So Say We All

Apollo and Starbuck revisited

I am a Netflix junkie. It’s true. Even when they separated their business parts and started charging more, I stuck with them. Why did I stay when lots of others jumped ship? It’s simple. I don’t watch television. Or, rather, I rarely watch television. So, to fill the space where television would be, I watch movies. Lots of them. And, although I’m too impatient to wait a week for a new episode of a television show, I love to rent four seasons of a show at once and become addicted. It’s the epitome of instant gratification. Sad, but true.

Last night as I was flipping through Netflix on my laptop, in the Recently Added section, I noticed something interesting. They now had the new Battlestar Galactica for instant viewing. Are you kidding me? A couple years ago we discovered the show based on recommendations from some friends. We whipped through the entire series in record time, getting four hours of sleep a night sometimes so that we could watch the series finale in real time (ie., not on DVD for once). We were obsessed, not unlike the couple on Portlandia (another show we watched on Netflix). Pathetic.

“Hey, Steve? Guess what? Netflix now has the entire series of Battlestar for instant viewing.”

“Get out!” he replied.

“No. Look.” I showed him the laptop. The kids were downstairs watching The Adventures of TinTin, so we couldn’t get to the Apple TV down there to watch Netflix. “I guess we could watch it on my laptop up here,” I ventured. I looked at him sheepishly and tossed the bait. “OR we could get one of those new Apple TV units for our bedroom so we could watch the entire series over again up here.”

“I’ll get my shoes,” he squeaked. I’d just made his dreams come true. Only one thing excites Steve more than a trip to the Apple Store, but I can’t talk about that here.

Forty-five minutes later, he was back with an Apple TV unit and a quart of Founder’s Favorite ice cream from Cold Stone because I am the best wife ever. It took him five minutes to get it set up and we were ready to go. Despite still being exhausted from the yearly spring-forward debacle, we stayed up to watch the pilot episode, knowing perfectly well that we were about to begin another period of sleep deprivation. Even though we’d seen it all before, we were ready to do it again. It’s all good. It’s a really great show.

So say we all.

 

 

 

 

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All of Me…Sort Of

The dog-faced girl...one of my many personas

Today hubby and I went on our first “long” training ride of the 2012 bike season. Our friend and fellow Guido’s Goon teammate Bill (we ride together in the MS150) convinced us that riding 40+ miles on this unseasonably pleasant and uncharacteristically not windy day would be a good idea. Although I wasn’t thrilled with the suggested itinerary because 1) I didn’t really feel like riding at all, much less 40 miles, and 2) I hadn’t made it over 19 miles since I started riding on the bike trainer a month ago, I caved because even though I hated to admit it I knew I could handle it.

As we rode along, Bill was talking to me about my blog, which he actually reads. He mentioned that he’s learned a lot about me by reading what I write. I thought about this for a few seconds. Then I made the most ludicrous statement I’ve made in a while.

“Truth is that I consider myself to be a very private person.”

Now, Bill was riding in front of me at that point so I couldn’t see his facial expression after I said that, but I imagine he was fairly amused by my comment. Because…seriously? Who publishes a blog because they’re intensely private? I write about my life, my family, my struggles, my neuroses, and my fears, and I put it on the Internet. I must be certifiable to think I’m private or reserved at all.

For the rest of the ride, I tried to discern what part of me is private if I’m publishing my life on the Internet. If I look at it solely from that angle, I’m not private in any way. So, how is it possible that I still believe I am? Here’s how: I write for myself. Every entry I publish is simply an attempt to figure out what is going on in my busy mind, a way to find some measure of peace. I never write about things I consider to be truly personal and private. There are numerous things in my life I would never discuss on my blog. I write about the human condition or about topics that amuse me. Finally, I suppose I feel private because I forget that people might actually read what I write. I don’t publish to be read. I publish to put a period on my work, to finish what I start, to put it out there and move on.

I know it seems crazy to imagine that I maintain some level of privacy in my life when I toss it onto the Internet but, honestly, I don’t know if it’s possible to know me by reading the sum total of what I spew on a blog either. Perhaps that’s why I still feel protected, safe, and private. My blogs are all me, but they are not all of me.

 

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Hooting Isn’t Just for Owls

Letting my hair down

“The man who doesn’t relax and hoot a few hoots voluntarily, now and then, is in great danger of hooting hoots and standing on his head for the edification of the pathologist and trained nurse, a little later on.”          ~Elbert Hubbard

My mind has been in high gear lately. I’ve been living on a steady diet of assumptions, suppositions, and hypotheses as I try to figure out what direction I’m meant to be headed. This morning, I went to hot yoga class only to emerge an hour later and discover my brain had taken the opportunity not to let go of thought but to relax and refuel for more mental gymnastics. Ay carumba!

After picking up the boys from school, I decided there was only one thing left to do to alleviate my mental stress. I headed out into the backyard to enjoy the perfect 72-degree, not-quite-yet-spring-but-completely-spring-like day. I took off my shoes, climbed onto the boys’ trampoline, zipped up the enclosure, and started bouncing. I’ve found myself doing this a lot lately. Yes. Adults stare at me as they walk their dogs by on the gravel trail that passes behind our yard, but I don’t care. I imagine that somewhere deep down they’re not staring because they’re shocked. They’re staring because they’re impressed that I catch so much air.

When I jump, I’m not someone’s mom. I’m a kid again. I stop thinking, and with each bounce I am freed of the burdens of seriousness, responsibility, and decorum. It’s hard to have a care in the world when you’re diligently working to perfect your spread eagle jump. It takes concentration, but it’s 100% fun. As I jump, hooting and giggling with my hair flying everywhere, I probably appear to be quite nutters. As the Queen of Rationalization, though, I reason that on days like this one bouncing is likely the only thing keeping me out of the Nuthouse. And, even if they’re still coming for me with the straightjacket, to get it on me they’re going to have to catch me first. Good luck to them!

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I Was Wrong

Today marks my 100th consecutive day writing on this silly blog. About 101 days ago, I was not sure I could do it. I’m happy to report that I was wrong. I was the only thing standing in my way. I’m glad I stepped aside and let myself through. I’m not going to prattle on about this accomplishment because I truly hope that I’ll make it every day this year without missing a post, and I’m sure no one cares about these milestones aside from me.

However, in reflecting on how I got from Day One to Day One Hundred, I realize that the only thing that made this blog possible was the decision to do it. It took only the desire not to miss a day to ensure I didn’t miss a day. Admittedly, it was not easy…but it was possible.

I’ve always loved this quote but it seems especially appropriate today, so I thought I would share it:

“Whatever you do, or dream you can, begin it. Boldness has genius and power and magic in it.” ~ Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

If there’s something you haven’t begun or attempted because you’re not sure you’ll have the time or the energy or the fortitude to be successful, go ahead and step boldly in that direction. Make yourself a priority. Believe in what you can accomplish. If you do, one day fairly soon you too will be fortunate enough to admit you were wrong to sell yourself short. I don’t know about you, but if I have to be wrong I think this is the best way to go about it.

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Finding the Beauty in Change

The tree stump that launched a blog entry.

I went out for a skate early this morning. (I occasionally inline skate to break from the monotony of my bike trainer in the spring.) It was a brisk 43 degrees, which is much colder than I usually tolerate for a skate, but I reasoned that I needed the fresh air to clear my muddled head after yesterday’s stinging revelations.

I was skating on a path I have traveled at least a hundred times. Too keep my mind off the numbness settling into my fingers, I made a conscious decision to focus on the landscape today to help me pass the time. I looked around instead of simply looking at the ground ahead of me…an admittedly risky move given my mediocre skating ability. Still, I saw squirrels and rabbits, as well as some mallards hanging out with a few northern shovelers on the ponds.

The path along the South Platte river is populated with multitudinous stands of cottonwood trees. As much as I despise them because of my allergies, I love the cottonwoods because their bark is scaly, thick, and interesting. On the prairie they are a welcome respite from an otherwise shadeless landscape. Unfortunately, being comprised of soft wood, they lose branches fairly easily with rough winds and heavy snows. In the spring, they require a lot of clean up. Today, I noticed that the park rangers had been busy trimming some trees and removing dead limbs. One freshly cut tree stump caught my eye as I skated by. It looked to me like a flower, its chunky bark creating the petals around its center. I made a mental note to go back and photograph it on the return trip.

My mind wandered off as I skated on, thinking about how long that tree had stood there and what it had seen as cyclists, runners, skaters, birders, and families out for strolls happened by over the years. I was sincerely melancholy thinking about the loss of that tree. Then, I thought again about how its stump now looked like a flower. There was beauty in its new state. It had changed, but there was something to appreciate in the change just the same.

Ralph Waldo Emerson once wrote, “For everything you have missed, you have gained something else, and for everything you gain, you lose something else.” In the ebb and flow of life, the only constant we have is change. Yet, my initial reaction when faced with an adjustment in my life is to cringe rather than soften. I wonder how often I have been so busy mourning the loss of something that I have failed to properly acknowledge the beauty in the new thing that is unfolding itself before me? Yes. That tree had to be cut. It will no longer provide shade with its leaves. Now, though, that tree is a sturdy leaning post. Change isn’t all bad. It’s all in how you look at it.

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Filling Out a Deposit Slip

The sky in my present world.

“You can clutch the past so tightly to your chest that it leaves your arms too full to embrace the present.”                    ~ Jane Glidewell

I have to admit that I feel like something of a fraud. I come here daily to blog, to write about living now and living zen, but for the past few months I’ve been doing nothing of the sort. I’ve been hanging onto some things that I really need to let go of…slights, memories, and long-dead hopes. I’ve been in a quagmire of disappointment and self-doubt. Today I read a quote that nudged me just enough to start my momentum. The quote read: “There are two types of people in your life…those that make deposits and those that make withdrawals. Cut out the latter.” (Thanks, Reshell.)

This afternoon I finally shifted my position enough to get a new perspective, to admit that I’ve been stuck in negatives when I should be nothing but positive. They (whoever “they” are) say that the first step to recovery is admitting you have a problem. So, I’m telling you all I have a problem. I’ve been an Eeyore. I’ve felt sad and hopeless and insignificant and silly. It’s been a horrible waste of my abundant energy. I know that once I let go of the negatives that are holding me back I will lighten like a balloon filling with helium and have nowhere to go but up. That’s a beautiful thought.

So, starting here, starting now, I am moving on. It might take me a while, but I will make it. Life is too short to give your time and energy to people or situations that don’t buoy your spirits and breathe life into your being. I’m going to jettison some things and get out of my own way.

Suddenly, my life feels like the photo above. There are still clouds, but the sun is coming out. I like how that sounds.

 

 

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Fake Plastic Trees

Our tattered and often read Random House copy of The Lorax by Dr. Seuss.

We took the kids to see The Lorax tonight. I have to admit that I pushed to see it. We’ve had the Dr. Seuss book in our house for years, and it’s a favorite of mine. On a camping trip years ago we were introduced to it at a ranger-led evening program. I liked the story’s message, but moreover I like Dr. Seuss.  I can’t help it. His books are just too much fun to read aloud, and I love to read aloud to our boys.

I could give you my review of the film, but I won’t. I will let you see for yourself what you think of it. What I am going to do instead is briefly address the controversy surrounding the film. On Fox News late last month, Lou Dobbs accused The Lorax of indoctrinating children by “espousing the virtues of green energy policies.” Having read the book many times, I must admit that I missed that agenda altogether. I also can’t recall any comments in the film about energy at all. While there are messages about pollution and destruction of the environment, the film (like the book) is a cautionary tale about abusing the finite resources of the planet on which we live. The Lorax plainly “speaks for the trees” which, in the story, are being felled at an alarming rate until ultimately every last truffula tree has been cut down.

Now, I’m not afraid to admit that I am left leaning. I am. Lou Dobbs could definitely lump me in with members of the liberal left with an environmental agenda. While I’ve never actually hugged a tree (at least not intentionally or while I was sober), I do try to respect the environment or at least acknowledge the importance of its existence. I mean, we currently occupy the only planet that we’ve thus far found can support human life. If we kill off the fish, birds, and trees on this planet or pollute or otherwise mismanage our water resources, we’ve got nowhere else to go. Unlike the refugees aboard Battlestar Galactica who can reside on a giant space ship traveling through the universe in search of another home, at this point in time if we ruin our planet we’re effectively screwed.

What saddens me the most about the controversy surrounding this film is that there is any controversy at all. The idea that there’s something inherently evil or ill-advised about caring for our planet is ridiculous. I also refuse to accept that it’s only liberals who care about conservation. Theodore Roosevelt was a Republican president who over 100 years ago set aside 230 million acres of land under federal protection. He knew then the importance of presiding over nature with care and conscience. If Lou Dobbs and other members of conservative media want to view The Lorax as an attempt to indoctrinate the youth of this country with a “liberal” agenda of environmentalism, they’re welcome to their opinions. I’m going to reach across political lines and stand with Teddy on this one. I don’t want to live in a world like Thneedville with fake, plastic trees.

“We have become great because of the lavish use of our resources. But the time has come to inquire seriously what will happen when our forests are gone, when the coal, the iron, the oil, and the gas are exhausted, when the soils have still further impoverished and washed into the streams, polluting the rivers, denuding the fields and obstructing navigation.”   ~Theodore Roosevelt

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Not Just A Lark

“I am beginning to learn that it is the sweet, simple things of life which are the real ones after all.” ~ Laura Ingalls Wilder

Winter in Colorado is far too long-lived. Because we can get snow from September through May, as the actual winter season winds down I begin scouring the landscape for any signs that longer, sunnier, warmer days (sans snow) are on the horizon. There is one sign in particular that I relish beyond measure…the return of the western meadowlark to the prairie fields that surround our home. I’m a bit obsessive about it, actually.

Beginning March 1st, I find a few minutes each day to stand out in the still brisk winter air to listen for the meadowlark. Sometimes it surprises me by being accessible the very first day I listen for it. Other years I haven’t heard it until March 21st or so. But, the song of that bird makes everything right in my world after a too long, too cold winter.  Their migratory return to the fields behind our home heralds the potential greatness of the upcoming summer: long bike rides with friends, days at the pool, concerts at Red Rocks, hiking with my boys, camping in the high country, impromptu block parties where we sit on the sidewalk with neighbors…cold beers in hand. Yep. The song of one small bird evokes all those beautiful thoughts in my winter-weary head.

This morning I was sitting in bed with my laptop, enjoying the latte provided by my weekend coffee bitch Steve, and through my bedroom window I heard it. I paused. I think I heard it. I tossed my laptop on the bed, threw off the covers, and pulled open the window for verification. I scanned the landscape behind our home looking for its tell-tale figure resting on the barbed wire fencing or a tall, long-dead prairie weed. I heard the songs of finches, but no meadowlark. Damn. It wasn’t the meadowlark. Just as I started to close the window, though, the song came again. It was the meadowlark. It was back.

My heart smiled. And, just as I do every year, I leaped to my feet and began yelling to my family at the top of my lungs.

“It’s back! It’s back! The meadowlark is back!!”

Long used to my obsessive ranting about this tan and yellow bird, my family ignored me. Their lack of enthusiasm, however, didn’t dampen my joy. I pulled the blinds up, sat on the floor at the window, and listened for his song again, my heart a bit lighter, my day made, summer finally on the horizon. People often say it’s the little things that make life worth it, and they’re right. The big things are wonderful, but if we take the time to search out and appreciate the little things every day there’s no need to sit around and wait for the big ones. Our souls are filled already.

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My Little Genius

All attitude, but at least it's the right one.

I more often write about my son Joe than about my son Luke. The reason for that is straightforward: Joe is complicated. I struggle more in dealing with him, so I have more to work out about my relationship with him through my writing. My youngest, on the other hand, is simple. He’s affable, confident, hardworking, creative, and affectionate. He loves money, he solves problems, he is a natural-born debater and politician. He has his quirks (seriously, Luke…a different utensil for each food item on your plate?), but he is fun and generally easy to be around.

One of my duties as a mother of boys is to prepare my sons to be the best boyfriends and husbands they can be. To that end, I’m teaching them how to clean bathrooms, how to pick up after themselves, how to hold doors for people and use polite manners, and I’m teaching them that girls are just as capable as they are. Ever since Luke was four he has told us how much he wants to be a husband and a father someday. When I glance into my crystal ball and imagine Luke as an adult, I know beyond the shadow of a doubt that he will make an excellent life partner for some lucky woman. How do I know this? He’s given us many insights. Tonight, for example, my darling 8 year old boy said this to his brother:

“That’s how you get the girl, Joe…you just do what she wants.”

Only eight and the kid is a genius.

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I Like Big Butts

My friend Kelly posted this Nike ad as her Facebook photo this week. I immediately loved it. I love the photo. I love the text. I love the idea behind it. The entire campaign takes women’s scorned, maligned body parts and shines a positive spotlight on them. There is an ad for big butts, thunder thighs, man shoulders, tomboy knees, and stick legs. I so wanted to find an ad like Kelly had that I could relate to and that could be my inspiration. Sadly, none of them worked with my body issues. While my butt is what I call “fluffy” (as opposed to flat), it would be unfair to characterize it as big. I do have muscular thighs, but they are not actually thunderous. I am not broad shouldered from swimming because my idea of swimming is sitting poolside with a Coke Zero and my iPod. And, while I do occasionally have tomboy knees acquired from falling while inline skating or not clipping out of my bike pedals fast enough, that one doesn’t truly resonate with me either. My legs, belonging to a woman of approximately 5’4″, are not even remotely long or stick-like. Wait a minute. None of these fit because I have no body flaws? Impossible! My hyper self-critical mind simply wasn’t looking hard enough.

My Popeye calves
My Popeye Calves

So, I took a good, long look at my entire body today, reviewing its perceived imperfections from head to foot. I thought it might be fun to create my own inspirational ad since Nike didn’t bother to make one that suits me. I’d lose the message of the campaign if I attempted to put a positive spin on my “too many Hot Tamales” muffin top or my arms that have that aging woman, chicken-fat thing going on where my triceps used to be, so I scratched those off the list of possibilities. I kept thinking. The only thing that might be campaign appropriate are my large calves. The ad could read like this: “I have bulky calves. They get bruised from my ski boots, make it difficult to pull off my skinny jeans, and remind me all too much of Popeye. But, they get me places. They crank up stairs at Red Rocks and whip through miles on my bike. They’re not dainty, but they could kick your butt.” Okay. Okay. I’m not exactly Don Draper in the advertising business, but you get the idea.

I noticed that an odd thing occurred as I reflected on my body and its imperfections today: they seemed to disappear. Yes. My calves are bulky and not traditionally effeminate, but any day I’d take my muscular legs over another woman’s long, straight, piano legs. There’s also nothing wrong with my butt, which has that C-curve from doing chair pose and crescent lunge in power yoga, but at least it fills out the pockets of my jeans. That extra skin that comprises my muffin top? I earned that by carrying two small beings around on my inside for nine months…each! Think about how amazing that is. Every scar, bruise, and imperfection is part of my story, part of the whole of me. My body isn’t perfect, but neither is anyone else’s…no matter how enviable they seem.

Do I think Nike’s ad campaign was successful? Well, it didn’t make me want to run out and buy any Nike gear, but it did make me think. Mary Engelbreit said, “If you don’t like something — change it. If you can’t change it, change the way you think about it.” I’m going to work to change the way I think about my body. It might not be worthy of a photo shoot in a Victoria’s Secret catalog, but it’s strong, healthy, and capable. That in itself is pretty awesome.

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