no struggle, there is no progress."

No progress can be made by looking back, walking backwards, with eyes behind you. I tried it, on the beach in South Padre. Walking backward, watching my footsteps dissipate in the wet sand. Even on the beach, with few impediments and distractions, I didn't get too far before I stumbled.

When I turned forward, eyes ahead, and changed my focus to what was coming. I did much better. Although I can never hope that my life will be a walk on the beach, complete with pounding surf and speeding seagulls, I can hope that as I keep my eyes forward I will be better equipped to find out what God has planned for me next.

Maybe THAT is His plan.

Understanding Life Continued....

My footsteps are already fading. Into the sand, into the past. By now they are already washed away by the surf.

Each one of those steps I took on the beach this morning represents something from the past, the recent past. A mistake, transgression, lie, evil thought, angry word, averted glance, detour in the wrong direction, over-indulgence in one of my vices.

Each one of those footsteps represents a tear (whether shed or not), anguished thought, and any other time when fear, doubt, weak moment, despair, confusion, chaos have entered my realm and threatened to consume me.

The best part is that all those footsteps are behind me now. The only one who will remember them is me - if I choose to do so - and those who are against me.

It is impossible to walk backwards for too long without stumbling, falling down, or bumping into an obstruction of some kind. If I continue to keep my past footsteps in my memory, it is like I am walking backward, only looking at where I have been. Eventually, I am going to stumble and fall.

I think it's time to turn around and look the other way.

Understanding Life

Life has been quite hectic. I view the last year of my life as my personal "40 days in the desert". Yep, Christ had it much worse than I. He had the devil himself shadowing Him, tempting Him and taunting Him. Then, when He was done with that, He was still beaten, abused, and made to carry, hang, and die on a cross.

No cross for me. And thank you, Jesus, for hanging upon Yours so that I am saved.

Nonetheless, my "40 days" have seemed like an eternity. I have seen the devil peddling his wares at my doorstep: I have been taunted, tainted, tempted, reduced, hated, questioned, overwhelmed, doubted. My children as well. If not for the significant others in my life (you all know who you are!) dragging me back to reality and forcing me to see who is really in charge, I would not be in quite the position I am in.

A good position. I retain an ability to reflect, to rejoice, to give thanks.

I am on somewhat of a short sabbatical now. Solo in search of understanding. Life, peace, grace, meaning. A means to try to make sense of where I have been so that I can pursue where I need to go. Where He wants me to go.

Driving has always been for me a source of calm. And always calm-ER when I am alone. I am alone now. Plenty of alone for the next five days.

YAY!

My six hour drive to my Thanksgiving destination was not as productive in reflection as I would have hoped....until I arrived at my destination. Apparently, reflection was taking place in the background without me knowing. Churning and kneading my thoughts, my emotions, my needs, my wants.

As I settled into my hotel room, it poured from me faster than I could get the computer open and record it all down.

Top 13 Underrated Travel Experiences (no particular order...may come in a future post)

1. hot shower

Living in an apartment always leaves you open to just taking what you can get. Hot water has been a precious commodity the past 4 months, particularly living with 3 other teenagers/adults.

2. Walmart on every corner

Like McDonalds...but when I needed yet another glue kit to re-stick my rearview mirror to my windshield, Walmart in Edna, Texas was there.

3. open door to a large body of water

I love the water! I am drawn to it, moved by it, energized by it. The rage of the Gulf of Mexico pounding within earshot fulfills me.

4. alone time

I am a loner. And not ashamed of that. I need it; crave it. I get crazed if I can't get enough of it. Only with alone time can I think, truly feel, process, intuit. Understand.

5. soul companionship

I once had soul companionship...or so I thought. That has been shattered of late. Not sure if it will ever come again because I have yet to re-define what it means to me.

6. free WiFi

Need I say more...

7. screw top wine bottles

I hate it when I forget to check for the screw caps on the wine bottles. In another life, we wine-drinkers used to poo-poo screw tops as cheap, pedestrian. Now if only I can remember to seek them out....

8. coolers

I'll take my turkey cold cuts, jalapeno cheese, and yogurt over drive-thru any day.

9. a big ass truck in high winds at high speeds (vs. a motorcycle or moped)

Saw quite a few motorcycles trying to lean into the wind over the Queen Isabella Bridge/Causeway. Certainly glad to not have to envision myself  as roadkill on the freeway as a result of a strong wind gust.

10. (did I mention the sight and sound of open water?)

11. a freshly renovated hotel room

Glad to see that some establishments know what is really important. Even though I WAS a bit worried as I approached my room.

12. good musical variety

Good music is one thing. Good musical variety is refreshing, moving, envigorating.

13. A laptap, warm breeze, and the sound of open water

Combine that with #12...perfection.

Light of day is fading...can't wait for tomorrow.

Dating in a New Age

It struck me today that, for the most part, I am almost single again. I haven't been single in well over 25 years. I thought for the longest time that I would never be and was more than willing to accept that with all it brought on.

Life has a funny way of turning things around.

Everyone who knows me knows that I have absolutely no intention of ever marrying again. It's not the commitment that I can't tolerate. Instead, I find I can't trust them anymore. Men, that is. Too many years spent guessing and wondering. Too many years quietly watching actions constantly contradict words, professions, obligations, unspoken hopes and dreams. Not just mine; the children. The family.

I sort of feel sorry for any man who comes into my life after this point. I am not the same woman I used to be. No longer the trusting soul, willing to accept unquestioningly. My mind churns in the background no matter what I tell it, how I try to persuade it to calm down. Part of me wants to go back to the time when I was so blindly in love with my husband. But the other part of me heckles me..."foolish girl!" How could I be so naive to believe in that fairy tale. I try not to lump all men into that category but I can't help it.

Bottom line: I really don't want to hurt anymore. But, at the same time, I don't want to seclude myself from the possibility either. I cling hopeful that maybe the Lord, in his mercy, has someone else out there for me. But, would that really be mercy?

But, I see as I go through this journey that the show will go on. It must. After all, I need that connection, that touch, that stability. While I love thinking of myself as a rock unto myself, I know that I am not. Sure, I have many VERY GOOD friends. God has been gracious in that respect.

OK, so I start dating at some point. The last time I dated was in college. Late 80s. Things were quite different then. Not only in terms of age, but of culture. You knew you had a boyfriend because he asked you to "go steady" with him. Maybe you wore his ring, or his jacket. He met you after class and carried your books or walked you to your car.

That was then. This is now. How is it done now? Not only that, but how do adults do that? How does that type of relationship even get established?

I asked my daughter. She gave a range of responses. She said sometimes the guy will ask the girl to "go out with him." Other times, it just becomes something that is assumed after a guy and a girl talk alot and become close friends. Taking it to that next level just comes naturally.

So much ambiguity. So much grey. Leaving too much room for manipulation, deceipt. And, before you know it, there I will be back in that same boat I just spent so long trying to get out of.

Is it all worth it? I am not sure I have the stamina for it. I am not sure I have the tolerance for it. I am not so sure I want it. On the flipside, I want it so badly.

Driven to Distraction

No, believe it or not, I am not in my car. Surprise. So, now you know that this post has nothing to with driving a vehicle, this time.

But, I am distracted. Extremely so today. And I am trying to manage this distraction, whose root is in confusion, while trying to drive my day in a productive fashion.

So far, I have not been successful. I won't be posting any revenue today, that is for sure.

My confusion is confusing. So many sources, like a multi-thread braid or woven cloth. The exception is that this braid, this weave, has no discernible pattern. It is chaotic. Yes, I know chaos has its own pattern if studied closely and for a long period of time. Unfortunately, I can't see the pattern in my chaos yet.

Threads like work, home, finances, personal life, people, kids. And then the less tangible elements like emotions, insecurities, uncertainty...all of which I try my best to control or push away. It is the less tangible elements that cause the most chaos and are the most unpredictable, no matter how much I say I have control.

And then I realize that I am not in control. And that is when the panic starts to subside. Even as I type this, I can feel it lifting. I am not in control; God is in control. He is the only one who can make sense for me from my chaos, who can show me order and pattern in my woven cloth. Maybe even show me a glimpse of the ultimate pattern.

Maybe not. But through it all, He will hold my hand. He is the only one to direct me.

I just have to remember to look for His hand in these times and trust in Him. That is my only true job.

"Trust in the Lord with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding. In all thy ways acknowledge  him, and he shall direct thy paths." ~ Proverbs 3: 5-6

Tug of War

God and the devil are in a tug of war. They are tugging over me, over you, over all of us. And the tension on that rope is getting tighter, more intense, impossible to overlook.


I believe in God. I believe God walks with us, guides us, laughs with us, and cries with us. I believe He directs us in His perfect ways, towards His perfect plan. I believe He orchestrates the people in our lives, when they enter and how long they stay, to play the chords that we need to learn. I believe, and believe in, His timing and intent, even when I don’t quite understand it all.

But, as a Christian, I also believe in the devil. I believe it is the antithesis of perfection; unless, of course, you believe in a perfect form of evil. I do. I believe it vies with God’s perfect plan for us by luring us into dark places with the promise of great things. I believe it darts into our lives, like an annoying fly at a perfect picnic with your family on a warm and sunny day. I believe its only intention is to feed off of us, to taste and take what it can get for its own pleasure, its own sustenance. I believe it masks itself. After all, it is the great deceiver.

I believe that sometimes, even though we are in the comfort of God’s grace and peace, trying to survive as we pitch and whorl through the stormy seas, trying to continue to feel the safety of God’s gaze and his grip, that the devil is ever present.

I know the devil picks on the weak, the discouraged, the downtrodden, the anguished. Like a wolf at the edge of the pack, it howls, hovers, plots, and hunts. I used to believe that it picked on only the weak.

But, the past year has taught me otherwise. The devil is conniving. It makes the strong shake and doubt themselves. The devil is a liar. It tells even the strong in spirit that they are not good enough and that God could never accept them with all their ill-begotten ways and nasty habits. The devil is a temptress. It convinces even the stalwart that a crutch can be a good thing; that a crutch can help them get through the pain and the panic. It insists that it feels good, so it must be right.

As it does all this with a smile, it practically hands us the bottle, the credit card, the cigarette, the man or woman we just met in line, the computer, the games we play, the random and unfocused thoughts, the boredom, the lethargy, the anger. All of these things are crucial toys in its bag of tricks.

Even the strong are tempted. They waver. They believe. They sample. They rationalize.

That is when they stray. Some stray far and wide; far away enough to lose sight of God’s path and not hear His voice. Some never return. That is when the devil smiles its biggest toothy grin and marks one off on its list.

Some wander off but go with a safety net; a safety net comprised of friends and family who believe in them, goals, aspirations, basic belief, knowledge, faith, and an eternal open heart. God’s perfection. He already knows and has already provided the support and method by which he can retrieve us.

I have felt the gaze and hot, sticky breath of the devil in my presence the past year more than I have ever felt it before. And, at the very same time, I have also drunk in, during the worst times of my turmoil, the grace of God. I have felt Him in ways I have never felt Him before. I know He has been holding my hand this whole way.

God and the devil are in a tug of war over me. As each day dawns, I pray for peace in that day. Instead, chaos reigns. In that chaos, and in my continued desire to keep on God’s path even if it kills me, I have learned to find peace in places and things where I never sought it before. In the indistinct things; in the things I would have overlooked this time last year.

Is that God’s plan? Is He forging me into something precious? Or is it the devil trying desperately to get its claws in…sunk in deep.

Both.

I don’t know God’s plan for me. All I know is whatever it is, it will be better than I can imagine.

As for the devil, I don’t know its plan either. But, I am here to let it know I refuse, on principle, to believe or follow it anywhere. It might think me weak but its seen nothing yet.

Here is my line in the sand and I will only break to one side.

Hope Abounds

I hope you hold her until she sleeps.
I hope your smiles bring her peace.

I hope you're there for her at first light.
I hope you shelter her from her fears, especially the ones that keep her up at night.

I hope you place her on the highest rung of your ladder.
I hope you dwell on ways to please her, appease her, humor and adore her.

I hope your words bring her wisdom that she hasn't thought of yet.
I hope your presence brings her hope.

Even though I know it is not why you do what you do,
Most of all, I hope you are loved, appreciated, and elevated for being you. 

If Tomorrow Never Comes

Not sure who I initially received this from. It probably doesn't matter...only that it did find its way to me. It has been somewhat of a mantra in my heart ever since.

I originally received this from that nameless someone back in March of 2000. Thinking back, that was less than two years after my father had passed away so suddenly from Stage IV pancreatic cancer. It was roughly a year after my youngest son was born. I was in a period of re-evaluation, quickly approaching mid-life crisis, and unbeknownst to me, approaching the greatest crises of my life. But, at the time, I thought I couldn't feel so much pain, loss, remorse, emptiness as when my dad died.

The words to follow made me revisit how short life is. How thankful and fortunate I was for being able to sit at his feet while he passed into the Light. How very much I would miss him, his wisdom, his calm and cool analysis of any problem, his humor, his knowledge, his life.

It made me reflect on all the times I had taken for granted his presence in my life before that fateful day when we got the news of his mortality. It shot me back to when he had his massive heart attack ten years earlier and how I spent an entire plane ride from New York to California balling my eyes out at the prospect of losing him. Thank God I had ten more years with him: to tell him I loved him everytime I hung up the phone because if it was the last time I ever talked to him, I wanted him to know that I did love him. I didn't want him to die wondering or not having heard my words. This translated to how I treated my children, particularly as they have grown and matured. I don't let a phone call pass without telling them I love them at some point. I don't let the sun set without a kind word or a hug to let them know how happy I am that they are in my life.

It set me to thinking about how we get so caught up in our daily lives. This was before Facebook and iPods, and many gadgets big and small created and used in a way to suck out, chew up, and spit out much of the personal interactions that make us human. It set me to thinking about how we let our daily problems consume us to the point that we forget about that Godly connection to each other that is critical to experiencing Jesus' love in our daily lives. That love and acceptance comes from each other, not from Facebook time or how many songs you can load on your 8000 Gig iPod.

If tomorrow never comes, make sure that you have put down your iPod, your TV or game controller, logged out of Facebook or LinkedIn and told, better yet, shown the special people in your life that you value and love them. Make every moment with them an image of what you would want your last moment with them to be; the last memory that you would want them to carry with them of their time with you.

IF TOMORROW NEVER COMES

If I knew it would be the last time that I'd see you fall asleep, I would tuck you in more tightly and pray the Lord, your soul to keep.

If I knew it would be the last time that I see you walk out the door, I would give you a hug and kiss and call you back for one more.

If I knew it would be the last time I'd hear your voice lifted up in praise, I would video tape each action and word, so I could play them back day after day.


If I knew it would be the last time, I could spare an extra minute or two to stop and say "I love you," instead of assuming, you would KNOW I do.


If I knew it would be the last time I would be there to share your day, well I'm sure you'll have so many more, so I can let just this one slip away. For surely there's always tomorrow to make up for an oversight, and we always get a second chance to make everything right. There will always be another day to say our "I love you' s", And certainly there's another chance to say our "Anything I can do's?"


But just in case I might be wrong, and today is all I get, I'd like to say how much I love you and I hope we never forget. Tomorrow is not promised to anyone, young or old alike. And today may be the last chance you get to hold your loved one tight.


So if you're waiting for tomorrow, why not do it today? For if tomorrow never comes, you'll surely regret the day, that you didn't take that extra time for a smile, a hug, or a kiss and you were too busy to grant someone, what turned out to be their one last wish.


So hold your loved ones close today, whisper in their ear. Tell them how much you love them and that you'll always hold them dear. Take time to say "I'm sorry," "please forgive me," "thank you" or "it's okay".


And if tomorrow never comes, you'll have no regrets about today.

Personality Traits

For some reason, today I found my way to eHarmony. Call it loneliness, call it boredom, call it curiosity. Whatever it is, I am almost ashamed to admit that I am even visiting. But, the TV ads make it sound so pure and easy. Innocent. The rejected and lonely looking for love in a manufactured environment. Smiling faces of seemingly lovelost souls touting the valor of eHarmony as the only thing that could have brought them together. Like coming together and being perfectly matched by the magic wand of a matchmaker computer program is going to guarantee a lifelong love affair. Check back with us in about 3 years. Possibly 3 months.

I think I was looking to see how it compares to Match.com, where you have to fend off the cubs looking for cougars at 11 p.m. on a Saturday night or the old horny men looking for a hookup with a younger chick. That "chick" would be me. I guess I am young when compared to some of the old fogies who have viewed me there. Barf, I say!

I have categorized Match.com as a meat market, along with the meat market bars in the area that double as clubby eateries during the day. I don't do meat markets well and have long since boycotted them. But, my Match subscription started as a social experiment a few months ago and is not up until September.  Hence, I plow on and see what comes of it.

On eHarmony, the first thing you have to complete is a hugely lengthy questionnaire. It starts with selecting your race, religion, income, and self-rating your physical appearance. All usual questionnaire fodder. Oh, and by the way, you also need to rate what you are looking for in a partner. Very egalitarian....but they need to make the magic wand of the matchmaker program work somehow. 

The next step in this monolithic questionnaire is the self-description of your personality in step 4. This is where I got stumped. I was happily going along, clicking the appropriate radio buttons for a range of responses between "doesn't describe me at all" to "describes me very well". Traits like leader, follower, opinionated, compasionate, spontaneous were all the no-brainers. But then I stumbled on the radio button for shy, and then stubborn. I started to think: "Under what circumstances?"

Let's take shyness. If you have known me for some time, you know I am not a shy person by any means. But that is because I know you, I feel comfortable with you, with the group, with the situation. Now, remember back to when you first met me ~ as long as it wasn't at bar or party. You know how I can get. I was probably shy, withdrawn, reserved until I got to know you. What radio button do I click for that? "Not at all" would be a lie; even "somewhat" would be a lie because my shyness only applies to the first few weeks. Where is that detail radio button - the one that clarifies under what circumstances I am shy? Doesn't my future potential life partner deserve that information?

And stubborn was another one that I drew a blank on. How do I clarify that I am only stubborn when I am clinging to a principle that means the world to me, but that I can give in to almost anything else and still remain self-assured? I want a radio button for that answer.

The other one that struck me was knowledgeable. I hate to click "somewhat". Who's to say the magic matchmaker wand will understand that I am knowledgeable about the things I want to understand and for everything else I can talk through and learn on the go? I want to see the matchmaker program. Show me the code on how that is handled. May I debug it please?

The questionnaire is only 45% complete and I am already worn out thinking about it. And, when I continue to think about that, why am I even seeking that out....again. I just got out of a wonderful relationship gone horribly awry; a relationship that by all measures was viewed as a match made in heaven by everyone who witnessed it; a relationship that nearly ended up destroying everything in its path.

Why would I be seeking to repeat that? I think I need to think a little more about that one.

For now, my foray remains a social experiment.

Size Matters

If you ask most people, no matter what the item, they will most likely tell you that size matters. Bigger cars, bigger houses, bigger paychecks, bigger anything........

When I was living in a bigger house, with a bigger kitchen, and a bigger paycheck, I agreed. And, part of me still believes that, particularly now after my recent challenge of having to downsize everything in my life. I have moved out of my 3400 s.f. house to a 1200 s.f. apartment. I have moved out of the 33% income bracket into probably the 0% income bracket. The only trade-off I have not made, and probably will not in the foreseeable future, is to trade out of my big-ass Dodge Ram. I do like being one of the biggest vehicles on the road, particularly when battling the crazy Houston drivers, and will foresake, for now, the extra gasoline and parking hassles. But, check back again when gasoline hits $4 a gallon!

But, does size really matter? Or is it all in how you use it?
After the first week of downsizing, I have come to learn that it is definitely how you use it.

First, let me start with the size of the kitchen in my apartment. As far as dimensions go, it is roughly 5 ft. by 3 ft. with no more than 4 ft. of usable counter space, much of that occupied by the microwave, the sink, and the stove. In comparison, the bigger kitchen in my old house was probably 3 to 4 times that size. Counter space was never an issue.

My heart sank at the first glance at my new kitchen. Small kitchens and gourmet cooking probably don't make good bedfellows. Let's face it, the recipes in Food & Wine and other culinary mecca cookbooks were not created for apartment dwellers. But, I was so busy moving boxes in and trying to control chaos that I didn't dwell on the thought too much.

As I unpacked my kitchen and realized how much cabinet space I did have, which believe it or not was more than I at first thought, my spirits rose quite a bit. Kitchen items were not something I would have to return to storage. Yay! That meant I could keep all of the items I have grown used to cooking with.

Next came the inaugural meal. It was a quick stir fry: Pork Chop Suey. Easy, quick, not alot of pre-preparation. Again, my spirit lifted even more. Same for last night's meal: Pasta Alfredo. I think I'm getting the hang of this. Not so bad.

Tonight, however, was more of a challenge. Food & Wine recipe for Grilled Corn and Salmon with Balsamic Reduction. In my other kitchen, a recipe like this would have been a no-brainer. Plenty of cutting space, and plenty of counter space.

My challenges started with the pungent smell of the boiling balsamic vinegar permeating the entire apartment, complete with my son and his friend running out of his room with their t-shirts covering their noses and yelling "What is that smell?" I wonder if the people in the rest of the building, or even the complex, smelled my bubbling reduction.

Next came the smoke alarm going off in the middle of grilling the corn in a skillet on the stove. WTH? I didn't even see any smoke. I chalked it up to a good test of the smoke alarms.

Last came the cleanup, hampered by the tiny dishwasher that I quickly came to realize will not be one that I can wash my pots and pans in anymore. If I did, particularly if I continue to cook from F&W, I could potentially be running the dishwasher several times during the preparation. Back to handwashing.

So, even in my tiny new kitchen, I pulled off a gourmet recipe with only a few glitches. Best of all, I learned how to use the small space efficiently and effectively.

Size doesn't really matter.

One other issue of size that I can make work in my favor is that of housecleaning. Remember my post last year about speed cleaning a big house? Well, no need for that approach anymore. Only two small bathrooms and a tiny kitchen takes me less than two hours.

I would call that an advantage.

I will have to get back to you on the smaller paycheck, though. That one I am still working on.

Games People Play

I have never been a gamer. All these years, my children, specifically my sons, have tried to get me interested in playing 'video' games. It started with my older son. He wanted me to try everything he played, like Runescape and World of Warcraft and others. My daughter tried to get me hooked on every version of Sims. Then my younger son tried once again with ZooTycoon and, later, Rockband and GuitarHero.

All to no avail. I couldn't see the point. Why sit and play a game for hours while my to-do-list became more delayed and eventually longer? In the end, the effect would be pandemonium in my life and the life of my home and family.

Sure. I would politely try. After all, I didn't want my children to learn negative patterns from me. The burden was on me to teach them not to be quitters, poor sports, or, worse yet, somehow learn from me not to engage at all. But it would end there. I would go politely on my way and let them play their games, happy for the silence.

I realized that part of my fear of learning to play the games didn't stem so much from the fear of wasted time, but the fear of all the buttons on the game controllers. As the games evolved, the settings and options increased and became confusing to remember and manipulate.

Not too far fetched if one considers that my first 'video' game was Pong. It consisted of two long vertical dashes down each side of a very small television screen. In the middle of the screen was a horizontal dash. Many of you reading my blog may recall it. Pong led to PacMan. PacMan was originally designed in the same linear fashion; all of which occurred before the advent of our current age of  outstanding video graphics.

Video games have continued to evolve to those one can play on a phone. I have tried to stay away from them, for some of the same reasons I stayed away from my children's games many years ago. Time consuming and confusing.When I got my Android, though, my younger son showed me how to go to the Marketplace and download free apps. The first game I found was Solitaire, obviously. He then tried to talk me into a game called Angry Birds. My daughter concurred and showed it to me. But it was too confusing, too fast moving.

Recently, a friend turned me on to Words With Friends. Now I am hooked. Addicted. Constantly drawn. Multiple games going on; two with the same person (not suprisingly the same friend who introduced me to it!). I find myself continuously checking back for updates, or just to review the board to see what moves could possibly be made on my next turn.

It wasn't until today that I realized just how obsessed I am. I was in the doctor's office, waiting for the doctor. Somehow, between turns, I forgot to pay attention to what the nurse said as she walked out the door, so engrossed was I in figuring out my next 30-point word. Before I knew it, the doctor walked in, only to find me engrossed in my phone and not having changed into the robe. OOPS! But, I didn't stop there. As I left the exam room to go get my blood drawn, and continued through the rest of my appointment, I realized I wasn't all there. I was missing directions and even left my receipt at the nurse's station. The receptionist had to call me while I was driving home.

This game has invaded my empty time: the times when I am sitting at a light, or waiting in a doctor's office, or in a line, or just watching TV. The many small free moments in my day when I review my to-do list in my head and mentally check things off or plan for tomorrow. All of the time I normally just spend letting my thoughts and feelings ramble, as I am wont to do, have quickly been consumed by the pursuit of the next big word and the next win.

I am slowly figuring out how to play the game in the most effective manner, and earn more points. But, what remains elusive is corraling how much of my rambling thought time is consumed in the process.

The constant playing of Word With Friends has not done much for my record. Right now 1 win, 6 losses. Not great for an SAT instructor and technical writer. So, out of pride alone I will keep playing until I start winning....more.

So, download the app, find me, and invite me to a game. My user is kimb111.

See you in the game!

Disadvantage of Selling Your Home In A Buyers Market

The best time to sell a home is in a seller's market. The seller can dictate many terms and usually get very close to the asking price. Many other advantages...but mostly just more flexibility.

Selling in a buyer's market is a different situation. Not advantageous: lots of other homes on the market and excessively discriminating buyers. Combining this with an unsteady economic environment results in a situation fraught with distress for the seller.

By far, the worst part of selling in a buyer's market has to be a process called staging. In a post about Home Staging, Elizabeth Weintraub of About.com describes it as "...illusions...the way David Copperfield would sell a house." She further says "it makes home buyers want to buy it" and "it's all about dressing the house for sale...adding the small details." It even has an association related to it: Real Estate Staging Association (RESA).

Sounds great, eh? It may be, until you are immersed in it. The stager who came to my house was very pleasant. She brought her daughter with her, and of course my real estate agent joined our little party.

After the pleasantries, she got to work.

She told me to remove my prized cathedral photographs from the living room wall. She said the buyer needs a cleaner view of the beautiful patio and pool. I did not object; nevertheless, I could not resist informing her that those were not just something I had bought at Bed, Bath & Beyond for $55. I had taken those myself, in various cities in Europe. I made sure she knew how much I prized them.

She told me to remove my Holland mementoes off my piano and my armoire. She said the buyer needs to see a clear visual space so she can form a better view of what could be. Again, I did not object; however, was she (or even the "buyer") aware that one of those tiles is over 250 years old? Or that those large matching tile mosaics and copper tea kettles are antiques that I bought in various antique shops and markets in The Hague and in Delft.

She told me to rearrange the furniture in my childrens' bedrooms. She said it will open up the room and give the buyer a better image of what the room could hold. Still not objecting. OK, maybe a little when she made us, and my son, shift the bed in my daughter's room...2 inches. She did not seem to care that the bed was already precariously assembled and that the movement might dislodge something that would result in the bed dropping to the floor one night at 2 a.m.

She told me to remove my family photographs from the hallway leading up to the second floor. She said that any images of family life distract the buyer, possibly even forcing her to lose focus on the goal.

OK...enough. That is where I drew the line. We still live in this house and I refuse to take down my family pictures because someone does not have the vision to look past them. If that is the case, they do not need to be buying my house.

There were many other changes; most superfluous and more annoying than heart-wrenching.

As the stager went through my house room by room, view by view, I couldn't help but get the feeling that my personality was being suppressed in my own house in order to elevate the capability of the potential buyer. A buyer who, in my opinion minute after excruciating minute of this staging ordeal, was appearing to me like a sheep, a lemming, or any other animal that can be categorized as not having a mind of its own. A follower, a herd animal, that has to be told what to think, coddled into seeing a vision that has been artificially created for her.

As I delve deeper with the stager into corners and nooks of my home, a home I have spent time organizing into a meaningful pattern, inserting who I am and what I believe into every element of its design, with the stager who is bound to reverse and overwrite that pattern because buyers cannot see past it.

I couldn't help but think that in this buyers' market that every house has to be a model home, devoid of personality, perfect, creative in a lackluster way. But, if this is what we have to do to our homes in order to sell them, what does that say about the buyers out there that expect that? Like a drug, they have lost creative thought, imagination, any ability to look past a veneer and into the structure and to apply their own reality to what they see instead of being confused by trying to squeeze their blue accessories into the gold room in front of them. Instead of opening their mind and empowering their individuality, they now are forced to rely on their environment conforming to them. But, not only are they forced, but somehow at the same time they can demand that.

Staging endows them with the ability to tell their broker that everything was fine with the house but I couldn't figure out how to make my pink oriental rug fit into the red dining room. Hello.....it's called paint.

Really people. This is what is going on. Sheep are taking over. Sheep who cannot think on their own; sheep who latch onto a sheep dog or other leader, who does have the vision, and can stage their environment for them. But does that really mean they have more power. Just because they can pay cash for the purchase?

They may be able to command the attention of the market, of the agents, but bottom line they have sold their souls to do so.

Solitaire

I love to play Solitaire on my phone when I am waiting, as in the doctor's office or a long line, or bored. Usually, I win 90% of the games. When I don't win, I just re-deal and try again. It keeps me entertained and satisfied...as long as I am winning.

Today, I hit a losing streak. I had played at least 20 games while waiting for my oil change. I had won only two. None of my past proven strategies worked; instead, they led to dead ends. The cards I needed were not where I needed them nor when I needed them. I got stuck over and over and was forced to continually begin a new game.

I don't mind losing, because I see it as an opportunity to learn and, ultimately, to win. However, losing at something I am normally good at just irritates me. Even worse, I knew the computer program was dumbing down each successive game so as to keep me playing. After all, that is one of the bases of addiction. Keep it easy and simple, don't let it hurt too much, and they will keep coming back.

As the game kept getting easier, and I continued to lose, I could not help myself from trying to make a connection between losing this game and living my life.

I wondered if this is how God works on us, our lives, and the lessons He wants us to learn. 

I thought about the issues I deal with in my life. Not only the pedestrian issues that ebb and flow throughout a given day, but the more pervasive problems. I have a few whoppers that have been hanging on many years for dear life, trying to pull me down into their chasm.

Perhaps those whoppers are still there because, like my game of Solitaire, I have not figured out the correct combination of moves necessary to unlock the mystery, solve the problem, and move to the next.

Like a skilled game designer, God continues to allow me to press restart, in the form of each new day.

But, I wonder, does He keep introducing the lesson over and over? And does He change it up a bit each time, possibly dumbing it down? I know He occasionally will throw a new card in the deck: a fleeting epiphany or a new friend to spin a different perspective.

However, He never allows us to re-deal the deck. We get the cards we are dealt; what we do with them is up to us.  Or does He? Maybe the re-deal is all in how we perceive our lives, our situations. He continues to guide us to intercept those issues hanging out there in the balance that He knows are critical for us to move on in His plan.

I know He never gives up on us; unlike many teachers and educators, even parents, spouses, and friends, who sometimes shrug their shoulders and throw up their hands in exasperation. Turning their backs and walking away from the problem. God does not do that. He knows our hearts, our capabilities.

Thank God He is not human.

But, like the game of Solitaire, we sometimes play out our lives in solitude, seeking a winning combination. As in any game, a few such combinations exist. All we need is to figure out which one works. God has designed a few failsafes and fallbacks that help us perservere, keep us coming back to Him. Once we recognize them for what they are, we can turn the game from a loss to a win.

Driving Solo Part 3: Best Foods

One of the key elements to any successful road trip is the food. And, there are a few schools of thought on how to satisfy that. You can either think it out before departure and load up a cooler and a duffle bag or stop every time hunger or thirst strikes. Obviously, stops are necessary for needs like gas and facilities, depending on the length of the trip and size of your gas tank. But, when you consider that the need for food involves more than just hunger, well... you get the idea.


I have historically chosen the first route, not only because it was easier when traveling with small children, but also healthier and cheaper. Not to mention a time saver.


But, now that I do much of my traveling by myself, my main goal is to keep the momentum going so I combine the two thoughts. I bring some food with me to solve the hunger issue, but I make a stop to take care of the boredom issue. I combine the boredom stop with the gas and potty stop. This way I don't feel like I am wasting too much time.


In the end, it really all comes down to what are the best foods for road trips. If you are driving by yourself, you need food that has simple packaging and is easy to eat with one hand. I keep my food in or behing the front passenger seat, within easy reach. Even though I love the concept of fast food, particularly really beefy burgers loaded with all the toppings or chunky burritos with sour cream and salsa, I think you will agree with me that it is not only messy but dangerous to eat while driving.

The question: what foods are safe, healthy, and affordable?

In my experimenting, I tried to transcend my usual travel food choices and came up with the following list:

• Pralined pecans
• Italian wrap
• water
• Sonic blast, Oreo
• Sonic popcorn chicken
• dried fruit

I purchased the first two items at Buccee's. I love it there ~ so many choices, both healthy and not so healthy. But SO expensive! I rationalized the cost by eating only half and saving the other half for the return trip the next day. It kind of worked. A little. Very little.


On the next trip, trying desperately to reduce my food expenditures and make it healthier, I made a trip to Walmart before heading out of town. On my list were:

• blueberries
• yogurt raisin mix
• sugar snap peas
• peanut M&Ms
• water
• a bottle of wine (for later that night)
• sunflower seeds
• Dr. Pepper

The benefits of this method to me were twofold: I was able to maintain a healthy diet on the road and, even though I spent relatively the same amount of money as I would have spent at Buccee's, the food I bought with that amount lasted me through my return trip the next day.

And, of course all the items solved the easy-to-eat category.


Unfortunately, I still stopped at Buccee's on all of my trips; but I realized that if I shopped smartly beforehand  I could rest in the knowledge that it was only for gasoline and boredom relief.

Disaster Relief in Japan

It has been a week since the earthquake in Japan.

A week since the tsunami the earthquake caused.

Less than a week since we learned about the further terror of potential nuclear meltdown and radiation.

This is the worst tragedy to hit Japan since the events of World War II.

The images streaming in from overseas are heartwrenching, almost beyond description. Ultimately, we will see these images again on the pages of some future edition of National Geographic. Images of despair and loneliness and the emptiness of unbelievable personal loss.


My heart and my prayers go out to the people of Japan. Their pain, panic, and chaos - their fear -  are unfathomable, as with any disaster. With a sick stomach, the rest of the world watches as their travesty unfolds with the knowledge that things will get worse before they get better.

Glib but true.

In this vein, any compassionate human being desparately desires to help out, in any way. The first instinct is to establish a physical connectivity, like anyone would do to help a neighbor. Here in Houston, this instinct was commonplace for weeks following Katrina. Neighbors helped neighbors to cut up fallen trees and cover up leaking rooves. Better yet, strangers helped strangers. We were all there to help each other with the very physical tasks of digging out and cleaning up.

It was cathartic and mutually reassuring, especially when combined with the hugs and gentle pats on the back. Somehow a touch makes everything all right again.

But we can't do that for the people of Japan. At least, not directly. We need to rely on those on the ground, whether via our Marines or the hands, backs, and shoulders of those working for the various disaster relief agencies. We have to trust them with our intentions and our hopes.

More difficult still, we have to trust others with the only thing we can really put forth, the only physical connection we can establish with our Japanese neighbors on the other side of the globe.

Our money.

Properly utilized disaster aid money has proven an elusive animal in recent times. The Haiti earthquake in 2010 revealed the ills of corruption and cronyism; over $500 million of private donations were collected yet only about a fifth of those funds has been used. Much of the rest of it has just disappeared into the hands of a corrupt government and its shady processes. Prior to that, the American Red Cross fell into that same dark cavern when millions of dollars were somehow misappropriated and/or questioned. At the same time, generous Americans found out that much of their hard-earned money went to pay high salaries to top executives instead of helping those in need.

That is a jagged little pill to swallow, as Alanis Morrissette might agree.

This leaves us in a quandary. We want to help but can't get there to be a part of it. The only way to do it is money. But, with belts getting tighter and ends inching farther apart and harder to connect, who can we trust?


I hastened to Bing to find an answer, for me and for you, because I hate feeling helpless.


Givewell provides fantastic information, including recommendations (they highly recommend Doctors Without Borders and Direct Relief International) and detailed analyses of various charitable organizations functioning in the international arena. It offers a synopsis of why it may not be as helpful as you think for Americans, and the rest of the world, to continue to donate to Japan as they did to Haiti. The reasoning is sound and critical. Please read it with an open mind. If you do, I guarantee it will make sense.


Charity Navigator is less comprehensive, but provides financials and historical background (for registered users).


Another concern of mine was the integrity of the information flowing to us through our media. It is well known that the American media tends to sensationalize disasters. I lived this reality while overseas. Events occurring in my backyard in The Hague, which for me were just commonplace goings on, sent my friends and relatives here in the U.S. afluster worrying for our safety. After all, sensationalizing a disaster stirs up more fear, and fear is good for business, right? But, this approach is propogated by many journalists with impure intentions and, moreover, inadequate backgrounds and educational base.

Fear. 


There is already too much fear surrounding this disaster, most of it coming from the fear of the unknown. And of course, the upheaval of predictable life.


I learned some interesting facts that helped me to put it in perspective.

• The Japanese government is better equipped to handle the impact and effects of earthquakes and tsunamis than practically anywhere on earth. They practice highly detailed disaster plans, specific and step-by-step plans, on a regular and frequent basis.
• As a result of this constant practice, combined with the intended design of the nuclear plants in question, their plan was in effect within seconds of the first rattles of the quake. Furthermore, the potential Armageddon-like scenarios, even though things appear quite disastrous and apocolyptic at the moment, were averted. 
• The radiation levels are not as disastrous as implied.
• Foreigners putting boot to ground to help might be counter-productive due to language and culture barriers.
• The Japanese are highly efficient and competent people.

Several sites recommended the rest of the world to hang tight. Rely on the Japanese organizations that are already in action. Don't donate too much money right now.


I feel more at ease about my decision. For this one, I will take the easy way out: I will pray.
After all, prayer is easy.

Prayer is powerful. As is God. He can achieve ALL things.

John 16:33: "These things I have spoken to you; that in me you may have peace. In the world you have tribulation, but take courage. I have overcome the world."

Last Day In Sarasota

Today I decided that I want to live here some day. Probably not right in Sarasota, but definitely on one of the keys. Siesta Key will do.

I checked out of the hotel this morning around 10 and headed south on 41. Somewhere down that way I had seen a restaurant called Dutch Valley Home Cooking. On its marquis was advertised "Belgium Waffles". This made me chuckle for two reasons. First, the technical writer in me knows it is not "Belgium", which is the place and hence a noun, but "Belgian", which is the adjective describing things from Belgium. At least it was correct on the menus, which I found out once I sat down. The other reason was my intrigue over the "Dutch" part. I wondered if it truly was "Dutch" home cooking. Not alot of things beat Dutch pancakes ~ pannenkoeken. Alas, no pannenkoeken on the menu.

When I entered and was seated, it reminded me very much of an IHOP, or even Denny's. Waitresses scurrying around with multiple plates loaded with eggs and sausage. And, of course, endless coffe. After viewing the menu, it was decidedly "un-Dutch" but very much, again, a standard Denny's-like menu, complete with a wide variety of typical diner fare, with breakfast served all day long. The place was populated mostly by grey-haired seniors, travelling in groups or couples. My age group was definitely under-represented. It made me feel very young, for a change.

My server, Martha, was a serious yet efficient senior. I could not help but feel a little sorry for her that, at her age, she had the need to work as a waitress in a diner. I wondered if it was by choice or necessity; I thought probably the latter because I can't see any glamour in that type of work. But, that's just me. I decided I don't want to have to do that when I am her age.

I next drove through Siesta Key. Mainly, I was looking for a nice little cafe on the beach to hang out in the sun for a few hours before I had to be at the airport. Unfortunately, like most of what I saw in the part of the keys I visited over my time down here, all of the waterfront has been consumed by condos and other sorted vacation rental properties. I was disappointed; however, it got me thinking about future business opportunity to create something similar to what the Dutch did on the North Sea. There, condos are set off from the water's edge, separated many times by a main thoroughfare, and the seasonal restaurants, which are constructed every Spring and de-constructed every Winter (talk about reusable buildings!), run along the usable beach front for miles.

On a whim, I pulled into the marina to sit on the deck at Marina Jack's. Shock Top on tap and crystal sky. I got there only slightly before the lunch crowd, so had my pick of tables. Of course, I went for the one closest to the water and fully sunlit, and next to what looked to be an Amish family of three. I had seen quite a few Amish families over the past days, cycling and walking among the other tourists. In that same vein, I had also seen what I think were Mormon families, or at the very least some type of other religious or cultural group judging by the prairie dress and head covering that the women of the group wore. Anyhow, I became immediately conscious of my low-cut tank top and my tight jeans. That uncomfortable feeling was about to flow over into my drink order until I noticed that Mr. Amish was drinking a beer as well. I briefly tried to recall my knowledge of the Amish and thought most of their cultural more was to shun society. How can they shun society if they are here living it up in Sarasota like one of us? I guess maybe it is OK if they are riding bicyles instead of renting cars. I was a little self-conscious when I pulled out my laptop. Maybe they were judging me as well....

My final stop was the Ringling Museum of Art. Now, I have been to many art museums, both in the U.S. and in Europe. I couldn't imagine how this could top anything I have already seen. Jaded? Yep, I fully admit it. But, I was pleasantly suprised at a few things. First, the courtyard area was beautiful and more like the museums in Europe than anything I have seen here in the U.S., combining the experience of learning and viewing distinct pieces of art with the relaxation of a garden.

I also loved the mosaic-style flooring in the courtyard. I couldn't remember seeing that type of mosaic anywhere before.

I decided to take a guided tour of the museum. The tours were always a must in the cavernous European museums and the tour guides always had interesting historical anecdotes to augment what my eyes saw. I expected nothing less here...but I was unfortunately quite disappointed. Maybe I got the wrong tour guide. Her focus was on how the piece had come into the collection, not anything intelligent or insightful about the piece or the artist. Worse yet, in one of the galleries she didn't even know the artists for the pieces. When I asked the question, she stumbled over a response that had something to with the recent renovation of this gallery and they hadn't yet put up that information. Excuse me, but aren't you the tour guide? Needless to say, I went solo after that.

A few galleries down, there was a piece, the subject of which was Pieterskirk in Leiden. Can't remember the artist. However, the greeter who had helped me out when I first walked in came over and made a comment about it, which included that he had been in that church. I looked at him with a big smile and replied, "So have I!" He was taken a bit aback, but kept on and gave me some information that I didn't already know, and then continued with a few other pieces in the gallery. Now, that is what a tour guide is supposed to do, augment what my eyes see with something my brain doesn't already know. I commented to him about the tour guide I had already dismissed. He offered in explanation that she was new there. I decided that, when I retire, I want to be a tour guide in a museum. So, I guess I better start studying my art history.

I headed to the airport after that, even though I was quite early. Fine with me, I just did what I usually do and sat in the bar with my beer and my book, interspersed with alot of people watching.

Feeling relaxed and fulfilled today. But, planning my next adventure. It never ends.

Race Day

Obnoxious alarm at 5:30 am, again. Except this morning, it was really not 5:30 but 4:30 am. Snooze button until about 6. Threw on my gear, grabbed my sunglasses, which I of course I wouldn't need for another 2 hours, a banana and a granola bar, and swept out the door by 6:20. My light jog down to the race start line got me there by about 6:30.

It was chilly, but not as cold as I have had to put up with in previous races. Certainly nothing like the San Antonio Half several years ago where hundreds of runners tried to huddle up to a VERY finite number of heaters in about 40 degree temps. THAT was cold!

The field was quite cramped. Not until about Mile 5 did it open up a bit, remaining susceptible to much jockeying and suprisingly rude territorial behavior. Unusual for runners, who as a whole tend to be quite polite. I was not too happy about the man ahead of me who was hocking up into the wind; I was even more unhappy when there was no room next to me to move out of the field of trajectory.

By Mile 10, my ITB kicked in due to the mostly cambered running surface. While I was able to maintain a very steady pace throughout, the pain in my right knee and the cramping in my right toes made it difficult to keep going. So, while I was successful at not having to stop to use the porto-lets, I had to slow down just to be able to finish. My goal was to finish better than 2:08 but I failed with 2:11. I did surpass my previous 5K AND 10K finish times. Not good enough for me. This means at least 5 more Halfs in my future unless I can get my training more in line with my goals.

The food spread was not as diverse as other races I have done, but was much healthier, for which I was thankful. Yummy yogurt mixed with fresh fruit and granola instead of pizza. I left within 20 minutes of finishing and limped the 1.2 miles back to my hotel, where I showered and crashed until about noon.

At which time, I practically jumped out of bed and within 10 minutes was out the door. The Aleve I had taken right after the race was a necessity in this. I was not about to waste this gorgeous day!

My plan was to head to Venice for lunch. Venice is one of the local tourist areas, complete with shops and restaurants. The town green was hosting a Jazz Festival and Venice Ave. was fairly crowded with couples and families wasting away a beautiful Sunday afternoon in the sun. I opted for lunch at T.J. Carneys. It was one of the only "restaurants" with copious outdoor seating. I refuse to sit inside on such a perfect day! I ended up chatting with an older couple who sat down next to me. We talked mostly about running and traveling. They are from Minnesota, spending 2 weeks down here while the temps back in their hometown are pushing the mid-20s. When they heard that I planned to head to one of the keys after lunch, they suggested Gasparilla Key. Pristine, mostly open white sugar sand beaches. Sold!

Solo sandpiper trolling for dinner. This was as close as he would let me get.

After paying the $5 bridge toll and traversing the 5 mile causeway, I ended up at the Gulf in the parking lot of one of the only public beaches on the island. Most of the island, like the others here, is occupied by resorts and rental properties in posh, private neighborhoods. What struck me about this island was the turquoise water and idyllic waterway scenery. "Idyllic" can be found in many places in the US, but turquoise waters...well, let's say that is a rarity where I come from.

Houston/Galveston water is more varied shades of brown and grey.

I parked and walked down the beach. I literally ran into a man plopped right in the surf with his fishing poles stuck in the sand. Not a fisherman myself, I was intrigued and stopped to ask him what he was fishing for. Not long after, a beautiful Blue Heron sauntered up, obviously after the man's bait fish. Seeing that I took my camera out, the man offered to sacrifice some of his bait to try to lure the bird closer for a good shot. The bird gladly obliged!

Blue Heron posing after his payment of several frozen bait fish.

I turned back shortly after that. My knee was acting up and my bladder was beginning to scream at me.

On the way home, windows open and radio blaring, I pulled up to a stop light next to a man on a motorcycle. He looked over and said something to me, which I couldn't hear because my music was so loud. Once I turned down the volume, he repeated himself.

"You look like you're having about as bad a day as I am."
"Not really," I replied. "Actually, I'm having a great day (not a lie!)"
"Oh. Well, I wish I could say the same. My dad died today," he said. Boy, did I feel like an insensitive bitch.
"I'm so sorry to hear that." I really was.
Light changed. Engines (mainly his 750) roared.
"I'll say a prayer for you," I yelled at the top of my lungs.
He waved back.

For the next several stop signs we ended up right next to each other. At one point, a brand new green Viper with black racing stripes pulled up in the far lane.

"I wouldn't mind driving around in that," he said.
"I'd take it," I replied.
Light change again.

He thrilled me and the other drivers on the road with some stunt driving-showoff, I thought...obviously blowing off some steam-before finally turning off the road. I beeped and waved; he waved right back. 

I have thoroughly enjoyed this trip if only because of the people I have encountered. Each one has enriched my journey in some way; each one has made a solo yet potentially lonely trip enlightening and invigorating.

Seashells (crushed) by the seashore.

Sarasota Arrival

Here it is, past my bedtime, and I have an epiphany. I am sitting alone in my hotel room in Sarasota, counting down the hours for the half-marathon tomorrow morning.

I think, to myself (no one else to think at), why not try something completely new in my blog and actually write a daily accounting of my activities. After all, it is completely different from anything I have ever done in this blog. Different is good. Different is intriguing.

My day started with my obnoxious alarm at 5:30 a.m. As usual, I hit the snooze button twice and didn't end up getting out of bed until close to 6. Thank goodness I had packed and showered last night, or I would have left late and then had to possibly pull an OJ Simpson at the airport. Not a great idea in these times of overly excessive security scan procedures.

As I scurried about the house in the breaking light of morning, trying to remember those last minutes things that I had promised myself I would not forget in the morning, I was actually proud of myself when I looked at the kitchen clock and it read 6:25. My goal was 6:30 to be out the door; however, I did have to make my traditional return to the house to retrieve my sunglasses. Can't go to Florida on what is forecast as a beautiful God-made weekend without sunglasses. Unfortunately, this does not account for the fact that I forgot my bikini, razor, flipflops, and brush.

At the airport, the parking garage was suprisingly empty. I thought for sure, as I sped down the Toll Road gulping my grande triple latte, that I would be driving around endlessly looking for a tiny spot to squeeze my big ass truck into. But, spots were aplenty. So, this time, someone would have to squeeze his car next to my big ass truck for a change.

Going through security, I noticed one of those full body scanners. Uuugggh! I haven't flown out of this airport for quite some time, so the thoughts of what I would say to try to get out of it flooded through my head. I decline to do it on principle alone, unlike many people who probably have a problem giving a free show to the person analyzing it. That part I could really care less about. They need thrills too! Bottom line, I didn't have to go through it.

I saw a kind act by the TSA authorities that I had never dreamed possible. They actually let 2 uniformed military personnel skip to the front of the line. I thought that was respectable of them even though it probably can happen only in Houston. Despite rumors to the contrary, we are quite nice down here. Can't imagine something like this happening in places like NY or Chicago.

I walked a lonely, deserted section of the airport from security to my gate in Terminal A. I have NEVER been alone in an airport; it was quite freaky, almost reminiscent of a Twilight Zone episode. For a moment I thought I had taken a wrong turn and had to suppress the desire to turn around and go back. Not one person in sight or sound for roughly 3 minutes of walking. Nice!

The rest of my flight was uneventful until the Atlanta-Sarasota leg. It is only a little over an hour flight so one would think one could get away with a restful time, maybe a cat nap. But, alas, not with the screamer in the seat across the aisle. I have never heard a baby scream so loudly and adamantly, even intelligibly. She sounded like she was being abused. I wondered what her scream would sound like if that had been the case. At first, I thought she was screaming because her ears hurt, until I deciphered the string of syllables in between the excruciatingly loud "owies". She had to go to the bathroom....but the refreshment carts were ploughing the aisle. So, mom and child were held captive. That did not stop this little girl from screaming at the top of her lungs. Mom was not having much of a mollifying effect either. I wondered why the child didn't have on a diaper? That might have solved everything; until about 30 minutes later, after their bathroom trip and upon descent, when she started up again. It was only then I realized it was a control mechanism the child was using. Oh, they learn so young! Had that mother never heard of dosing her kid with Benadryl before a flight? I wanted to lean over and share the secret with her.

Baggage claim was expectedly slow. Of course, my bag was the last to come off the plane, appearing just as I was starting to formulate plans in my head of how I would run a half-mari in new sneakers. Talk about "owie"! That's what I get for changing my baggage checking plans last minute. And I got to pay for the insult as well.

Finding my car was a challenge that was not helped by the inattentive Nigerian who was supposed to be helping lost travellers like myself find their cars. I guess that was my mistake for incorrectly telling him I needed "National", when I really needed "Enterprise". When I corrected myself, he obviously didn't understand, or didn't care because he continued to point me to National. Only the handsome young Italian with the Ferrari sunglasses was able to set me in the right direction. Unfortunately, I tripped over a large tree root while I traversed the parking lot and hoped it wouldn't turn into something more ominous by morning when I had to strap on sneakers.

Once in the car, I was free...open windows, flying hair, loud music, sunshine, and warm breezes. It's not like I can't do the same thing where I live; it is just more poignant to do it with a large body of water drifting off in the visible distance. Marinas and seagulls and the smell of the water. Can't get that in Houston.

After picking up my running packet, I headed to the swim store to see about picking up a bikini to supplant the one I forgot. However, at seeing the exorbitant prices, decided that sports bra and shorts will do just fine. I will pick up a new one at Target when I get back home. Twenty four dollars...better deal.

I proceeded to my hotel, and after checking in headed straight out to the beach for sunset and a glass of wine. Longboat Key is gorgeous and reminds me of so many beach towns I have been to. After a long drive, I reached the Gulf Drive Cafe on some unknown beach in what I think was still Longboat Key. Live music was playing in the tiki area as the tangerine sunset oozed across the horizon.

A perfect end to a quite harrowing day.

And tomorrow, I race.

When Friends Turn Away

I firmly believe that God places people in our lives for a reason. Our job is to open our hearts and be responsive to God's word through those people; conversely, to be the messenger from God to them. To love one another. After all, life is a circle; but also, in some respects, human relationships are like contiguous circles, moving and affecting each other as they affect themselves.


Obviously, the main problem with this is our ability to discern God's will. Isn't this always the case? We are not meant to know what God knows; but we are supposed to try to be like Jesus in the way we treat each other. I constantly try to think in terms of what God wants for me, but my own selfish desires usually get in the way.

Sorry, but I am human.


It is unfortunate for us that God doesn't speak to us like He did to Abraham, Samuel, David and the crew in the Old Testament; appearing like a burning bush or a burst of thunder whenever an answer is needed to a pressing problem. I have often wished that I could hear God's direction for me today in the same way He spoke to them. I know my life would be so much easier; I would question myself less. I think.


Experience and faith have shown me that the answers to many of my questions lie in the people around me. I just have to learn to listen to that small voice masked in their words and actions and the situations we encounter together.


Most of the people in my life have arrived and stuck around. Obviously, my family, my husband, my kids. After all, they are somewhat of a captive audience. Well, at least the kids are. There are times when I wish they wouldn't stick around; or, on the flipside, that I could separate from them. There have been times when that has actually happened, metaphorically. We have moved away from each other in understanding, compassion, ideals, location, goals. But we always seem to find our way back together, thanks to God, maturity, and mutual respect. These times of reunion are a true renewal of spirit, a new direction for the relationship. Satisfaction comes over me. We press on to better places.




Best of all, I continue to count them among my closest friends, with the trust and faith that is associated with that special bond. Together, we plod on, supporting and encouraging each other in the way God intended.


What plagues me most is the loss of those people who come into my life like a storm, with power and force and pleasure and promises, enough to have no question about Who sent them, but who leave just as quickly as they came. Those friends who turn away; those friends from whom I turn away. Remember, it's all a circle.
 
I am thankful that I don't have many examples of this. But those that I have nonetheless baffle me.

• What was the task, God? What lesson were You trying to impart, and to whom?  
• WAS the task a tease, a game, a test? Were they meant to come and go? Is it all "to be continued'?
• Did I perform as You expected? Did we both get the message? Did we pass?

The key, I think, is to continue through it, as painful or confusing as it is, with an open heart and mind. I try to hold no malice; I try not to make it all about me. Believe me, this has been difficult to learn and is something I have only recently begun to practice somewhat effectively. I find when I can use this approach, I am better equipped to move on, having learned a lesson and satisfied in whatever impact I had on the other person's life.


What continues to hurt the most, in every one of these situations, is the open wound that inevitably results. This wound is manifested in unspoken sentiments, misstated words and emotions, invisible or absent closure. Yes, the wound does heal, eventually. Like all deep wounds, it takes time, lots of it, and has to endure many scab-pulling reversals. Inevitably, there is always a scar left behind. The question remains: will I smile, if only a little, when I remember the events that led to the scar or will I wince?


I strive for the smile, as small as it might be, and hope that I contributed to the circle effect of the relationship, and did not disrupt the balance of contiguity among the circles. If I can end up doing those things, the scar is worth it all.