My Life. Dive In.

...in New York

2011-10-07T21:25:00.001-07:00

I've forgotten. How did I forget? Sitting on top of a rooftop bar drinking a glass of wine and laughing with my cousins I've never met before, I realized that 10 years is too long to stay away. I love the energy of the City and can't wait to explore with K. tomorrow.

It was 10 years ago in April? In May? That I sat in a hotel room in mid-town and started my blog. That first post was about staying in touch with friends and it was about my Grandpa. Grandpa whom I loved, who taught me to drive, who used to tell us stories of how he took the train into NYC for a nickel. Grandpa who had two families and left one to be with the second family. The cousins I met and enjoyed so much today were from the first family. Whatever choices were made and cast were done so long ago by people no longer alive. The best we can do is embrace the good fortune of what has come out of it - and by good fortune, I mean my new aunt, uncle and cousins.

Ten years ago I sat alone in NYC and started my first blog to help keep friends and family up-to-date with where I was, what I was doing and all my crazy adventures. Now, ten years later, I have a blog I mean to stop neglecting, rarely travel but am still taking writing classes. I find myself writing in the dark on my laptop, in a room that overlooks the Empire State Building and the Chrystler Building. The lights of the City keep me company as I start to grow tired. Although I'm not sure how I can be tired with so much energy around me and so little time to spend here. But I'm here. And I couldn't be happier with my decision to come back to NYC after all these years. It is tremendous to be here with the sun in the sky, a skip in peoples steps over the shockingly good weather, and a City that has risen through the ashes that still rained down on it the last time I was here.

In New York, concrete jungle where dreams are made, oh
There's nothing you can't do, now you're in New York
These streets will make you feel brand new
Big lights will inspire you, let's hear it for New York
New York, New York
- Jay-Z

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

There's Nothing You Can't Do...

2011-10-06T20:27:00.000-07:00

Los Angeles, San Diego, Boston, Chicago, Albany, and tomorrow is New York.

Those are the places I've slept in from last Friday night through tomorrow. It will be six cities in eight nights. No wonder I overslept and missed my flight to Boston last Sunday after two weddings in a row. Apparently I'm not 28 any more and can't keep up the way I used to. or maybe it was too much Niquil. When in doubt, I'm blaming the fact that I was sick most of last week. Thankfully I'm feeling better.

I had a 5+ hour train ride yesterday from Boston to Albany, where I'm happily visiting family and remembering what that whole "Fall" thing is about. We have it in Southern California, but it's subtle, you have to search for it - in between the palm trees you can find other trees losing their leaves. The light changes, it gets cooler. On the train, after I worked on the paper for my class and before I started Bridesmaids, which I had downloaded specifically for this trip, I found myself gazing out the window wondering why it has taken me 10 years to get back to New York.

This morning when I climbed out of the shower, I think I figured it out. Normally, I've been heading West for vacations. The ones where I can snorkel, swim, hang out with friends, drink fruity rum drinks, hike and hang out. Or I head to Colorado where I can see friends who spoil me, occasionally wander around my old favorite places from when I lived there, and remember what it was like to be 20-something in a new city surrounded by friends.

The last time I was in New York, it was dark, dreary, and a blanket of sadness covered the City in the dust from the recently fallen Twin Towers. The last time I was in New York, it was almost 10 years ago to the day. I had had a meeting in the City so I took the train in from Long Island where I finished my meeting and started walking. I jumped on a subway for the first time by myself and ended up near NYU where I kept walking around. It was hushed and in the subway stations were letters from schools around the country. The ones I stopped to look at were from kids at a school in Texas. I stayed in the City walking around alone for as long as I could before catching a late train back to Long Island. I flew back to Denver the next day. The day after that, I was laid off.

The happy memories of being in NYC were buried far beneath those that hurt the most. And those happy memories were fewer in number and more quickly overlooked than the ones that lasted. It was a hard year that year, living in Colorado, working in NY and going to school in Indiana. Sometimes I tell people I did it just because it sounds so ridiculous, I can't believe that I managed it. Even if it was followed by eight months of unemployment/ recuperation/ focusing on finishing school. My recovery period was almost as long as the amount of time I did that commute. It was exhausting.

So this trip is a chance to renew that experience. To see friends, visit with family and meet new family I haven't met before. I'm excited for the possibilities of visiting New York 10 years later and getting to look at it all in a different light.

When Words Won't Do

2011-07-22T19:55:00.000-07:00

Sometimes people say I'm a writer. They ask me what I've been writing. If I'm working on a book and when it will be done. Sometimes I even say that I'm a writer. And sometimes we're all right.

In the past two weeks, ever since the SUV hit me and my little car from behind, I haven't been a writer, a reader or even an employee. Instead I have been a not very patient patient, a sad, angry and frustrated person, a couch sitter, a movie watcher and an occasional walker. But during that time when I was trying to relax, when I could feel the words beginning to swirl around in my body and soul, at no time could I write. It hurt to sit at a computer (it still does), and I couldn't sit or hold a notebook to write. Frustration kept me company and I grew to know it well through the past weeks. It wasn't until a few days ago when my doctor reset my expectations that I began to see a different future path for me the next few months. Instead of being the things of plans, dreams and goals, they have reformed into healing, care and taking care of myself - three things I'm not very good at. But that's what life does, right? Throw things at you so you can be stronger when you get out the other side. Today all of those frustrations melted away in the larger perspective and reminder of life and what truly matters.

On days like today, none of us are right. I'm not a writer. If I was, I'd have the words to express the sadness that comes when someone in my family passes away. Not my immediate family, but in my larger adopted family, ohana if you will. Coach Mark, one of my paddling coaches for the past eight years passed away today. Some people have a light that burns bright. They draw others around them, giving, teaching and in this case, coaching so the rest of us can be better people - in life, on and off the water. And for those people, and for Coach Mark, I am grateful. Mark had an enthusiasm that can't be replicated. From the dance floor to being on the water - and everything in between. And he shared that love of being on the water - from fishing to paddling to racing. When I am finally allowed back into a canoe, the next time I'm on the water, it will be a celebration - for life, for appreciation, and in honor of someone who touched all of us in Kai Elua. May that love, passion and light be carried on.

Mahalo nui loa Coach Mark.

Au Revior, Shuttle

2011-07-08T00:05:00.001-07:00

In April 1981, the shuttle program launched the first shuttle, Columbia, into orbit. As a kid growing up with a father who worked at NASA, I was provided with more random facts about the shuttle program than any one eight year old could hold in her head. For example, a few years into the program when the main fuel tank went from white to rust orange, he explained the cost savings in both paint, and the amount of fuel it took to lift the painted fuel tank into the air. He would explain the design nuances of the different shuttle versions and why they had decided on this final version. Those kinds of fun facts were what he brought home from work.

I'm sure I wanted to poke my eyes out with a sharp object at times as the facts poured in. But don't forget, I was a kid with a dad who worked at NASA. One of the perks before the space shuttle were the Christmas parties. They were held in the biggest of the aircraft hangers at Moffett Field. There was a replica of the Lunar capsule as you walked into the party. And after the party, every year, dad would take us to where he worked and sometimes we were allowed to play in the wind tunnel as long as we didn't touch anything. The wind tunnel was easily my favorite part of the parties. With it's long enclosed space, it was like walking down a large silver hallway that echoed with every step we took. The wind tunnel was the perfect place to pretend to be a storm trooper from the original first Star Wars movie.

The other perk of having a Dad working at NASA was the day he woke up my brother and me very early and put us in the car. Always one for starting trips before the crack of dawn, this trip was no exception. He had pulled us out of school to drive to Edwards Airforce Base to meet some of our cousins to watch the space shuttle Columbia land. It was only the,More than you want to know about the shuttles third or fourth mission, back when the shuttle was still a novelty. The shuttle is the roughly the length of three school buses, it was smaller than I thought it would be when we saw it land and come to a stop.

But all of this was enough to make me want to go to space camp. In case you're wondering, I never went. I didn't want to go for the science and the nerd components, I wanted to hang out in zero gravity, see Earth from far away and see the moon from closer. I didn't have my head in the clouds, my day dreams took flight straight past the Earth's atmosphere and into space. There's some who would argue that I'm still there, and sometimes I probably am.

I'm skipping over the space shuttle drawing I did in 8th grade art class that my parents had framed and still hangs in their house. I'm also skipping over the horrific Challenger explosion.

It's funny how something can take up so much of your thoughts, hopes and dreams for a short while and then drift off to the recesses of your mind. In FL at a tradeshow in Orlando, I learned the Columbia was launching from Cape Canaveral one of the days I was there. A week of rearranging my schedule and a fight with my boss later, I was on my way to watch the Columbia take off. All those years before, I had watched it land and now here was the opportunity to see it take off. From the side of the freeway, I watched the shuttle take off and breathed a sigh of relief when it disappeared out of site.

Today, in eight or so hours, the Atlantis will fly the finial flight of the shuttle program. An article I read earlier in the week got me remembering all of this again. The NASA website has information about the launch that the geek in me loved. It also has a timer for the launch of Atlantis, the last launch of the shuttle program. Adios mi amigo.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Work. Life. Balance.

2011-05-04T19:44:00.000-07:00

I get a fail for this, especially lately. However, it is good advice to chase this over-touted myth, like trying to find Sasquatch or the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.
But this is a very good reminder. In case you're wondering, I love Ted. Listening/watching them make me feel smarter, more creative and inspired (as long as I'm watching the ones I like and not the ones about the over-achieving 12 year old who have discovered the secrets to coal fusion). Today, I came across this one on a friend's blog and for obvious reasons, it spoke to me. Reminders like this of what is possible is something I need to hear every now and then. Even if I'm still at work at 8:00pm when I'm listening to it. We all have to start somewhere.

A Reliance on Breathing

2011-04-12T00:02:00.001-07:00

Tonight I did a stupid thing. It was off the charts on the scale of zero to moron, and I didn't see it coming.
That's a lie though, because I absolutely saw it coming, I just thought I was prepared.

I knew the erg would give me an asthma attack, it almost always does. Tonight it gave me an asthma attack in 2.5 minutes. That could be a record. I felt great and was pushing hard, until I couldn't push anymore, and that time came quickly. With my eyes closed, I pulled the handle of the erg and pushed with my legs, again and again, listening tot the spinning of the wheel, the sliding of the seat.

This machine and I are not friends. It reminds me of what I once could do and while it sits there, I get older, my lungs have grown weaker, and even though I am strong, the 38 year old me can't compete with the 20 year old me. But every time I sit on a seat, strap my feet in and grab the handle, I can't help but remember the person I was in college and what I was capable of then. It took only 2.5 minutes, only half of what I had to do for my lungs to protest. I stopped for a few seconds to catch my breath, before starting up again, slower this time. I almost stopped again towards the end, but managed to finish. My friends cheered me on and worried about me at the same time. My eyes closed, I focused on picturing open lungs and pathways for air to go.
It didn't help.
Pacing myself would be the thing to do. Pacing myself for my lungs, not for my muscles or endurance.

After, as I slowly regained control of my breathing and started the coughing, friends reminded me to use my inhaler.

My inhaler. After my accident, I finally gave into the fact that I need them and am dependent on them for breathing. I had one in every possible place, gym bags, my purse, my car, everywhere. Tonight, somehow I didn't have any. I tore my two bags apart, my car, nothing. Shaking I stood outside and took a few deep breaths to calm myself and the fear I felt down. I never would have gotten on the erg if I didn't think an inhaler was within 20 yards of me.

Back at home, I found three in my paddling bag - the one from my car and the other gym bag. I quickly out them back in their specific locations and made a note to call my doctor for another prescription. I am long past the days where I can use just one, it is too important to me to not have it at my fingertips no matter where I am and what I'm doing.

It has taken me almost as long as since I first faced the ergs in college to admit that I need my inhaler. At the time, I didn't recognize my asthma attacks as that, instead thinking I was just out of breath and not in as good of shape as the others, or that I worked harder than they did. Either way, I didn't recognize the wheezing and inability to breath for what it was. Now I know and have accepted the tools to control it, even if I hate having to rely on them.

A few few years ago, a doctor learned I'd lost my last inhaler in the bay and my prescription had run out. He lectured me for 20 minutes. Once the asthma attack gets too far along, there's nothing they can do to open the lungs up. The first person he'd seen die was from an asthma attack - something so easily treated. For me, it wasn't his lecture but my accident that weakened my lungs and forced me to see how they help and that I can't breath without it. In case you're wondering, that kind of reliance sucks. But if it's carrying around an inhaler or trying to breath through an air passage that feels like it's as narrow as a straw, I'll take the inhaler and run with it.

My next challenge is to use the erg as an adult and not as a college athlete. That challenge might prove to be even more difficult...

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

You Say "Let Go" Like It's a Good Thing...

2011-03-27T17:21:00.000-07:00

Too often lately I've found myself reaching for my computer to update my long neglected blog. Only something distracts me.

Emails from work.
Text message from a boy. (Not the boy, but random boys. That actually doesn't sound any better, does it?
Research that is crucial (what is the temperature of the ocean? Not that it matters now that paddling has started, I just like to know; how tall is that actor? When was that movie created?
Who said what on Facebook?
Libya, really?
And since March 11, what is going on in Japan now?
That last one is obviously the most significant, devastating and horrific as the situation goes from horrible to shocking to Oh My God, please give those people there a chance to begin recovering.

And when I'm not being horrified by world events, amused (and horrified) by boys and first dates, working, and now paddling, I've been considering release - both as a concept and an action.

They say it isn't good to hold on to old hurts, to people who have moved on, and just in general as a matter of letting go. There's the heart breaking kind like a friend's dad who recently died. It takes a mourning and a remembering but still eventually, there's a letting go that does eventually occur - often even if we don't want it to.

Or the kind of letting go what should have happened a long time ago. Instead, anger has burned low and steady in me since and I forgot. I forgot the energy it takes to keep that up. I forgot that you can't move forward while those ties still bind. I forgot the simple fact that just because I let it go so I can move on - that it doesn't mean I've forgotten.

That kind of release.
The funny thing is that even as I try to let it go and move forward, I have doubts that I'm truly doing so. And it isn't as easy as you'd think. With old hurts and current anger that rises up as reminders rear their head occasionally. But I realize now that in order to win (not that life is a competition), I need to let it go and sail forward without anything holding me back.

And in the meantime, I'll continue to be distracted by things that keep my thoughts off too much introspection. Clearly it doesn't make for strong blog writing, for me anyways as it's vague at best. So instead I focus on the giant earthquake/tsunami/nuclear reactor trifecta that has been unfolding in Japan. Or the flooded streets back home from all the recent rains. Or the boy(s) who email/text/call occasionally. And of course all of the great family/friends/events that my life holds. Those are enough to keep me busy moving forward for a long, long time.
And for that, I am extremely happy.

Valentine's Day

2011-02-14T23:27:00.000-08:00

There's lots of ways to spend Valentine's Day - alone, with a loved one, discouraged, angry, in luv, k-i-s-s-i-n-g, and the list goes on. In past years I've happily spent Black Monday (as it is also known) with my boyfriends Ben & Jerry and my favorite movie. This year I spent the evening catching up with two good friends and watching the last remaining two episodes in the Buffy the Vampire Slayer series that I hadn't seen yet.

For years I couldn't figure out what it was that kept people talking about the series, friends gushing over it and Netflix recommending it to me. Until I got sick and, when stuck in a hotel room for four days in Palm Springs in August, I gave in. I didn't slow down until I came to the last season. And then I slowed my rushed pace to consume it all down to a steady drip. That steady drip was almost turned off simply because I didn't want it to end. Instead, to prolong the inevitable saying goodbye to anything new, I started watching a few of my favorites from previous seasons, only to find them even better than the first time I saw them. I was never a huge fan of most TV shows, particularly during the time Buffy came out in 1997. So busy with traveling, playing and life, I didn't have time to stop and watch a television show based on a campy movie. Then came school and 9/11, being laid off and just trying to survive it all. Buffy the Vampire Slayer? Please. Who has time for that?

I didn't know that somewhere on my TV, the sentiments that ruled our American society and our culture were being played out. When I watched season six and seven from the comfort of 2010, it is almost impossible not to remember the events that were going on at the same time. The post-9/11 darkness that changed how we look at the world. Many of those episodes left me depressed and determined to find the good in life, because sometimes the script, acting and characterizations left me frustrated.

But tonight I watched the final two episodes and they made me smile as I close the door on the story of the slayer and her friends. Characters who made me cheer for them, enjoy them, and consider them possibly some of the best television stories I've ever seen. Even with all of the campy effects and episodes that have nearly no words. The creativity used throughout the series is amazing.

There's a huge amount of Internet landscape used to hold academic essays about BTVS as well as crafts, fan fiction and more. This isn't about that. Because at the end of the day, I spent Valentine's evening saying goodbye to, and cheering on my favorite slayer. One who made me think about the happy times with my friends and family in the end of the 90's and the desperate times in the early 2000's. I cheered on her happy ending as I cheer on my own. Happy Valentine's Day? Of course.

Do I have Cow Stomach In My Teeth?

2011-01-13T23:12:00.000-08:00

Tonight's dinner proved to be an adventure as five friends and I sat around the only Korean BBQ table in town that has a charcoal grill. The benefit of charcoal proved to be the smokey flavor and that you got to leave the restaurant smelling like you've been camping (after sharing practically an entire side of cow).

The highlight was the beef, and lots of it. Or maybe it was the peer-pressure to try the "beef stomach" that was chopped up and placed on our grill. Mmm beef stomach. In case you're wondering, it's chewy like calamari. I don't really recommend it but it wasn't terrible. One bite was enough. Loved the BBQ meal though and some of the kimchi options.

In case you're wondering, the vegetarian in me has officially been laid to rest.

1.11.11

2011-01-12T00:04:00.000-08:00

Okay, yes. I just wanted a chance to blog today in order to see the date pop up. It amuses the geek in me. You know, the geek I keep trapped in my little toe.

But what's on my mind tonight is an email I received. Yes, I'm trying online dating again. No comment, although I can safely say that if this is representative of who's out there, I will happily stay single.

So this man sent a relatively short, complementary email that ended with him telling me that he would "accept your height. Might you do the same for me?" Really? You'll accept my height? Aww, thanks. I am eager to break this down into different points:

Accept. My. Height. As if it's a disease that needs to be overlooked? "I am willing to accept the fact that you have a twin growing out of your side."
He doesn't live in the same state I do, and I'm in a big state.
He is significantly older than me.
He has kids (multiple, not just one, and please note this isn't a bad thing I adore kids but it is something to consider)

And of these other things - distance, age, children - my being a few inches taller than him is what he wants me to be willing to accept.

Sometimes people are not really in tune with the world and people around them. When I Googled the "Psychology of Height", there are over 5 million hits. I didn't dive deep enough into the list to see how many of those were about height in society and perceptions of tall women. Many of them were about tall men making more money and tall women dating prettier women than shorter men. Oddly enough, they don't talk about tall women making more money or dating better looking men. Instead there is this article from CNN that came out in 2009 about dating tall women. I'm contemplating sending it to the nice man who is willing to overlook the 6' flaw that is me.

And while I'm not thrilled with the line towards the end of the article, "Bagging a six-footer is big-game hunting." Who am I to judge. For the most part, her points are very accurate.

Accept it. Whatever.
Cherish it. Love it. Be proud to be seen with her. Because otherwise, she's going to stomp all over you on her way to someone who does.
xoxo

New Beginnings

2011-01-03T00:31:00.000-08:00

Sometimes there aren't words that truly capture the feelings when one thing ends and the hope of things to come. Welcome, 2011, I'm ready for all the potential that 364 days can contain.

Redirecting Creativity

2010-11-12T22:59:00.000-08:00

The past seven weeks have been filled with work and homework. A lot of time has been spent on my couch with a glass of wine or at cafes with iced coffee resting on the table next to my laptop, as I learn the craft of screenwriting.

They call it a craft because it is. Similar to learning a new set of rules that guide the structure, plot points, turning points and pivotal moments, I've learned a tremendous amount in the past seven weeks. And the most surprising part? I love it.

I don't know if it's the structure, the challenge, or the guided steps to be as creative as I want to be within.

Okay fine, if you must know, I love being able to create people and then make people get in fights, fall in love, be snarky, or just yell and scream with by just typing a few words.

Some say that there's too much structure and not enough room for creativity and I do feel that. Perhaps it's because I'm just a beginner that I feel that the structure is helpful. The walking before running kind of thing. Even though I crave more time for the gym, I found myself looking online for the next class. Unfortunately it is at the same time as paddling and marketing planning craziness at work. Paddling always wins when pitted against spending more time on the computer if I have any say. But there's still a few more months before that happens. And I'm only 30 pages into my screenplay.

Weddings

2010-10-17T16:41:00.000-07:00

There's some weddings you know what to expect and how it will go. You're happy for your friends as they join their lives together. There's the weddings where you don't really know anyone except for the happy couple and it leaves you up to your own devices. And then there's the weddings that you know will be filled with laughter and celebrations because of the people they are and the friends they have. And you know you're lucky to have this person in your life. You can get swept away with the tide of energy and festivities because of the person they are, the people they have in their life, and even a little because of the person you are.

Yesterday was V's wedding and what started out as a beautiful wedding ceremony that would be followed later by a reception turned into an all day event. The wedding wasn't very large and I am honored to have been included. We've been friends since college, and it was fun talking to those around me at the dinner table as we learned that many of us went to college together but hadn't met then. Then there were the friends I'd met at different points throughout my life when hanging out with V. Those were the ones I looked forward to seeing again. Intelligent, adventurous people they all have something I can learn from, including many different points of view.

Not to mention that it was the first time in a long time that I attended a wedding where the other single people were also my age. And they all (guys included) loved dancing. I danced all night to all kinds of music with enthusiastic dance partners. From the only vaguely danceable music to the country (which isn't danceable at all), to the pop music and even pretending to salsa to the latin music - each time the music changed you never knew what was coming next. My favorite was when one guy told me very excitedly that the next song would be one that he requested and it is very danceable. It was, for the few tween girls who loved the Justin Beiber song. M. claims there was a mishap but the jury is still out. Small girls threw rose petals on us as we danced, showering us in them. By the end, we were dancing on a floor covered in roses until the DJ shut off the music and the lights came on.

Long gone are the years where I had a wedding every month to go to, so it's been easy to forget how much fun they can be. And if it means roaming around Pacific Beach in a slightly formal dress with two guy friends in suits for a few hours in the middle of the day, well doing the unexpected makes it even better.
Congratulations to my friend V. and her new husband and may their life together be as amazing as their wedding day.

Get on the water

2010-09-26T14:59:00.001-07:00

Is it the 90 degree weather that has suddenly appeared on the first day of Fall? Or is it the fact that this weekend is the first weekend that I'm actually starting to feel like myself - strong, energetic. Hi old me, its been a while. Maybe my energy was just waiting for the return of summer and the sun. Either way, we're both back and I hope it lasts.

Friday night I brought a few friends to rec practice and watched as new people stood on the beach unsure how to hold their paddles. They listened carefully and practiced the stroke with the careful awkward precision of someone trying really hard because soon that's all they'd have in the canoe to help them get back. For a second, the past seven years slipped away and I remembered what it was like to hold a paddle in my hands for the first time. So much shorter and lighter than an oar, I wondered if I'd like it as much as I liked rowing. If it would get into my veins the same way and become my driving need - that insatiable desire to be on the water, to feel the paddle (or oar) moving through the water, feeling the boat gliding along the water because of my strength, my power. And something that would help me channel my competitiveness which so quickly can fall into different parts of my life. As I watched J. showing the new people, the same way he showed me so long ago, I was happy. The answer to all of those unknowns was yes.

Last night we went to watch a roller derby...match? Game? Bout? If I was a little younger and not paddling, I would play in a heartbeat. Perhaps I should be glad that I didn't know about derby when I lived in Denver, the bruises from floor hockey were enough. But roller derby would let me release the aggression which so often lies dormant, embers buried deep within me waiting for a release. I loved it. The cheesy drama, personalities, the bumping and pushing, these were girls, women who are unafraid to be tough, and who took on different personas, or maybe just let that side of them out. From the side of the ring, I envied that.

Somehow, with my luck, I don't think my work suit and possibly my insurance would cover all the bruises and injuries I would incur. Reality can be cruel.

It's 90 degrees and I'm sitting at a local cafe with my iced coffee watching people walk by. The oceans breeze feels good. I just bought a small print I've wanted for a while now. When I went to visit it, the artist was there and we started talking. His paintings from Hawaii and being on the water were the main themes of our short conversation. As he wrapped up the (very) small print I bought, I told him about rec practices and trying outrigger. My secret reason is that I want him to paint a piece with outriggers as the theme since I can't find one I really like and lack the skills to make one myself. But I'm also on a roll of inviting people to try something that I love to do. Unsure why but I figure if it makes me happy, it should make everyone happy. I know that isn't how the world works, but it should.

When I put the print in my car, I noticed he had written something on the back of it. Looking through the plastic that covered it, he had written "for Kendra, get on the water."

If he only knew. There's a lifetime of truth in those words.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Recharging

2010-09-19T23:40:00.001-07:00

In giving it a lot of thought after spending a weekend in a way that many people wish for (lots of movies and rest - minus the cough, cough, coughing). Maybe a better way to look at the year is that after going all out for so long, perhaps I'm just recharging, replenishing my mind and body for many more years of all that comes with being me. Adventure? Craziness? Zany shenanigans? Hot men (or just one fabulous one)? All of the above! Sometimes it's exhausting being me. I'll be the first to admit that when you end up locking yourself out of your place for days and days all because your Netflix movie doesn't fit in your mailbox, well there's a level of energy that is inherently lost just from the nature of the event itself. And when you include a car accident and a trip as part of the equation, well... As I said, it isn't always easy being me. But it could easily be worse.

I could be like everyone else.

So look out. I'm recharging and am plotting ways to be better than ever. I'd say bigger and better but that isn't the plan, and neither is "new and improved". Or I could just say that I'm recharging so I can be back. I feel like I've been gone a while and not really myself. And from the call(s) I've received lately, I'd say others have noticed as well. And I'm tired of it.

Recharging? Damn straight, I am. And I can't wait until i'm done!

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Themes

2010-09-15T21:03:00.000-07:00

At Catalina this year, we set the theme as sequins. It went off okay except that over-the-top participation in the evening was lower than I would have hoped. Multiple people in sequins is funny. One person in crazy sequins makes them definitely odd.

When I look at other parts of my life, I've realized that I can already pinpoint a clear theme for the year by September but this year - I can safely say it's my health. Between starting the year with the plague, having eye surgery, and getting sick in both August and September. Or perhaps, it's frustration. I can only guess that frustration and having the plague over New Years would go hand in hand.

So now it's September and paddling season is over and it is time to find new activities for the next few months. As I contemplate what comes next, I've looked at both physical and mental challenges. By mental challenges I mean writing and am now contemplating taking another class, primarily because of the cute professor but also because I want structure.

By physical challenges, I have no idea other than to get healthy again (and stop being sick!). Perhaps I can start running even though I typically spend each step hating it. Maybe I can find someone to chase me a few times a week at a slow pace until I can strengthen my lungs.

Themes are more fun when they're done with several good friends and applied liberally. The overall theme for the year - I'm hoping it isn't too late to change the direction of it. It'd be fabulous if 2010 could redeem itself in the remaining months.

Reunions

2010-08-22T18:25:00.001-07:00

There was a twinge of regret when I threw away the invitation with "last notice" written on it. Twenty years, already. A year ago I'd received the initial update on Facebook. Riding in a car with several younger friends after a long practice, i almost cried when I realized that it had in fact been 20 years since I graduated. How on earth had that happened? I missed the 10 year and I guess that had been a while ago...in 2000 so somehow as I sat in a car filled with shocked silence as friends almost 10 years younger than me did their own math.

I had kept the invitation on my counter though even as I didn't truly want to go. Of my five friends from high school whom I still talk to, only one was thinking of going. And yet every time I went to throw the invitation away, I couldn't. It was as if by throwing it away I would be missing out on one of life's crazy rites of passage. There a several - most are typical that could go either way, Prom, graduation, college, first love, first heartbreak, and among the list are reunions, both family and school.

It was a text from one of my friends, "r u going to out high school reunion or has Facebook already filled the need, thus saving u $100+ ?"
After four or five texts back and forth, we decided we could live with mild twinges of regret and we both threw the invitations away.

Two weeks later an email from another friend arrived saying she and three others had decided to go. Thus we all decided to go since people were coming in from all over the country.
And I'm extremely happy I did. It wasn't about showing who I am now versus who I was then (okay maybe a little of that) but the true pleasure came in seeing people I've know since the age of five, 11, and 14. People I called friends then but had lost track of as we all moved away to college. One friend was the first friend I ever had and I haven't seen him in 20 years. And I also got to remember how much I really liked others. Surprisingly, at the after-party, there was good old fashioned peer pressure "why aren't you drinking? When was the last time you really got crazy and let go?" These are questions that don't need answers, especially when asked by someone who hasn't seen me in 20 years. But it's good to know that there are somethings that don't go away with age.
High school reunion? Yeah, I went. And it was awesome.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Location:San Diego, CA

Birthdays

2010-07-28T07:49:00.001-07:00

Morning hike to the top of Cowells Mountain, coffee and presents, (work), lunch with the team, a million texts, emails and facebook birthday wishes from friends, wine and laughter, paddling, sunset and bruises from boat-ups, sangria, friends, tacos, karaoke (not me), and air hockey. And today - I leave to visit friends in Denver.

Fantastic birthday, who could ask for more?

- Posted From my iPhone

Santa Barbara

2010-07-25T20:16:00.000-07:00

One weekend a year we all gather and converge on a beach in Santa Barbara for fun, festivities, a graduation of sorts and a sprint race. After sitting in traffic for six or so hours, I made it on Friday in time to meet my friends at a bar where they were impatiently waiting for me so we could get dinner. That tangueray and odd restaurant made tonic tasted as good as I'd hoped after dreaming of it since I first hit LA.

6am came early on Saturday. The marine layer rested heavily on the morning and we arrived to find the novice hadn't shown up and instead were sending pictures from breakfast while we huddled under the tent and plotted their demise to take place throughout the day.

As much as I don't like waking up early, there's something about spending the day at the beach surrounded by friends - laughing, paddling, and hanging out. It was better once the fog lifted and the sun came out (before the wind picked up) but it makes for the summer days I dream of throughout the year.

The fun we'd had in planning for the novice's big day was appreciated and embraced. They were often harder on each other than we were on them. Every now and then you have a group of people who come together and have a positive impact on each other - as individuals and as a group. For the most part, that is what we are lucky enough to have, both with the novice and with the club as a whole.

And at the end of the day, the races were raced, the novice were graduated, friends celebrated and medals were collected.

Shoes

2010-07-23T11:24:00.001-07:00

I've been a bit of a shoe-fanatic lately. I can't help it. It is really happening at the collision of two points in my life. Well, not so much two points as much as one point and one life long memory. It is increasingly hard to find new clothes for work - and at the same time, I found a website filled with shoes for work and fun. Every single one on the site comes in my size. For someone who has lived over half their life torturing her feet and her friends in a feeble attempt to find shoes that fit. My toes have the scars from over 25 years of not knowing what it felt like to buy a pair of shoes that didn't require needing to be stretched out before wearing them. And by "stretching them out", I mean making them almost an entire size bigger. The new website, www.barefoottess.com has changed my life by providing a reliable resource for me to go to at any time.

The second thing is a memory from when I was young. I would open the pantry at my grandmothers house and it would be packed, every space filled with some from of food. If there was one tablespoon of flour left, she would find a bag and store it carefully. A dinner would consist of small remains from the past four dinners. Correction, that's what she would eat, we would eat whatever new dinner she made. It was a lesson in economics, frugality, environmental awareness before Al Gore, and it was a first hand lesson in the hoarder/survival mentality of someone who grew up during the Great Depression.

I am not so bold as to compare my current fanaticism about shoes that fit with the Depression, but it's the mentality that I'm comparing. It's a similar mentality that many people who grow up poor have once they suddenly have it. People who have gone hungry and now have food. To know what life us like without, you want to take and hold onto all that you can. What if the website goes away and I'm stuck spending hours online scouring the far ends of the Internet in hopes of finding one pair of shoes that could work, possibly and are extremely expensive? All my life, the rule for me and shoes has been, if they fit, buy them. No asking questions. Friends have chased me back to stores to buy the shoes I left behind before I began to take the rule to heart. To this day, my friends, scared by past experiences have banned against going shoe shopping with me, even the most shopping obsessed people I know refuse to keep me company on my search. Even Frodo had people with him on his quest.

How long does it take to unlearn rule that took 37 years to learn and apply? I'm starting to try unlearning it, but it is a slow process and the fear that this magic well of shoes will disappear remains. I am getting stronger and have started with step one: delete the emails about sales instead of opening them. It's a baby step, and it's the first of many but it's mine and I'm doing it.

- first post ever using BlogPress from my iPad :)

Mockery

2010-07-22T08:22:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I got mocked for not finding the time to at least write a sentence a day.
:) this makes two.

- Posted From my iPhone

Interesting stats about men and dating sites

2010-07-18T19:49:00.000-07:00

Fascinating information from a blog post on OkCupid that a friend sent to me. I'm not sure how I feel about it. Basically it shows the drop of messages based on the height of a woman (and a guy).

But as far as messages go, shorter women actually seem to get more attention:
These are the average weekly unsolicited message totals by height; you can think of these as the number of times a person is "hit on" out of the blue each week on OkCupid. a 5' 4" woman gets 60 more contacts each year than a six-footerThe genders are plotted on different scales because of the eternal fact that men almost always make the first move, so women get many more unsolicited messages.

It's plain from these two charts that women six feet or taller are either less attractive to men or are considered too intimidating to message. The data also raises the interesting possibility that these tall women are much more likely to sleep with a man who does more sex partners. approach them. Compare the 6' 0" woman to her 5' 4" counterpart: the taller woman gets hit on about two-thirds as much, yet has had slightly more sex partners.
(source: http://blog.okcupid.com/)

See what I mean?

Lucky

2010-07-18T18:40:00.001-07:00

They've always told me that love comes when you least expect it- but at this point in time, the reality of that is a faded memory that tends to be clouded out by the frustration that arises every time some happy married person points that out.

What they don't tell you is that it can work the same way with friends. Sometimes the people you see everyday or run into occasionally can become your greatest advocate, supporter and friends. It isn't often that I go out looking for friends and, I'm not proud of this but lately I've been known to say: 1) I don't want to meet any new friends unless they're spectacular, I don't have time for the ones I have now. And 2) no new friends unless they're male! That last is a subset of the first rule. Both of those rules are funny if you consider that I hate to left to my own devices alone for long periods of time (unless I'm feeling creative or I'm sick). It's almost a wonder I have any friends with my other rule, no friends unless they own their own house. Some friends have been grandfathered in but that rule was created when many of my friends were moving all over the country.

But what I was reminded of tonight is how much the right words from those friends can move mountains in your mind. I think I pinky swore that I'd write more in the next year. I think I laughed more than I have in a long time. I think I had a great time with great people who also gave me a lot to think about.

- Posted From my iPhone

What to Wear Now?

2010-07-13T22:32:00.000-07:00

I thought I found a jackpot of tall suits for work. A company I wouldn't have thought of for myself but then, I wear suits to work, most places I've purchased them at over the past six years also aren't "me". It was an exciting moment and the two jackets I bought fit perfectly. Now? Now I'm back to starting at zero. What are tall women around the world doing when it comes to having clothes to wear at work? I have to wonder. Feel free to send them an email as well at pendletoncatalog@penwool.com - if only to tell them you don't want your friend to have to go to work naked.

And in case you're wondering? the website they recommended only has pants left - most are in size 8, which, at 6' tall, is not my size.
________________________________
Sent: Thursday, July 08, 2010 10:47 PM
To: PendletonCatalog
Subject: Attn: Customer Service

Hello,

I was very excited to learn recently that Pendleton had suits in tall sizes. As soon as I learned this, I ordered several jackets (the pants weren't available in my size as everything was on sale). However, when I received the catalog in the mail today, there wasn't a single suit made for tall. All of the other sizes were represented - petite, misses, plus, but not tall. Can you please tell me why this is and if there will be more tall suits added as an option soon? As a woman who is just over 6' tall, it is incredibly difficult to find quality clothes for work that have both style and fit right. To find it only to have it disappear is devastating.

Thank you,
Kendra
________________________________
Dear Kendra,

Thank you for contacting Pendleton Catalog. We apologize that the demand for Pendleton's Tall sizes was not enough for us to continue production, as of 2010. Tall sizes will continue to sell through our Catalog website until they are sold out.

Some Pendleton items in Tall also remain at Simply Tall - enter "Pendleton" in the Search field at the top of the page to locate all items. Alternately, they can be contacted toll free at 1-866-934-9782, Monday through Friday, 10:00 a.m. to 4:00 p.m. Eastern time.

We thank you for your comments (we share them with our management team) and thank you for making Pendleton a part of your life.

Sincerely,
Erika
Pendleton Catalog Customer Service
1-877-996-6599

High of 63

2010-07-09T00:21:00.000-07:00

Grey skies have sucked my blue sky-ed soul. I can't help but dream of days spent playing in the sun, instead of working in the grey.

I remain hopeful. Like I am with my dating-life, cautiously optimistic that some day after long periods of drab the sun will shine again.

Besides, my paddle and the ocean are calling their siren song to me again - the one that flows through my saltwater-filled veins. Two weeks without in "summer" is two weeks too long and I need to get back in the canoe.

Instead I spent this afternoon letting go, moving forward and accepting. In two days I'll go back to Bikram yoga for the third time in a week. It's a tough love way for me to get back to the basics.

I should have thought first before I downloaded the app to blog from anywhere, include from my stream of consciousness.

- Posted From my iPhone

Blame it on the Fog

2010-07-06T22:44:00.000-07:00

I don't know if I'm lacking in vitamin D or if there's another reason that I'm missing the blue sky and sun but I am having a daily dialog with summer, the sun and the fog. It's a four-way conversation that has me begging, pleading, cursing in hopes that one will go away and the other two will return.

All year long I dream of summer. The long days, hanging out with friends outside, playing at the park, paddling on a hot day, watching the ice melt in my drink and the condensation drips slowly along the outside of the glass. Growing up, I remember summers where the sun only came out for an hour at a time. Today when I left and it was drizzling, I came close to crying in frustration. I chose to live in Southern California to avoid summers of fog and winters of cold and frost.

San Diego has it's own magic of a city where people come to vacation, where cruise ships stop and movies glamorize ("You stay classy, San Diego."). None of that includes gray skies that the sun doesn't shine through.

So here's to hoping the fog breaks and the sun comes through.

Life, Liberty and the Pursuit of Happiness.

2010-07-04T14:03:00.000-07:00

"We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness." July 4, 177

Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness. There's so many things in life that we take for granted, and growing up in the U.S., those three things might possibly be the greatest of them all. It's so easy to foget in the day to day activities, stress, loves and losses just how luck we are that these aren't greater. That the threats to our daily existence are the person who just cut me off in the parking lot or the person at work who made me stay late.

But there is a bigger world and as Americans, we are constantly reminded that as much as we'd like to be, we aren't the center of it. I didn't mean this to be a lecture. I'm just now starting to relax after the months of working non-stop and as I slowly unpeel the layers to find the center of me I've hidden away, it's funny what comes up. Somewhere buried below is the strength and passion that I feel for life, my family and friends. It makes me unhappy when that part of me becomes so deeply buried and difficult to access. It doesn't always need to be on the surface, but it needs to be there.

When I went "running" today, I found myself thinking about risks. Doing those things that you dread or that scare you and pushing yourself in new directions to allow for growth. I'm really good at doing that intellectually, I'm getting back to doing it physically and unfortunately, next comes emotionally which is usually my least favorite part of them all. At least I can realize where I need to grow and push myself and that's a start.

Nothing like public self-analysis to free one's self of the parts that don't belong. Speaking of, I'll be doing better at writing more, I promise. I found a website that talked about a sentence a day blog. I'm not sure if I can promise that (which really just sounds more like tweets than anything else), but I am intrigued by the lack of pressure it puts on me. Which is ironic, given my desire to push myself and grow. But isn't that what makes this country great? All the hopes and dreams that can combine with talent and hard work. It's the right combination that's required though - and a little luck never hurt anyone.

Day of Rest

2010-06-10T20:37:00.000-07:00

I took today off work and spent the day asleep or laying around. I was awake, showered and ready when I realized I couldn't make it. After all the marketing plans have been completed and mostly presented, there is still so much more to do at work but I couldn't physically do it. I needed to stop. And sleep. And rest and get myself back together.

So I did. After weeks and weeks of working non-stop, I had to sleep. I'd like to say I feel better now but I'm not sure that's the case. Although I can't think that extra rest and sleep could ever be bad.

Happy it's done and I can start looking forward, both for work, life and my inner-self.

Green Eggs and Ham - Hold the Eggs, Please!

2010-04-27T23:34:00.000-07:00

There's one thought that went through my head this morning as I sat in the doctor's office listening to the older, knowledgeable man explain to me in his slight accent that I am allergic to gluten, dairy, soy and now eggs.

Eggs? I eat them every single day in some form or other. Every day! Not just some days or once in a while but every single day. So to the eggs that I must say good bye to for a month and after testing it a few days, potentially forever, thank you for keeping me happy and enabling me to be able to go to breakfast with friends at any time...as long as they have eggs. I have no idea what I will do without you, what I will eat for breakfast and when I will be able to go out for breakfast again and be able to order easily. Eggs you saved me from a painful transition and I'm thankful I got to eat you as long as I did.

Until next time.

I'm going to drink some wine.

An Eyeful of Fun (AKA How I Became the Pirate Queen)

2010-04-08T19:21:00.000-07:00

Last night I found myself wandering around the half-full aisles at Trader Joes in search of food for the next few days. I tried not to notices the double-takes a few people threw my way at seeing someone wearing their sunglasses with a business suit at 8:30pm on a Wednesday. Yes, I am a rockstar. Or "hollywood" as people at work have started calling me.

"Hollywood" makes me laugh as I've always preferred the edginess of the rockstar. Of course I'm neither glamour or edgy but of the two, I think I've leaned towards edgy. But maybe 37 is too old to be "edgy". Or maybe that's no longer me? Maybe I never was. Either way, I was in TJ's, ignoring the stares, the eye rolls, and in general just trying to pick up food so I can get home. Seeing a friend working at the register, I stood in her line and waited patiently so I could say hello while paying for my food. (On a side note, it really does influence what you're going to buy, knowing someone you work out with will be going through all of it. Not that she'd care if I tossed in some chocolate snacks, but it kept me honest).

As I stood in line, I heard a voice behind me say, "It is really bright in here, isn't it."
I turned and behind me there stood a guy who was eye-level with me. This enabled me to better view the sides of his greasy ponytail - I might have noticed the ponytail before I noticed the smile. I have an aversion to 99.9% of guys with ponytails. Johnny Depp in Chocolate might be one of the few exceptions.
"I had something done to my eye," I said, not wishing to share details with a stranger.
At that moment, my friend saw me standing in her line, "Kendra, how are you?" she said. The she looked at me again and said, "How did your eye surgery go?"

I turned and smuggly smiled at the guy behind me, "Bet you feel bad now. That'll teach you not to make fun of strangers."
He muttered something about actually feeling bad and this being a Seinfeld episode. And I smiled slightly then turned back around to answer my friend's questions. I didn't feel like talking to greasy ponytailed guy, even though he tried again. My friend was smiling and asking questions and her friendly face was a welcome one after working for 10 hours. I've been extremely tired lately and just wanted to go home.

If nothing else, this eye surgery has been humbling from the day it was scheduled and I found myself frantically arranging rides in an effort to not become Liz Lemon and have to use Astronaut Mike Dexter as my ride home. To my arranging rides to work, to not having the energy to do anything but lay around my house with my eyes closed listening to audio books. The eye patches I ordered to keep my mind off the fact that I was wearing an eye patch have been fun but not terribly practical. I knew that when I ordered them but still, I find myself wishing that they both didn't have feathers.

And of course there's the fact that yesterday I managed to do the impossible. Sitting at my desk, my eye kept watering because something was poking me. Looking in the mirror, I saw two eyelashes stuck in the stitches. Flushing my eye out with water didn't work, eye drops didn't work and neither did the ointment that the doctor gave me to put on three times a day. At a loss and tired of sitting at my desk crying, I looked in the mirror, grabbed hold of one of the eyelashes and pulled. This proved to NOT be one of my smartest ideas I've had lately, because it wasn't an eyelash. There's not really a way to describe the sensation that followed without using "intense pain" and include a huge squemish factor. So all I'm going to say is that I went to the doctor's office as soon as they could fit me in. There they told me that I only have three stitches in my eye where as before I had four.

With the exception of pulling out a stitch out of my own eye, everything has been healing well, even if it is taking longer than I thought it would. My patience isn't doing well and neither is my skills and endurance of paddling since I haven't been able to go. But the positive side is that my love and appreciation for all my friends who live nearby has increased tremendously. And for that, I am greatful.

Avoiding Reality

2010-03-26T00:11:00.000-07:00

Sub-title: How to Avoid Thinking About Eye Surgery Scheduled in the Morning.

Step One - Focus on Sparkly, Feathered Eye patches (complete with bow)

Do I go for the pirate patch or the black with sequins? It was such an important decision that I ordered both (just in case I needed one for each day). The search, decision making and finally the ordering and anticipation of whether or not they would arrive in time took quite a bit of focus and decision-making.

Step Two - Find a Friend with a Fun Car to Drive You to (and From) the Hospital

That's right - arriving in style and most importantly being picked up in style is absolutely important. The hospital wouldn't let me confirm my appointment without giving them the name of who would be picking me up. After seeing the Valentine's Day episode of 30 Rock, I was on edge as I tried to make sure I had a ride so now that I'm being driven by Flo in style, it is quite a relief. Especially that I don't have to tell them that Astronaut Mike Dexter is my imaginary boyfriend who will be picking me up.

Step Three - Wine

I don't really think I need to explain this one. Just know that it was red and it was good.

Step Four - Friends Picking Up a Drugged You From the Hospital

It wasn't until another friend began talking about picking me up as well and then going out right after. "But I'm having surgery," I tried to explain, but not very adamantly. I knew better. Pretty much I was picturing a Weekend at Bernie's kind of scenario where pictures of me doing things I don't remember would end up on Facebook. Imagining this made me happy and wary at the same time. And once again, proved to be an effective way to not have to think about surgery. Even small surgeries that shouldn't take longer than an hour or two.

Little Pieces of Extraordinary

2010-03-11T00:52:00.000-08:00

Last night under the big top, I felt the excitement and anticipation that people have felt at circuses for over 100 years. I was perched on the edge of my seat staring up at the two men in the circles ("Wheels of Death") flying, jumping and spinning overhead. Cirque de Soleil's Kooza brought it all back. I was five watching the clowns lighten the mood in between the tight-rope walkers, the dreamlike castle, the jugglers, tumblers, contortionists, high-wire walkers and clowns. The clowns weren't the creepy scary kind of late, but the more old school, retro funny clowns from eras past.

It says something about a performance and the suspension of disbelief that can make an audience lose their cynicism, stop being jaded, to sit on the edge of their seats and gasp in awe, amazement, and sometimes panic at the sites, sounds and abilities in front of them. Not to mention the pure talent, strength, genetics and

In the dark, with the music, the clowns and the extremely talented performers flying above us, I did feel like a kid again. And that, is magic especially when you least expect it.

Cause I've Got One Hand in My Pocket...

2010-02-14T20:35:00.000-08:00

Tonight I made a rookie single girl mistake.

I went out. I didn't mean to. It was just so nice outside all day. And I was trapped indoors, painting my room (a project left over from the holiday break when I came down with the plague). All day long I could see the sun and people outside while I paint, paint, painted away in my bedroom. I was on a mission to get rid of the green that had covered the walls previously.

After paining the day away, I decided to stop, shower and go for a walk along the harbor. Trading in paint-fumes for sea air. Trading in my four walls for open ocean, ships and boats that can sail to places I dream of going someday.

Only I waited too long. It was just past sunset when by the time I found a parking spot. The sky was changing quickly to dark. And as I set out with my hand and iPod in one pocket, keys in the other, I realized something else. This was the worst possible idea I could have had. Everywhere I looked there were couples. They smiled, they held hands. They strolled slowly, or they walked with a mission as the dinner cruises were getting ready to depart. And when I tried to look elsewhere, in those elsewhere places, other couples had stopped to kiss.

It isn't the first time I've thought there was a camera following me around. It also wasn't the first time that I've stood up straighter and kept walking. Valentine's Day. I had forgotten and managed to avoid it all day long. Even when Pandora served up the Beetles singing about all the lonely people, and Amy Mann singing about one being the loneliest number. I laughed, half expecting the next song to either be Sinatra singing about how you're nobody unless somebody loves you, or Alanis Morissette singing about how you oughta know. Neither ended up happing and Pandora went back to being it's amazing music service.

Last week I purchased a necklace that is a tribute to Haiti and all proceeds go to help the relief effort. The necklace, titled "the Love Mantra" arrived with the complete mantra as well as the last line engraved on the necklace. The necklace reads, "The love we take is equal to the love we make." Which is a good reminder that for as ridiculous and stupid as this holiday is, it is a day for all kinds of love - and that, I am lucky enough to have tons of. Even though, the type of love that surrounded me as I tried to enjoy my walk might have turned me a little green with envy. Which is slightly ironic since I spent the day covering up the green in my house.

Either way, it's Valentine's Day so I may as well accept it. I inadvertently ended up right in the middle of it, a place where it would have been more accepted to be wearing a giant cupid costume than be a single woman walking alone. But I did walk alone in an entirely different walk of shame than you normally hear about, and this one had absolutely nothing to do with waking up in last night's clothes. Never had returning home to a glass of wine sounded so good.

And what it all comes down to my friends
Is that everything's just fine fine fine
'cause I've got one hand in my pocket
And the other one is giving the peace sign.

(Alanis Morissette)

Magazine Blog!

2010-02-11T13:50:00.000-08:00

There's so much going on right now! But somehow, in the middle of it all, I managed to find a minute to submit my story to Women's Adventure Magazine. This magazine, if you haven't read it has fabulous articles and recommendations for active women who like to step out of the gym and the day to day routine...and how have the time to do so. Sometimes the adventures are just fun to daydream about.

Anyways, I submitted my story about almost drowning and they published it. You can find it in the "Blog" section of their website.

Enjoy!

Saving the Words

2010-01-19T23:00:00.000-08:00

Okay, perhaps I should clarify, I have only one copy of the book but that's good enough for me! Thanks to Lys' recommendation, Blurb.com's software slurped up my blog and with a million hours of manual formatting, placing photos, spell-checking (which took 10 hours - it
isn't the fastest thing I've ever used), etc.

And now I have a book of my old blog! Now I don't need to worry about my words being lost forever. It's only the first half, I have to do the rest. Sometimes it's the little things that brighten the day.

The Height of Obsession

2010-01-06T21:44:00.000-08:00

I have a confession. My name is Kendra and I'm completely and utterly obsessed with looking up the heights of celebrities and stars. What do I do when arriving home from seeing the new Sherlock Holmes movie? Look up Robert Downey Jr.'s height (5'8 1/2"). Then Jude Law's (5'11"), then the height of the two female actresses (5'5" and 5'6").

It's a curse and an addiction, and IMDB.com is my supplier. It's so easy, takes two seconds and I know how tall they all are. We can all be relieved that the man is always taller than the woman in Hollywood, unless it's pointing out a joke. Or if it's Tom Cruise (5'7"). I did happen to see a movie with Dustin Hoffman (5'5 1/2") and Emma Thomson (5'8 1/2"). The last scene in the movie, they are walking side by side and he glances up at her, and she at him. They must have had him in lifts. She leaned over and took off her heels and they were suddenly mostly the same height. He smiles and says, "You're my kind of lady."
I might have almost thrown up a little right then.

It doesn't make me feel superior, and if I had this kind of knowledge at my fingertips when I was younger, I would think that I would never fit into the world as I know it. It also gave me people to look up to (or at least eye-level with) who I wouldn't have normally had.
Uma Thurman (6')
Jane Lynch (6')
Geena Davis (6')
Sigourney Weaver (5'11)
Nicole Kidman (5'11)
Kristen Johnston (6') Although she's recently been looking anerexic rather than tall and strong, which is sad and very unfortunate.
Kerri Walsh (6'3") - Volleyball player

And one of my absolute inspirations of the 1990s - Gabrielle Reece (6'2 1/2") - she was strong, active beautiful and nothing held her back (even those crazy "uniforms" they have to wear while playing volleyball.

That's six actresses over two generations who are tall. Six, out of how many are there out in the world? I know there's more who are tall but these are the ones who come easily to mind from over the years. And of course then, there's the actors.

The giant Vince Vaughn (6'5"), John Corbett (6'5"), Tim Robbins (6'5"), Jeff Goldblum (6'4 1/2"), Will Smith (only 6'2"!), Jason Segel (6'4"), John Krasinski (6'3"), and the list goes on. But mostly it probably drops since the majority are easily under 6'.

And apparently I'm not alone with being obsessed with actor's heights. As I'm writing this, my tall partner in crime in Denver called to catch up - and confessed that she also comes home and looks up the height of actors (tall and short) in movies after they watch. It's just so fascinating to see how they stack up next to each other (so to speak).

And then I found a quote by the fabulous William Goldman (talented author of The Princess Bride), "I am hopelessly smitten with finding out the truth about how tall performers are," he wrote. "Especially male performers. Most especially male action performers."
"Most movie stars are short," wrote Goldman, who is 6-feet-1. "Stars' stumpiness is the beginning of my obsession. But when you throw action stars into the blend, guys who slay legions, well, it's just too yummy for me to resist."
Which is why Goldman dropped everything he was doing one day at the Cannes Film Festival when he heard that Stallone was about to enter the pool at a hotel where they were staying. Stallone, now 59, has talked recently about starring in a Rocky VI sequel. He is listed on two Web sites as being either 5-feet-10 or 5-feet-9.
The pool opportunity excited Goldman, he wrote, because "you see, stars have lifts in their boots -- why else, pray tell, do you think they wear them all the time? They have lifts in their shoes, their loafers, their slippers. I know one who has lifts in his socks."
Based on his discreet face-to-face in the pool, Goldman said, he now knows that Stallone is "67 inches (5-feet-7), dripping wet." (Source: Male Hollywood Stars Don't Stand as Tall as We Imagine).

So, I'm not alone on this. A Google search on "celebrity heights' brought up over three million results. Now, I'm not going to start my own webpage on the topic but it is reassuring to know that I'm not standing alone (and tall) on this one.

New Year (thankfully), New Decade (Thank God!), Same Me

2010-01-02T01:05:00.000-08:00

I laid on my couch all day yesterday, willing myself to feel better.
If only I rest enough.
If only I drink enough tea.
Eat chicken soup.
Drink more tea, and some brandy and honey.
Drink more brandy.
Try to sleep - I'll feel good enough to join a few friends at a small party five minutes away.

None of it worked. At 10:00pm last night the texts started from friends. One friend trying to get me out of bed and to the party. The other wanting to wish me a Happy New Year before she climbed on a plane for a month in South America. She's a great friend and she meant well, but asking me about my dating life and wishing me a Happy New Year when you're climbing on a plane for a cool trip, and I'm curled up in my bed on NYE, coughing my guts out during my first week off in a year isn't really as helpful as it might sound. It did help me motivate though.

I crawled out of bed and showered. Got dressed, grabbed a bottle of wine and went to meet my friends. I arrived a little after 11 and lasted an hour and 15 minutes before sneaking out to come back to the safety of my bed. The important part is that I got to ring in the new year with friends, with people who are important to me as I am to them.

Today I felt better for about 30 minutes. And in that 30 minutes, I rejoiced in the beginning of a new year. Of a new decade. One that can only be better than what the last one contained. There's always so much talk about resolutions and what's the good of setting new goals for yourself that can't be accomplished because they are either impossible or because most people lack the discipline to carry them through.

Personally, I like the thought of a new beginning, starting fresh. There's so many things I want to start fresh with - so many things I'd love to put behind me. And while some of them aren't worth creating a goal or a resolution about because I know it won't last (like working less), perhaps something like creating more of a balance will help.

In looking up the past decade, the Aughts, if you will, I found this - The Decade in Seven Minutes. The problem is that it's a little overwhelming and extremely depressing after a while, a while being halfway through. Some of the things seem so very long ago, while others are burned in my brain. I'm certainly happy to say goodbye to the past decade. The fact that I was sick for the last few days of it seem sadly apropros. And today, I did feel better and the world brighter, even if only for a little while. The good news is that it will continue to get brighter - as only new opportunities and new beginnings can be.

Memories for Listening

2009-12-28T16:47:00.000-08:00

"Mom gave these to me for you to go through," my sister told me, pointing to the boxes next to her. She looked disdainfully at them - they're all your old cassette tapes, we should just throw them away.

It took me a day or two to get to the quick project and when I did open them up, it was a short walk through memories set to music. I had carefully made cassette tapes of favorite music by year from 1986-1991. I'm assuming that 1991 was when cassettes were replaced by CDs, just as high school had been replaced by college. 1991 was also the first year of infinitely better musical taste as my access to better music moved beyond the basics and what the radio had to offer. I also found the tape that first introduced me to the music I came to love by our French exchange students in 1987. Madness, The Cure, The Smiths - this tape was my first listen to the bands that I came to love. I'm excited to listen to it again. As soon as I can find a tape deck that still works. The mix tape that a friend in high school made was also there. I remember listening to this tape for months on end even though I couldn't tell you a single song that was on it, besides a few Depeche Mode songs about failed love.

There were also several copies of NKOTB tapes which were clearly labeled with my sister's name which she may need to receive wrapped up next Christmas. Michael Jackson, Tiffany, Debbie Gibson, Flashdance, Footloose, and a few other gems were there as well. Lodged between the LP and the CD, the cassette tape had a quick moment in the sun as the portable way to listen to music on the go, literally, with the walkman and other portable devices.

Then I found the gem of the cassette tape collection. the interview I did of my grandfather for a class. I'd often wondered what happened to it and assumed it long gone. My junior year of high school, I wrote a paper about my grandpa and needed history from him to write it. I'd already written about my Grandmother and this time it was Grandpa's turn. So one night after dinner, as the dishes were being done and the entire Northern California family was around, I started the interview. Popping it into my sister's stereo, I laid back on her bed and listened to my Grandpa talk to me as if he was still sitting across from me.

In the background, the sounds of the dishes, of dessert being served and eaten, of people coming in and out of the room all fill the background. Knowing how the history of my Grandpa's life - what we know now that none of us knew then, color my perception of what he said now but that doesn't mean that I love him any less. I just am more aware of the parts of his life that he skimmed over versus what he elaborated on. And as I listened as Jenny and I asked him questions and corrected each other, the Kendra listening today desperately urged the Kendra in 1988 to ask more questions, to keep him talking. I heard my Grandma's voice chime in a few times and my eyes filled with tears at how close they both sounded and how long they've all been gone. Why didn't I ask more questions? Why didn't the 16 year-old me know tho ask questions about life, about family, about his life than those that I asked? And why didn't the 16 year-old me know to keep him talking and telling stories as only he could?

I wonder how many people will appreciate this little tape. I've already started looking up how to transfer it to my computer for digital distribution. Not everyone will appreciate all of the background chaos but that's what makes my family, my family. There might be a ton of chaos in the background but in the foreground, there's the story and that story was told with love and patience. And it was told for a 16 year-old granddaughter to discover 21 years later. And for that, I am thankful of that little silver tape recorder that I used to carry around and carefully record songs from each year. So I could document life for when I look back on it someday. And even though I tossed those carefully recorded tapes of music from each year, I kept a few of the tapes. I found the one that was the most important to me.

No Sound of Settling

2009-12-12T14:05:00.000-08:00

Sometimes as I'm fall asleep, I update my blog in my head. It isn't helpful to anyone but me. If I wasn't so tired, what would I write today.
Sometimes it is too personal to share with the world. Or even with the few people who read it. Sometimes it is too meaningless to share with others, even if it is a part of me. But at the end of the day, who really wants to hear about what fields were needed for what reports and how thinking in a linear fashion for hours on end to make others understand wore at the edges of my mental fabric?

Really. Thinking linearly helps me but also takes the maximum capacity that I have sometimes. Does that help explain things about how I write, think and act sometimes? Maybe. There have been so many whorlwinds surrounding me lately I don't know how to settle on just one. I have friends being laid off, some are leaving, some are reaching out again. One part of that breaks my heart and the other makes it rejoice as only a call or a note from a good friend can.

It has also been interesting lately, the times I've read about how selfish and shallow single people can be. With no one else to worry about but themselves, they are cast aside as not knowing what depths can truly contain. Is this true? I understand why it would be said just as I understand where it's coming from. But the part of me who is single fights agains the label even as others have tried to sew it on, tight. Yes, I may appear selfish. Yes, I suppose I could appear shallow to some. But to assume that just because someone doesn't have a partner or children means that they don't know the depth of what life contains, that makes me incredibly sad. Is it FMS (fear of missing something) or is it that I know myself and my capacities, which have been stretched in many ways lately, and I hope that isn't true.

Jerry Seinfeld mentioned it as part of his act when he was here last weekend and everyone around me laughed and shook their heads, silly single people. Then, after the performance, my friend and I went out to a bar where we ran into an old friend and enjoyed good conversations while everyone else went home to their families. Would I trade it? Possibly. But I'm not looking for just any family. It isn't that I am not willing to give up my life as it is now - it's that I'm not willing to give up what is important to me and settle for something less, with someone less. If all those other people who laugh so hard lately and condescend so well, if all of them apparently didn't settle then don't judge me for doing the same.

With or Without You

2009-10-26T23:36:00.000-07:00

It's late but I can't back away from the computer. I'm procrastinating while I listen (and watch) the U2 concert on YouTube. Right now they're singing one of my favorite songs, "With or Without You" which always reminds me of being on an airplane flying to race in Sacramento with my crew team. In typical college girl fashion, I was staring out the window listening to the song on my CD player, lamenting over whether or not a tall cute boy liked me as I watched the state of California slip by below me.

Now I'm long out of college (twice) and enjoying the fact that I'm watching the concert online that I was just at last night. Crazy world we live in now. There were so many moments during the concert that I think I missed and now I listen to it, enjoying it almost more than I did when I was there in the middle of 95,000 people at the Rose Bowl.

There is something so powerful about words and songs that can reach out and capture meanings that frame an emotion so eloquently that we are left with nothing else to say. Yesterday was a festival and a party that ended with the largest concert the Rose Bowl has ever had. Art for the sake of art? For the sake of money? To do what no one else is doing at a time when no one else is doing it? Excess? The cost of putting on the concert alone is enough to make normal bands back off. The quote I read was that they already have the money they need to live comfortably so they decided to put on a great show for their fans.

I like to believe that is true. But then, I frequently prefer to believe in good versus greed. Entertainment for the sake of entertainment. Art, entertainment, global politics. I went out on a date recently and surveyed the guy's house, surprised at how perfect every detail was. It wasn't until later that I realized in shock that he didn't have a single book in his house.
No books! Who lives that way? I have been on a date with a guy who had books stacked high on every surface (including paths made on the floor to get in and out of a few rooms). Excess isn't attactive either, but he doesn't read. As someone who relishes everything about a well written word (or a book full of them), I was shocked and dismayed. While I know what I like isn't a criteria but I never had "likes to read" on my list of requirements - it wouldn't occur to me that someone wouldn't like to read, not even a little. Of course to be fair, he does work hard at learning new things - just not necessarily what is in books.

And I can easily admit that my book list isn't necessarily admirable or high literature, but it's books I enjoy at different times, each for a different reason. Books have the power to make me remember where I was when I read it the first time, or the last. LIke music. Like art. Like all creative endeavors, whether they're done well or not, as long as they make you feel something.

"I cant believe the news today, Oh, I cant close my eyes and make it go away, How long...
How long must we sing this song? How long? how long...cause tonight...we can be as one
Tonight...

Broken bottles under childrens feet, Bodies strewn across the dead end street, But I wont heed the battle call, It puts my back up, Puts my back up against the wall, Sunday, bloody sunday..."

20 Years Ago - Earthquakes

2009-10-18T21:10:00.000-07:00

Yesterday was the 20th Anniversary of the Loma Prieta Earthquake of 1989. It was noted on several newspapers in the area, including:
The Santa Cruz Sentinel (hometown paper)
The San Francisco Chronicle
Red Cross Website
LA Times - blogs

Each one of them have a "where were you?" section and as I read through them I realize how different the earthquake coverage would have been now versus then. Even if we didn't have cell coverage because the towers were down, people would have found a way to Twitter, Facebook or email their family and friends that we were safe. We might have known sooner the extent of the damage. And people would have known we were without electricity and water for several days.

Where were you when the Loma Prieta struck? Not everyone remembers, not everyone knows that at 5:04pm 20 years ago we were all together experiencing different aspects of the same event. Ceiling tiles falling down around me. Staring at the ceiling and the walls, standing in the doorway, sharing it with someone who I didn't couldn't have told you who it was only a few minutes later. All I know is that it lasted forever.

Lately I've been trying to write more that dives below the surface for memories, for events without running away from memories that scare me. Clearly, I'm still avoiding them. But in some ways - despite the number of times I've talked about it in the past 20 years - it remains personal to me. Moments of fear, of hearing helicopters flying so low overhead so they rattle the windows and our nerves. So many aftershocks that sound the same, that feel the same. I did nothing but read about it at the time but now, 20 years later, I can't. I have no desire to. Just in case, someday - the links recapping the earthquake I lived through are here in one place.

Life and Times and Procrastination?

2009-09-21T17:53:00.000-07:00

So I'm not doing as well as I should at blogging. I could make excuses but what's the point? I'm not sure if my apathy towards my own blog has left me with any followers. Will I be better? Yes. I promise. Will it be more interesting? One can only hope.

The good news though as I watch the sun begin it's descent througth the sky (only important because I now have to duck my head behind my computer so as to avoid having my eyes burnt while still in their sockets) is that I am done paddling for the season and while I miss it already and have been frantically trying to figure out what's next, I can at least stop. Stop? For a moment to treasure all that is the first day of fall.

A few weeks ago I was accosted by a friendly Starbucks employee asking if I wanted to try the pumpkin latte. I almost shrieked - do not end my summer early with your promises of exotic spices that warm us up on fall days. Not when it's 80 degrees outside! (Sorry to my friends in Colorado because the word on Facebook is that it snowed today). But today it is officially fall and while I know of very few people who are happy about this, I take comfort in the fact that summer and all of it's long bright days and paddling with dolphins won't be that far away. Besides, I live in Southern California, who am I kidding. I also take comfort in the fact that chances of it being 80 degrees in November are also high.

Here's to Fall!

Putting a Stake in it

2009-08-20T19:13:00.000-07:00

It's the middle of August, already. And rounding into the final third. The glass isn't half full or half empty - it's simply moving to quickly to grab. This isn't a tirade about all the pressures of modern life, from someone who works long hours, tries (in a mediocre way) to Twitter, blog and keep up with friends on Facebook and Linked In. All that ads to my life and is exciting in more ways than I care to count.

Instead it is simply the fact that in the past year, I feel things slipping through my fingers and I worry already that someday it will be gone.

A life without regrets? I have a few already and it isn't in my nature to want to continue to rack up any more.

What can I do with it? Take note of every day, every moment and make sure it is different from the last. And if it isn't different, at least make sure that it's damn special and even amid all the stress, fun, and life - that the things most important to me aren't pushed to the side - or slip away from me like time is.

And in the meantime if you can, take a break. Read a little, run a little, breath a little. Right now all of that is much harder to find the time to do than I care to admit. But if I can find pleasure in the coffee I drink on my way to work while stuck in traffic because the smell of it and how the sweat of the ice makes my hand wet reminds me of a hot summer day in Colorado when I had time to stop. And read. Listen to a great song. And relax. And to smile at the cute boy across from me who smiled back. Then for that second in traffic in the morning, a million years later and a thousand miles away, just for that moment I can relax and be happy.

The trick is just not forgetting it.

Reason #125 Why I'm Single

2009-08-07T22:13:00.000-07:00

...It's Friday night and there I was in Bed Bath & Beyond (without my coupon they send out millions of) shopping for a snuggy. That I would take home and decorate (after a Friday night trip to Michael's for a glue-gun and sparkles). So I can wear it in public tomorrow night at a No Doubt concert.

There are so many things wrong with this, I'm not even sure where to start.

Simple Things

2009-07-29T22:53:00.000-07:00

Relaxing on my couch listening to music from Pandora, with the window open on this peaceful summer night, I realize how nice it is to just stop. And appreciate all that there is. For so long (as long as I can remember?), my life has been busy and it keeps getting busier and busier. I'm not sure how to make it slow down, how to find time for myself, for long walks, for yoga, for art, for all the other things I want to do.

For writing. For sanity, for cooking, working out, for friends and family.

And yet, when I look around and look past all I want to do and how frustrated it makes me that I can't do it all, I look down and see all I appreciate. All of those things that I love, take for granted even when I don't mean to, embrace and enthusiastically support. All of those people who I try to surround myself with and those far away. There is so much to be thankful for that I forget. The colorful flowers on my desk at work serve as a small reminder of all the life there is to be had and all the life that in my own way, I manage to live.

Pandora's music channel tonight is all retro and bluesy. Romantic, gritty, sultry and with a backbone. It makes me want to dance, sing, cook, and open my computer to write. Amy Winehouse sings about some unholy war, Feist sings about my moon my man, while Etta James, Bob Marley and Adele sing about love.

Good music is also something I truly appreciate. As is the offer of help from a friend today - those don't come around very often and it also made me pause and appreciate the moment, the offer, the friend.

It really is the simple things that are so easy to overlook and take for granted. When really all I want to do is embrace them (as I'm skipping over them on my way to go to where ever it is I'm supposed to be).

A Word About Birthdays

2009-07-26T23:47:00.000-07:00

As I start writing this I have less than 30 minutes left of being 36. Then the clock ticks forward, moving me from my mid-30s to my late 30s. It's a place I'm not comfortable with but it certainly has been making me think a lot lately. About where I am, who I am, who I want to be, and what I'm proud of and what I've lost touch with.

This past weekend, my grandmother turned 90 and as all of her offspring gathered in one place to celebrate her, she watched proudly, safe and surrounded by those who love her. And we, we as her children, her grandchildren, great-grandchildren laughed, talked and in some cases, tried to remember who each other was. This wasn't about taking on roles that we've had in the past, but instead connecting with those we hadn't seen in a while - and more importantly getting all together for an event of celebration instead of death.

It still made me think. I'm only turning 37 in a few minutes now, and without all of the fan-fair of one turning 90. But in my own little way, I am turning back for a minute to see what's missing from my life as I had hoped it would turn out. Because in doing that I can work on pulling on those dreams I had long ago and sketch the outlines so I can work on filling them in to give them the color and vitality needed to live.

While there are some I can't control, it is the ones I can that have me tugging at the lines in the pencil to put them down on paper. To relax and watch them grow. Or maybe, just to relax. To stop movingtalkingthinking if only for just one minute at a time.

Late 30s don't ring true since that isn't how I feel and i hope that it isn't how I appear. It really is just a number in most cases. Although I have high hopes and mid-year re-connections with my goals for the year.

The first one, and one of the most important to me since it involves my sense of self to the essence of my soul? I've already started it. Write now.

RIP Michael

2009-06-29T22:13:00.000-07:00

It's been four days since the news broke.

Michael Jackson has died. It echoed from every corner.
Michael Jackson has died. The words fell from shocked lips, from headlines, from the radio, tv, internet, twitter, street corners - everywhere where people connected with each other.

Michael Jackson has died? The question faded from my lips as I read the text from my friend. How? When? Isn't he too young to die? Suicide?

Such a rapid end to such a mysterious life. You always want the fallen to be given the chance to make amends. And MJ fell hard. All his talent and all his fame couldn't pull the pieces together again for him as the world watched his trial and heard the accusations.

But when I close my eyes, I remember how proud I was to walk into the record store and lay my money onto the counter. Thriller came out in 1982, I was 10 and sometime around the age of 11, I had heard enough. I earned enough money to save up and buy a copy of Thriller. I tore the plastic wrapper off in the car and waited impatiently for the short drive home so I could run into my room and start playing it.

I didn't realize he was 50. In my mind, the King of Pop hadn't aged past his early 40s. Despite all of the issues and horrible things that surrounded his life, I just can't get past the memories of listening to my first record. Of dancing around to Thriller, Billy Jean, Beat It, or even PYT. I wasn't allowed to have posters of boys up on my walls, otherwise I would have definitely had one of him up. Whether it was from Thriller, or the pink one with him in yellow (ahh the pastels of the early 80s), it would absolutely have been MJ on the walls (eventually along with Tom Cruise, the boys from Wham! and Ah-ha, and more).

The talent, the dancing, the music and the overall ability to truly distinguish oneself as a global super-star. I pray that in death, Michael can find the peace that he never appeared to find in life. And that the talent he have and what he gave to the world is what is remembered.

A Willow Deeply Scarred,
Somebody's Broken Heart
And A Washed-Out Dream
(Washed-Out Dream)
They Follow The Pattern Of
The Wind, Ya' See
Cause They Got No Place
To Be
That's Why I'm Starting With
Me
(Starting With Me!)

I'm Starting With The Man In
The Mirror
(Ooh!)
I'm Asking Him To Change
His Ways

Masters of the Obvious

2009-05-23T22:42:00.000-07:00

This past month has been such a blur of Power Point and planning that I'm thinking and dreaming in bullet points. I've sat at my desk at work for hours each day, becoming one with my chair eating more dinners than I care to remember consisting of trailmix. In some ways it has all the food groups included. The few times I did venture outside of the work-home-work-home circle, I snuck one or two workouts in and, of course, refills of my life blood - coffee. Even the decaf kind - if you drink enough of it, I'm sure I get some level of caffeine.

It is on those few times I left my circle of fun and my office chair that I ran into random encounters. As if people knew I wasn't getting out much, they conspired to make those experiences more...memorable. OR, there's something in the coffee/water that is making people tell me things about myself.

It was before all the true craziness began, when I was sleeping six hours a night instead of four. On Tuesday morning I crawled out of bed for my six a.m. workout, showered, drove to La Jolla, picked up my dry-cleaning and stopped at Peet's for coffee. I was just handed my precious iced-decaf Americano and was standing there, holding my coffee, not quite awake despite all I'd done - it was barely 8 a.m. I waited for access to the yellow packets of Splenda. A tall older man (around 70) stood in front of the counter, blocking my access. He noticed this and turned to move out of my way. But instead he stopped, looked at me and said, "you're really tall!" I agreed politely and he continued, "No, you're really tall. You're eye-level."

Yes, I showed him my tall shoes that made me 6'4". He moved out of my way and I grabbed three yellow packets, tore them open and was pouring them into my coffee. He said one more thing to me that I missed. "Pardon?" I said, looking up. "Marry me." I started laughing because I had no idea how to respond. Really, a proposal because I'm tall. Really? An 8 a.m. proposal over my iced Americano, a thousand witty retorts came to me as I drove away.

A week later, I went to Starbucks near my house. The rule is I can only stop if there's a parking space readily accessible. It happens about 50 percent of the time. This time I parked my little car right in front, went in and got my Americano. At the counter, once again grabbing my three packets of Splenda, I noticed the woman next to me looking up at me. The short blond lesbian smiled at me and said, "wow, you're really tall."

I laughed to myself wondering how this encounter would go. Would she propose like the older man had done? I agreed that I am tall and she added, "I've always wanted to be taller," then she cocked her head and said, I guess people always want more." Yes, most of the time, but I can think of more than a few exceptions to that statement. I smiled down at her from my apparently novel and gigantic height. She looked shocked when I told her to have a good day, perhaps she was pondering what it would be like to live as an amazon. I left feeling oddly disappointed with just a "wow, you're really really tall." Last time I got a proposal, I mean really.

Proving that the third time isn't always the charm when it comes to people telling me things randomly came just last night. Finally escaping work from the week I joined my friends for the Cowboy Mouth concert. Front and center, we danced and danced. This guy who kept staring at me came up during the last song to yell in my ear that he was staring because he thinks I'm gorgeous, especially my eyes. He yelled that to me over the music before taking the few steps back to his petite girlfriend. When I saw him do that, my eyes that he said he liked so much rolled as I went back to dancing to the music and conning the guy next to me out of his beads. Who leans over to tell another woman she's attractive when he's with his girlfriend? I'm torn, on one hand it was a nice complement which is I'm sure how he meant it. On the other hand it's odd.

It isn't as odd as the cab driver who drove me home at the end of the night. With my friends asleep on every inch of furniture at C's house, I opted for the short ride home to be able to sleep in my own bed instead of share Poncho's dog bed, or the couch with A. which were looking like my only two options. Jumping in the first cab I found, I promptly started talking with the cab driver. He said something about my being tall. "In Ethiopia, we call tall women, 'cylinders', I'm not sure why, we just do. What do you call tall women here?"

I told him we call tall women "beautiful" here. Because, why not. At his insistence, I found myself thinking of all the names I've been called throughout my life, Jolly Green Giant (in junior high when I made the mistake of wearing a green shirt one day, it was years before I wore the color again), Giant, Tall drink of water, Giantess (thanks Luke), Amazon (the name that I finally gave up and embraced), and the list goes on. I settled on "Amazon" since it was the simplest and was the one I've heard the most. Easiest until he said, "after a river? Why because it's a long river?" I didn't feel like explaining the mythological amazonian women and briefly contemplated the Wonder Woman version but in the end I just let it go. We were at my house then anyways. I paid him and climbed out of the cab. As I walked to my front door, I heard him shout, "Good Night Cynlinder!"

I'm not sure what to make of all the personally directed comments lately. My fingers were crossed for the third time since, like Goldilocks, the first one was too old, the second one played for the wrong team, and the third one... Well the third one is a combined evening of randomness. There are days when I worry my life has become too normal. That a shred of something unique needs to happen to remind me I haven't become someone else. Then the tide comes in and it is unstoppable. And now I have a new name to add to the list of things I've been called because I'm tall. What more could a girl ask for? (Well, except for that time that's a charm, that would be nice).

Decisions Rise Up (part two)

2009-04-25T23:08:00.000-07:00

The first email came and went. I deleted it promptly from the inbox on the dating site. It simply read, "You have a great smile. I'll be down in your city this week. Call me and we can go to lunch, 312.555.1212, Bill." The least he could have done was personalize it. I pictured him sending it to all the women he could find in San Diego trying to set up a hook up opportunity when he's in town.

Some days I'm a little jaded.

Two days later he emailed again. And the following week he sent another email this time he acknowledged his previous email and said he likes tall women and he loves my smile.

Okay fine, he's actually being specific now. I responded with a short and to the point, "too bad I missed you when you were here.." and so on. He emailed back saying he was going to be in San Diego the next week. Call him and we'll set up drinks or dinner one night.

That weekend I did. I called him and we talked for about 10 minutes. It went fine but I supposed I should have known and I still wonder if I could have known had I talked to him longer. I had to have known but I was trying to be more open. My friends had discussed being open and how dating can be a numbers game. I tried to agree and against my better judgement, this was my first attempt into this new less selective, more open dating.

Tuesday night after work I called him and we agreed on a time. He was having trouble understanding my directions to the restaurant on the harbor so I gave him directions to my street where I met him outside and introduced myself. At 6'4", he was the first guy I've met who was taller than me in a long time. He smiled and he was better looking than in his photos. I smiled back. He was also my age - another novelty, not too young or two old.
There is such a thing as getting what you ask for. He handed me a red rose and a candle. He also held a bottle of wine and a DVD. A movie? No, his audition tape that he'd hoped to use as an ice-breaker but I didn't want him in my place since I didn't know him. A little odd but so be it.

I drove us to the restaurant. He talked non-stop. In rhyme. My car was filled with rhyme that had been rejected by Dr. Sueuss. At the restaurant, he sat down at the table next to me and reached over, rubbing my back. Before the waiter could leave, Bill grabbed his arm opened the menu and then ordered soup and a beer. Then he sent the waiter away.

I watched the waiter walk away and looked at Bill. "What about my beer?" I asked.
He looked at me confused, not understanding my words or the tone behind them. When the waiter came back by with the soup and beer, I requested my glass of wine. Firmly and slightly irritated. In the meantime, Bill kept talking and rhyming and talking. He wants a girlfriend, can't wait to have one.

Finally I placed my hand on his arm, Bill stopped talking and looked at me. "You need to relax. You're on a date right now. Stop talking about how much you want a girlfriend, stop talking in rhyme. Just relax and be yourself. You never know what will happen, but you need to relax."

"You're right, you're right."
It was then that i started asking what he does for work. And it was then that I simultaneously regretted and fell in love with his answer.
"I'm a dancer."
"A dancer? What kind of dancer?" Worried.
"I'm Dentalman."
"I'm sorry, what?"
"I'm Dentalman. I work for a dental referral company and I dance on the street corner in Santa Monica."
"I'm sorry, what?" I was starting to feel hard of hearing. How many times could I repeat the question?
"I'm Dentalman, I'm a superhero. I wear a costume and I dance on the street corner. People love me. Sometimes people drive around the block several times to watch me dance. I love entertaining people."
"Of course you're Dentalman." Somewhere, a long time ago, perhaps in a past life, I racked up a lot of bad karma points that I've been paying for through my dating life.

He looked proud though and I, God help me. I was on to a potentially great story.

Decisions Rise Up (part one)

2009-04-13T23:29:00.000-07:00

I saw the decision I’d made months before dancing in front of me. It wore a cape, tights and a stuffed “Finding Nemo” fish hat. As his arms flailed in time to the music, kind of, his tongue and head wagged and bobbed in opposite directions.

My mouth gaped open like the fish on his head.
I tugged on my friend Nicole’s sleeve, almost pulling her arm off the rest between our seats.
“That’s. Dental Man.” I managed to gasp.
“Dental Man?” She turned to the direction where I stared. “That’s Dental Man? He’s here?”
“Yes!” I hissed at her, my horror coming out in a burst of words. “As part of his job, he dances at professional sporting events around town.” It was at that point I realized that if I could see him, he could see me and I ducked my head for once wishing I still wore baseball caps instead of the fashion statement short brimmed hat I currently wore. My head was all the way down before I felt safely hidden. As Nicole laughed, I shook my head in horror.

The music stopped and I heard the game play begin. I lifted my head and glanced down the row of seats. Dental Man had sat back down in his seat to watch the game. A smile on his face as he glanced around, proud of the job he was doing. He sat one section over in the same row I was in. Of all the places in the stadium, he was merely 20 feet away from me and as much as I love hockey, I couldn’t help but stare at the part of his knees I could see sticking out beyond other people’s in the isle.

When the game play ended and the music began, he jumped back to his feet and the dancing began again. The tween sitting next to me stretched her arm out almost in front of me, and pressed her black painted fingernails down on her Sidekick phone to record the scene. On our other side, a woman glanced at our shocked faces, “He’s at every game,” she only slightly was smuggly informing us. “He stops as soon as the play starts and he’s a nice guy.” She paused calmly, clearly being the hockey section regular who could inform the rest of us about Dental Man.

I bet I could tell her a few things about Dental Man that she wouldn’t know.

Artistic Hypocrate or Procrastinator?

2009-03-29T21:50:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, in the middle of a conversation with a relatively new person I'd met lately, he asked me two questions that threw me for a complete standstill, each in its own way.

The first was simple, "what do you do with your free time?" I don't know if I ever even answered his question. It was such an easy question and yet I pictured my last few weeks of running from place to place, of five minute showers and five hours of sleep each night. The words to answer his question collided in my brain and I don't know if I ever gave him a complete answer. I said something about work, about friends, about the gym but that didn't begin to cover it at all. I wondered if it was even an option to begin explaining about my inability to keep my time "free."

Except for today. Today, I guarded the afternoon with everything I had and I used it in the best possible way. I laid around my house reading. I relaxed and tried to sleep. Somehow the laundry I need to do didn't get done, nothing did. Except for me - I tried to recharge myself in the only way I knew how -by being alone and quiet without the temptation of life, friends and all of the other things that are so important to me. I watched the movie I've been holding on to for the past few months. Netflix hasn't said anything but I'm sure they want it back at some point. Although maybe not since I just keep returning the other one while hanging on to the first. The one with the subtitles that might make me a little smarter.

The second question was whether or not I was artistic at all. Yes! I said defiantly but then I couldn't really answer the how. I don't paint any more although occasionally I pull out my sketchpad and pretend. But those times are mainly limited to my daydreams. It isn't like I'm craftsy and knitting or scrapbooking my way around town. I couldn't begin to explain my occasional collage. So I said I write. Which is also mostly a lie. Because then I couldn't really explain what I write since the vast majority is limited to this blog. Does that mean that I don't write? Or that I do and it is just in a limited capacity because I'm incapable of leaving time for it.

Ahh the discipline of doing things that don't involve a million other people. Or rather, ahhh the discipline to remember how much I do enjoy it when I make myself take the time.

Last night I spent some time reflecting on those questions and how I felt about the answers. I couldn't very well answer "No" to the artistic question. That isn't in my nature and it would be a lie to myself even though it caused a little pain to realize how far away I've gotten from those things that are so very much a part of who I am. Sometimes it's the little reminders we need sometimes that come from the least expected places that can make the biggest difference.

The Red Curb of My Enthusiasm

2009-03-27T22:11:00.000-07:00

When the meeting ended at the end of the day I walked out laughing with the team from San Francisco. I was holding a small cup of strawberries and chatting about how they were my favorite. I plucked one out and held it carefully, about to take a bite. That's when my heel landed on the curb as I went to hop off it. That's when I went down. One second I was standing, eyeing the red of the berry, the next second I was down on a freshly painted red and had managed to get it all over my brown leather shoes, and my brown suit pants.

I jumped up quickly, "I'm okay, I'm okay." And I looked around, where are the signs? When I didn't see any I ran back inside the building to call about getting a sign put up, and my clothes replaced.

There I was at work with red paint all over my suit (tall and a pain to buy since it requires hemming) and all of my shoes (a pain to buy since they were purchased at the large size shoe sale at Nordstroms which only happens once a year, and because they are shoes that fit me perfectly). And a bruise on my knee. I knew it was a funny sight with paint all over my ass, shoes and in random locations along my legs.

As soon as the San Francisco team departed, I ran to my car and changed into my workout clothes - never expecting that this is how they would be used. At the dry cleaner, the woman looked agast at me when I laid out the pants to see if she could remove the paint from it. "We can't remove paint from clothes" she said and smiled apologetically. I had already knew what she'd say before she said it, it really was a last ditch effort to get it removed. I sighed and left. I'd been marked by red industrial paint that was made to last. It took paint thinner to remove it from my feet.

And yet all I can do is shake my head at myself. Of course it happened to me - who else would it have happened to?

2009-03-22T22:11:00.001-07:00

Lately I've been watching friends drifting around me. Some I try to pin down and keep around me - others I watch the thin cords that bind our friendship stretch tight. Sometimes I wonder if there's more I could have done and other times I'm tempted to let go. It simply becomes too much work to hold on to the remaining threads, they pull too tightly in my hands.

It has been a while since I've let any go. There's one that I'm watching now and am tempted but I think there's more to that friend that he's let on.

Then there's the ones who move. Who have moved away in the past year in droves and still more are leaving. I know that many years ago I packed up and moved away from friends in Colorado who still mean more to me than I am sometimes able to admit. Still, it is never easy to say goodbye to good friends and watch them move either to a near by state or to the other side of the country.

And then you add the stress of life, of families, of work, of the economy on top of it and everything becomes pulled tight. My trip to see my parents last weekend proved more stressful than I ever thought possible. I still think I'm exhausted from it. I watched my parents go through the very final stages of closing down their business after 23 years of doing everything under the sun to keep it open. The past few years (or at least months), it has been staying alive under prayers, luck and sheer will power I think. But now, in this economy it finally had to be closed - long past its time.

I don't know if I'll ever forget the stress it has caused or how brave my parents have been - no matter what my opinion was about how the closing of the shop was handled. Everywhere there are people talking about how awful the times are that we're living in. But there are still moments of good decisions that can be made. An element of hope still alive in many. And there's daily moments of bravery that occur in even the most futile situations.

Whether it is a the person interviewing for the job they really want, the couple closing their store with no sign on the horizon for what they'll do next, the married woman knowing she needs out to save herself and those she loves, or the single woman learning to admit she needs help with her dating life. The letting go in order to move ahead. They are all moments of bravery and they happen every day.

Even if, sometimes it means good friends are moving away from me. Those cords of friendship, they still remain strong when they need to.

A Story to be Told

2009-02-21T22:39:00.000-08:00

The envelope had my grandmother's writing on it. The card inside had a bunny on it and a few simple words about spring. It was cute and a fun card from a woman who loves me and can't get to the store very easily. It means all the more that she included a card. She could have just put the picture in a regular piece of paper with a short note.

It was the photo that made me stop. It was a small black and white picture of my grandma, looking like my mom when she was young. "1930" it reads at the top and "Me and Betty" on the bottom. In her arms is a small baby. She's holding the baby for the camera, a smile on her face and her hair falling in her face. On the card she wrote that she was 11 years old and holding her niece. They were living outside of Oakdale and her dad was growing cotton on the farm they were living on. The words card and her picture create a different world. One where she roller-skated up and down the road in front of their house since there weren't many kids around. One where 11 year old Joy played and worked in the house and on the farm.

Long ago I asked both of my grandmothers to write down what they could remember about their past and growing up. Both started it for me but I never knew what happened to either of their writings. Grandma L.'s got lost when she died - I sometimes wonder if one of my Aunts' have it. Grandma Joy started writing for me for a while but then stopped. I also don't know what happened to it but I hope that sometimes she returns to it to add more about her life. A life that I can't help but want to more about the day to day stories, or maybe the year to year stories. These stories that are a part of me and run through my blood. Like history, they are something I don't want to forget even without knowing them now.

I hold in my hands a fragment of a piece of one. The moment in time in 1930 where everything stopped and my grandmother, smiling held her niece up for the camera. Hair almost falling into her eyes and a smile that holds hope and happiness.

Happy Valentine's Day!

2009-02-14T21:14:00.000-08:00

And the surprising part is that it was. If you ignore the women gushing and well, gushing over flowers, proposals etc. (I know what you're thinking, but I'm not a bitter betty, I just don't like gushing) then it actually can be fun.

Or maybe it's just that today was my kind of Valentine's Day. There's a few ways it could have been better - for example, if I could have added the Valentine's Day Massacre Race to the plans. But really, my day centered around going to a hockey game in L.A.. And it was the best kind of hockey there is - the seats were great and the game was filled with several fights (yeah! Fights!), it had to go into overtime, and it included a shoot-out to break the tie! Did I mention the fights?

Or what about the proposals that were going on throughout the hockey game? My favorite was the couple who called friends and family after he proposed. Her new ring caught the lights as she reached up to wipe a tear off her face. And in the background of all their calls, of his proposal and her acceptance was the sound of hockey players smashing each other into the boards and the ice. It didn't include any romance but I suppose to the couple in their matching hockey jerseys, it did.

Of course V-day wasn't complete without coming back to meet friends at a good Mexican restaurant complete with the required margaritas when I got back to San Diego.

I mean there's good ways to spend the day, actually any day and a bad way. Today, today was a great day.

Sent from my iPhone

Missing Sarah

2009-02-13T23:44:00.000-08:00

This week has been one of ups and downs. Of Grammy highs and conflicted lows. Those were made worse by the leftover fatigue from the Grammy's. I watched more bands than I ever hoped to see. Then I came back and folded into my life. A crumpled dress in need of a dry-cleaner, make up slowly removed at the end of the night and music that stayed with me even into my dreams every night as I slept.

Work has called this week. Not with tremendously long hours, those were last week. But still with stress and some work that radiates out in pulses. Surrounding us and yet never pulling us down this week. The mandatory dinner is what disrupted my week. A surprise visit from Sarah gave me something to look forward to. We would drive up to meet Anne and the three of us, friends for over 10 years could have dinner for the night and catch up. Remembering and laughing. I had to cancel so they went to lunch without me, as they should have. Everything at work went well but I do miss my friend and the lost opportunity to see Sarah and her little girl. There isn't regret or resentment, only a little sadness from missing a good friend.

I am peaceful though, knowing that the next time I get to see her, I'll appreciate it even more - as I do all of my far away friends. So S. I hope your trip here is fabulous and that I get to see you soon. Safe travels.

Grammy's

2009-02-09T02:10:00.000-08:00

I'm in awe of the fact that I didn't know it was possible to see all of the artists we saw in a lifetime, let alone in one night. I can't even keep track: U2, Coldplay, Kanye, Estelle, Neil Diamond, JT, Stevie Wonder, Jennifer Hudson, Jonas Brothers, Timbaland, Jennifer Hudson, Lil' Wayne, Katie Perry, Al Green, Smokey Robinson and Jamie Foxx (what?), Taylor Swift and Miley Cyrus, Paul McCartney and David Grohl, Radiohead, Adele, Carrie Underwood and I know I'm missing a ton of others. What other night could you sing along to Paul McCartney, Neil Diamond and Stevie Wonder?

It was a night to be remembered. And while K. and I managed to spend more time getting ready for the Grammy's than we did actually there, the entire event was well worth it. We drove up, stopping along the way to add glamour to our step. People stopped us in the mall to ask where we got our make-up done. As my fantastic MAC make-up artist, Mandy was making my eyes pop like they never have before, a woman suddenly appeared and couldn't stop staring. She was leaving no real personal space for Mandy and would frequently reach out and pat my shoulder. Her kids would come up, drag her away for a minute but she would always find her way back, so infatuated with the process. Eventually her kids gave up and I watched as they left the store and went into the mall to sit and wait. I could almost hear their sighs of frustraion over the music. The mom on the other hand kept her place at Mandy's elbow, something that made me nervous when Mandy started applying the fake eyelashes. If someone is going to have glue that close to my eye, I'd prefer it if she had room to work comfortably.

After make-up was hair. Where at one point my stylist declared that Kara and I were so much fun she wished we lived in the area. Before we left she ran off to get me her card in case we ever came back through. It was fun being the glamorous one since it so rarely ever happens in one's life. Or at least in my life. I was determined to remember every aspect of the day even as we floated our way through it. Make-up, hair, dress. Drive to LA. Park, walk. Ta Da, you're at the grammy's!

And on this night where a million visions and songs dance their way through my head as I try to sleep, I know just how very fortunate I am. And for tha I am grateful.

Besides, on our way to dinner after the Grammy's, we blasted the "losers" whose songs I had in my ipod. If those are losers, then maybe being the winner isn't always the best option.

Viva la Vida.

25 Things

2009-01-28T18:02:00.000-08:00

Laziest blog post ever. I stole this from my Facebook list and am re-purposing it for my blog. I figured it would give me a chance to eventually start writing each of the stories that go along with some of the things on my list. The instructions for this was to write a list of 25 random things about myself. So here it is.

I hate making lists - as soon as I write them I leave them places which is irritating.
I collect stories the way other people collect...collectable stuff. I keep them tagged in my head for whenever they might be needed. While I realize that not every situation requires a story or five I like to have them on hand just in case.
Since moving back to San Diego I have met two superheroes. The first I accidentally went on a date with - he wore a cape and tights (not on the date) as part of his day job. He also had a superhero vehicle which could have been awesome but it was not. The second one referred to himself as "Mighty Mouse". He was a short, drunk homeless man with a gold front tooth. It glinted in the sun when he smiled up at me.
Strangers like to talk to me.
I only like being alone when it is by my choice, not when everyone else is busy.
Books, movies, art and music make me happy.
My close friends and family make me happier. They mean the world to me and for them I'll do just about anything.
I want to live in another country, if only for a little while.
I once got my head stuck in the Empire State Building.
I dream of falling in love again, sun-filled days spent on the water and of being able to eat a giant platter of the best cheeses.
It was discovered a few years ago that I am allergic to dairy, soy and wheat. Since then, hummus has become a food group.
When it first came out, I read the fourth Harry Potter book in 24 hours.
I'm at my best when I'm on the water - and have become especially talented at moving boats (rowing and outriggers) around Mission Bay.
A crazy psychic in a coat closet at a rave told me I'd never fall in love since I'm guarded like the Starship Enterprise with its force-shields up. That crazy coat-closet psychic can suck it.
I love late nights spent laughing with good friends. And I love seeing friends I haven't seen in forever when it's like they (or I) never left.
I once accidentally sent my boss an e-card (in the old Internet days) that read, "I like sex, I like to thank you." Never have I wished the earth would swallow me up like I did once I realized what it said - after it had already been sent.
ADHD is both a blessing and a curse. Mostly for the people around me - I rarely notice it. Oohh shiny!
People who know me really well have joined forces to keep caffeine away from me. But when I'm feeling mischievous I'll sneak a little - very occasionally. It is my drug of choice.
When I decide on something, I have willpower that can bend steel.
I'm frequently too competitive/stubborn/proud for my own good.
The long process of recovering from almost drowning scared me more than the incident itself.
For almost a year I lived in Colorado, went to school in Indiana and worked out of New York.
I dream of writing a book but settle for random lists and other similar procrastination techniques.
I was the first person in my family to graduate from college and when I did my parents got to walk up to the stage to get my diploma with me. It meant more than anything to have them there.
I am utterly and completely incapable of doing the same thing the same way twice.
I don't read directions if I can help it.

A New Era

2009-01-27T00:02:00.000-08:00

So much has changed in the past week and yet so much remains the same. In one day the world stopped - we all stopped and watched with our breath held as Barack Obama became President Obama. It was the ending of one of the greatest marketing campaigns of all time and even as jaded and cynical as I can be, I ate it up along with all of those around me. Driving to work I listened on the radio willing the inauguration to move along faster so I could hear Obama sworn in and his speech.

As it turned out, it took me until the weekend to fully grasp the speech and to watch him give it. I devoured the text when I got my hands on it, tears filling my eyes as I read the words over and over again. Words to inspire in hard times. When I finally was able to sit down and watch it alone instead of in large crowds or as I was struggling to stay awake, I held on to each word. Seeing it as I had read it across the page of the Wall Street Journal. But also the words that were etched into my memory. I hoped thousands of fists unclenched around the world.

Even almost exactly a week later I struggle for words to capture the true emotion of the day. Of the week. Of the tide as it turns even in spite of the larger issues that have come raining down. Microsoft cut 5,000 jobs in it's first ever lay-off. And it wasn't the only company that announced significant cuts mere days after the inauguration. A new president hasn't had time to change the economy in just 24 hours.

On the TV screen his youngest daughter gave him a thumbs up at the end of his speech. Good job, Dad, way to become president. Now all you need to do is save the world. Make us proud.

Change is in the Air

2009-01-19T12:52:00.000-08:00

Tomorrow is the inaugeration. On Saturday Night Live, Seth Meyers chanted, "four more days! Four more days!" while a picture of GW was behind him. I laughed out loud.

Everywhere there is enthusiasm, images of DC and the excitement that drifts through the air, infusing everyone with change, with hope. Obama's speech after the concert yesterday was short, to the point and moving. Watching it at a friend's house, my only comment was, "Thank God he's articulate." He seconded my statement with a similar observation of his own. I felt a sting in my eyes as I listened to much needed inspirational words and was glad when I talked myself away from the tears. The words were very moving, the symbolism is everywhere and as someone who is in love with a country but not necessarily in love with much of what it's come to represent, I welcomed every word. Even the ones about the hard times. There's too much going on right now in my life and this is a happier part. Tears are unnecessary.

Tomorrow's a new day after a long journey. and yet it's also the beginning of a new one. But right now I'm not articulating it correctly. Maybe I'll try again later.

Reunions

2009-01-14T22:18:00.000-08:00

There’s a point in life where you’re old enough to know better and that while you know you won’t be this age forever, the years have kind of blurred together so on any given day you feel anywhere from 25 to 35. Just two days ago I saw a tow-truck driver who looked 12 but was probably 17. When he parked the car and stepped out of it, I did a double-take. It was one of the first times I’ve looked at someone and said, “there is no possible way you are old enough to drive.” And in this case, there is no way you’re old enough to fix my car.

Except that he was. Granted it was just a dead battery, but he fixed it.

Then today it came. It started out a good day, I picked up a friend on my way to paddling and dropped him at the uhaul rental van place so he could pick up a truck. By the time I got to the practice site, the sun reflected off the water and we all jumped into the canoes ready to enjoy Southern California in the middle of January. When we paddled out of the jetty we noticed that our ama was loose so while two canoes hooked up for an on-the-water quick fix, the others in the two canoes ahead of us spotted a California gray whale. While the water was cold the air was warm and I laughed in the sun, appreciating being on the water for the first time since Catalina.

I went to lunch with friends I haven’t seen in a while. It was at this moment that it happened. Since getting my iphone, I’ve been an addict, not wanting to miss any of my friends, emails or messages at any point in time. It finally backfired.

“Holy crap!” I shouted as I read the words in the email.
It started out simple enough, “Dear Class of 1990” the next words that caught my eye were “committee for the upcoming 20th year reunion.”

I’m sorry what?

“20th year reunion.”
I screamed inside and perhaps a little on the outside since my friends in the car seemed startled.

The shock continued to come in waves throughout the day. A few friends and I emailed about it back and forth throughout the day. C. said it best when she said that 20 years is longer than how old she was when she graduated high school. The words struck a cord and even now, a few days later it has come back to haunt me, sitting in the back of my mind. Other people were always the ones who had 20th year high school reunions. Parents with kids, fat and balding men and women who try to hard to look and act young when really they had no right to since they were already old.

And now, in a year, it will be me. And I am none of those people.

The value of a coffee

2009-01-09T00:04:00.001-08:00

All week long I've been trying to write. About saying good bye to the old and welcoming with open arms the new. And not just saying good bye to the old but finally feeling like enough time has gone by for things that hurt to scar over. I'm tougher, stronger, and trying to be more open. Enough time has gone by for people who couldn't let go before, they are now realizing that life has moved passed them. That I, I have moved past them.

And as I've moved on there's been a few stumbling blocks this week. The first is my personal affront to the new University of Phoenix marketing campaign. They launched their first new campaign in a long time and they launched it with their stadium sized budget behind it. As a marketing professional in a competing university it makes me cringe. Apparently when you have the world's largest marketing budget you don't need to think as much how you do things it's just that you do it in mass. And the worst part is that a few of the things they did are things I've been trying to push through only on a smaller scale - and those things, they did those well.

The other main stumbling block came this morning. It isn't a stumbling block as much as deciding to wake up this morning and get coffee. I had several presentations to read this morning at work and knowing that, I could only picture the venti decaf Americano sitting beside me as I read through the stacks of presentation decks. I got there and got my coffee just fine. It was when I went to leave that I got stuck. Literally. My car battery had died and there was no moving it. First things first in a potentially tragic car situation, AAA is always my first thought. I called and they promised to come. Then I sat down in the morning sun at Starbucks and began to dread the arrival of the tow truck driver. The last time I rode in a tow truck the driver flirted the entire time and actually used the words, "You're from Northern California? That's why you're so cool. I did some time in San Quentin and they were much cooler up there..." Fantastic.

It wasn't until I saw the street sweeper come up the road that I remembered today was Thursday and my car was dead right under the sign that said no parking. When all those things connected in my head, I dropped my phone that I'd been playing with into my purse and ran back across the street. People started at me in my gray suit and heels as I ran to my car. Standing there with my coffee in hand, I waited until the officer writing up parking tickets finished ticketing the car next to mine. All of the other cars had moved quickly, their drivers running up and jumping in their cars to drive away. I would have if I could have. And I tried to explain that to the older, hobbit looking woman who walked up to give me a ticket. She didn't care, she started writing it up. "But I can't move my car, the battery's dead. It doesn't start."
"People park here every week. They completely disregard the signs that say not to park and run in to get their coffee," she stared pointedly at the large cup in my hand, taking in my suit, and my Coach purse. "And they get tickets because the sign clearly says not to park here after 8am."
"I've been here a while waiting for the tow truck. My car doesn't start, there's nothing I can do."
"And there's nothing I can do. My boss is back there in a white van and if he sees me give a ticket to the car next to you and not a ticket to you, I'll get in big trouble." She put the ticket under my windshield wiper.
"Can I talk to your boss? Really. My car. Doesn't. Start."
"It's too late, you already have the ticket." And she walked off.
My $2.50 coffee just cost me $42.50.

Not five minutes later the tow-truck driver showed up. He looked about 12 when he stepped out of the truck. At least he wasn't going to hit on me. He checked my battery and determined that I needed a new one. As he installed it, I wondered idly if the woman would have ticketed him as well if he'd been parked in the way of the street cleaner. It would seem that there was a limit to that logic.
With the battery, my coffee just cost me $165 and it wasn't even caffeinated.

The driver, seeing my ticket asked if I just got it, "that's messed up." He shook his head. "Why aren't you angry?"

I shook my head smiling. While I had made up a few new swear words when the woman had walked away, there just wasn't any point. I'll fight the ticket long before I accept it, but the reality is that this stuff just happens to me. I'm not sure why, or how but it does. it isn't worth getting angry about because in the end it's just all about the story. Even though I didn't need a $165 coffee, and yes that is money that could have been better used (especially the $40 for the ticket), it's just one of those things. Like in the Denver days when homeless men asked me out every time I walked by, it's one of those things. A stumbling block in some ways. A little test in the new year for me, in others.

Every now and then when I wonder if my life is settling down and turning normal, or becoming boring I look out and see things like this happen. I pick up the phone and a friend asks me if I'm aware of just how cool my life is. I look back at my pictures from Vietnam, at my friends and family and I have to agree. While I'm not looking for more, I still hold strong to the fact that there's always room for more. More adventures, more stories (I prefer the good ones), more friends who care and whom I care about, and of course there's always room for One more.

This isn't really about beginnings or endings, about stumbling blocks or stumbling around. Instead it's about life. My life and all it entails. From marketing geek to story-teller to random sport participator. It's me and now it's a new year.

2009-01-06T22:36:00.000-08:00

I think because it's the end of the year and the beginning of a new year that I keep thinking about how some things come to their natural conclusion. And others, others require the end to be forced to its unnatural conclusion.

If it's a habit then the unnatural end isn't as natural as it requires breaking. I will step away from my phone down every once in a while. I will drink less. I will stop eating sugar (hypothetically). For me those are easy. It is the other things that need to be forced that need to be ended - the relationships that linger longer than they should, those are more difficult. When one person doesn't realize that the other has moved on. When no number of words can explain it. And in this case there is no better option of which person to be - the one who is doing the breaking or the one who thinks they've been broken.

Last night the conversations and emails that I started months and months ago finally sank in. Somehow, even for basis of friendship, they never sank in. Things were over before they ever started and the attempts to stay in communication lasted longer than we dated. It was the angry backlash was what caught me off guard. Those words were just as short as my refusal to help because I couldn't find the time and wouldn't move things around to help. Refusing to help is rare for me - as rare as asking for help, really.

I thought about it all as I ran tonight. Following the path along the water, I contemplated the good and bad about relationships and the shock of receiving a backlash five months later.
I didn't contemplate it for long. There's too many things about the new year and new beginnings that are possible. As long as I learn as I go, there's more than enough to keep me busy and I suppose out of trouble.

Things in Motion Stay in Motion

2009-01-02T19:54:00.000-08:00

So it's a new year and the last two months have flown by in such a blur that I'm not sure where they went. Well some of the last two months definitely went to Vietnam and Cambodia. While others of it went to work and to jet lag since it took me at least two weeks before I could fall asleep before 2 or 3 am. My favorite was the day it took me until 7am the next morning to fall asleep. Some of the last two months have also gone to concerts, holiday parties, work events and other social activities that kind of made my head spin - but in the good kind of way. Like when you were little and would spin in circles, make yourself dizzy, fall over and then get up and do it again. Just as soon as the world steadied itself once more. And the fact that it could not be further from where I was at this time last year makes it all that much more enjoyable.

And now there's a new year. With new things to look forward to and old things to both learn from, appreciate and take with me into the new year (metaphorically speaking, although I suppose there's a few things I could take physically with me as well). There's three huge things that I can safely say I'm most appreciative of from from 2008. The first (and these are in order by time not by importance) is that I am done and have almost completely resolved all things related to the man I dated whom I thought I knew. But instead turned out to be the polar opposite of everything important to me and that I believed in. It's one thing to date the wrong person, it's another to have that person break that trust so completely that there's only fragments of it left on the ground to be swept up and packed tightly together carefully so none are lost. And the ability to trust, so that is also not lost.

The second is my Dad. As incredibly infuriated that I can get with him and that I do get with him, I am thankful that the stroke he had last year didn't have any (visible) lasting damage. While painful, scary and emotional for all of us, he is doing the best he can and living life (fortunately or unfortunately) the same as he was before.

And the third is me. I am appreciative of me. Okay that sounds wrong but after my "near drowning" incident which is how I prefer to refer to getting stuck under water and being dragged by a canoe for long enough to fill my lungs somewhat with water, I'm happy to be breathing without any difficulty these days. I know I should just be happy to be alive, and I am. It's just that "near drowning" isn't the same as "actually drowning" or even "drowning" so it's hard for me to think that I could have died even though it was probably a distinct possibility.

After I came back from Vietnam I was at my monthly bunko night and several people were talking about running different races. Half of the girls had just done a half marathon race and the rest of us were talking about an inability/lack of desire to run at all. It was then that I decided to try doing a 5k. I wish I could say I have this goal and it's going to increase to a 10k, etc. But really it isn't the running as much as the goal to finally run more than 1.5 miles (which is almost a lifetime high) without having an asthma attack. So far it has been hard and there were at least two of the several times I've gone out that I had to come back with my inhaler in hand. I'm getting better though and that's what counts in my competitive world. The best part though is that it's helping strengthen my lungs.

I'm not trying to do a year-end recap or a list of goals for the new year. For this year, I guess. But instead look back at what I'm most thankful for. In a year of such extremes, it of course is my friends and family, my job in this crazy economy that I am most appreciative of. After going to Vietnam and Cambodia and seeing how people live and often seeing smiles on their faces, it really gives an entirely different perspective on life and the importance of things in it. So Happy New Year to all of us.

A Journey

2008-11-11T00:42:00.000-08:00

This isn't a story about a metaphorical journey through space and time to a neat little ending with a moral. There isn't anything informative about it as a walk through time. It is a honest, true journey. A vacation. A trip to go between here and there and in an escape to another place that is almost in a another time. A trip to a third world and a place where my father fought in an army as a young man long ago, where so many died. And those who didn't have never forgotten.

Once. Long ago. And now, it is a vacation destination. And I can't wait to go.
You can read about it on my travel blog, which I will be updated whenever I can find the time and access.

A Time of Hope

2008-11-05T23:32:00.000-08:00

Last night I celebrated the election of Barack Obama with 39,000 other people at the Madonna concert at Petco Park. It was a celebration as Madonna sang and danced her way through the night. Stopping periodically and then at the end to chant and sing about expressing yourself. The signs on the giant screens behind her proclaimed "He Won!" while everyone screamed.

Today everyone everywhere I went is buzzing. At Trader Joes a woman on her cell phone proclaimed why Obama was so perfect since he grew up around the world and truly brought a global perspective. Others listened to the historical acceptance speech. Giddiness and pride. We did it. Everyone, all of us together as Americans. Many others who are more eloquent than I have written amazing articles about the election of the first African-American president, about the change he symbolizes and the pride he's restored for many of us. I had forgotten how good it feels to be proud of where I am from and how good it feels to be part of something so much bigger than just me.

In 2002 I traveled to Europe and found myself telling people I was Canadian in order to get out of listening to the attacks against Americans. If people found out I was American, I found myself on the defensive about a war that had just began. It was the first time that I had to slip into a position of being ashamed of where I came from and what that stood for. Six months before the world had stopped in shock and felt united in horror. And then it changed, leaving me alone in Europe trying to explain a country prone to violence to an outspoken Australian girl who felt compelled to put me - and by default the rest of the U.S. in our place.

Then came a trip to Japan. Where people gathered in the hostel to talk life, politics and the world. They looked at the few Americans with pity and sympathy. "We know you're not from that part of the U.S., otherwise you won't be here..." They'd shake their head and talk from their supperior position as Swedes, Swiss, Japanese, etc. It made me feel small and ashamed and yet in frustration there was nothing I could do to change it. How hard it was to slide into the feeling of frustration and disallusion with America and away from the ideals we grew up believing in. Around the world I held my head up high even though my heart was heavy.

But last night that pride returned like an old comfortable sweatshirt, it slid on and caught me by surprise. Keeping me warm I wondered where it had been all these past eight years. Realizing what I have again, I wondered how I lived without it. And more importantly, I hope that I never have to again.

Hopeful

2008-11-03T23:28:00.000-08:00

After the disagreement last night with my beloved mom, I have been singing the Green Day song in my head about the Moral Majority. She's voting on her believes and what the Bible dictates. I'm voting on what I believe in.

I want someone smarter than I am in the white house. Who is willing to make decisions, and is capable of making decisions that I am not, and can not make. I want someone who will remind us, and make this a time again where we are not ashamed to be Americans. Where I can travel around the world without feeling the need to explain to others about who I am. Where I don't have to lie and say I'm Canadian. And naively I need something to believe in. I need a change I can believe in.

Tomorrow is the election and I am nervous and hopeful. I want it to be here and yet am worried for what will come. I've made a few calls to support and read everything I can. Not about the bigger issues but about the small things that people need something to believe in. They need something smarter, brighter and greater than themselves who can help by becoming a human symbol of what can be. Of what dreams are possible.

Even though I disagree with many I love, I need something to believe in again - and by that I don't mean a God who's holy. I mean something that will help reunite, reconcile and revive.

And for that I pray. For that I am hopeful.

Countdown

2008-10-30T23:27:00.000-07:00

There's so many things that I'm counting down right now. Mainly it's the days to my vacation. Only the catch is that I'm not really even ready or have even started to consider that I'm leaving in a week and a half.

Do I know what I need to bring?
Do I really even know where I'm going?

There's so much research I need to do about it, that I want to do. And yet I haven't. And when I do start to think about it or doing any of the work I need to do before I go, I freeze. I'm tired. So tired. Not sure how I got this way but I am - which makes it even more difficult to focus.

And I just watched the first episode of 30 Rock for its new season. Only the problem is that sometimes I worry that I'm Liz Lemon - the single, 37 year old, childless manager. Of course her job is different but wow, sometimes I worry that I'm becoming that more and more.

But the big one is work. Where sometimes I feel more and more like I'm letting the people around me down and that isn't a great feeling. It makes me sad and yet I'm tired which makes it challenging to try harder. I suppose that's life, though right? And how I choose to respond is going to effect how I will be and who I will be in the future.

Friends and the Roll of the Dice

2008-10-21T00:10:00.000-07:00

It's funny going from seeing friends three days a week to seeing them once a month. Tonight it was my turn to host bunko and all of my friends descended at my house so I could make them dinner and we could drink wine and roll dice. There was one point where the enchaladas were in the oven, everything was on the verge of almost completely being cooked when I stopped and looked over into my livingroom and saw 12 friends drinking and laughing. S. came into the kitchen to get some water when she saw me watching everyone. "It's a great feeling isn't it? Seeing everyone enjoying themselves."

And I nodded. I might have rested my head on her shoulder when she put her arm around me but I didn't slouch down to do so. That would have been weird and awkward. But really, many of my friends were in my house eating my food, telling stories and catching up on our lives for the past few weeks. Kids, work, parties, dates, husbands, running, paddling. It all comes out over throughout the evening with the roll of dice and we enjoy every second of it. In that moment, I watched my friends and was thankful for ever single one of them - the ones who were here and the ones who are far away.

Unusual Like a Shot of Pizza

2008-09-16T01:19:00.001-07:00

I spent the weekend in Denver, surrounded by friends. The entire weekend was crafted with one goal in mind - to put together a weekend filled with friends who I love and who love me. It was perfectly planned and every time I turned around it flowed easily from one group of friends to the next, with the constant being the fabulous L+C+T who were my rock, my friends, and my bed and breakfast.

The weather mostly cooperated - sun during the day and rain at night. In the background, the mountains looked down on us as we played out our days. Kids looked at me confused as to why their parents were so happy to see the tall red head. And even more confused as to why they had to hug me hello and good-bye. I watched these mini versions of my friends with delight, each with their distinct personality and laughter.

The nights were spent out - nice dinners and strong drinks. Or rather, martinis the first night and wine followed (somehow?) by a few jello shots the second night. The craziest thing was the bar that sold the jello shots also had something called a pizza shot. It was vodka infused with oregano, garlic, sun-dried tomatoes and other pizza things. It was served in a shot glass with parmesean cheese around the rim and with a chaser of a slice of pepperoni. The bartender warned us against it. But he did let us try it. And pizza flavored vodka is just as bad as you might think it would be. The aftertaste and smell was amazingly like pizza but the vodka itself going down can not be described. As much as all of the great flavored infused vodkas I've seen people with lately, I have to vote down the pizza vodka. The bartender on the other hand, he gets a resounding vote from several of us.

Miss you all in Denver.
XOXO

Becoming an Adult

2008-09-05T22:23:00.000-07:00

There's a few times in my life where I can very distinctly remember thinking, "this is what it means to be an adult." Conscious pauses in time that tags my memory.

Signing the papers to buy my condo in San Diego.
Walking across the stage with my MBA in hand
Realizing that wearing a suit to work felt like second nature (well kind of, but it no longer felt uncomfortable)
Breaking up with my last boyfriend then realizing all of the steps it would require to put the situation he created behind me

The most recent one was last night. The sun set over the tops of the buildings and reflected buildings and a sky filled with color across the bay. My friends and I gathered around our coach to hear what had been decided for the race to Catalina.
When she read through the second crew on her list she paused at my name.

"Kendra? How are you doing, are you up for the race?"
I took a deep breath and looked around me. Faces stared up at me, watching to see what I'd say.

"I can't, I'd love to but I can't." My shoulders slumped as the words fell from my lips. How could I give up something that means so much to me - that easily.
I took a deep breath. Next to me E- nodded her head, "you know you can't do the whole race." Next to her A- said, "You're better than me, if it were me, I'd be doing it and paying for it later."

It was those words that rang through my head as I drove home. If it had been any other part of my body I probably would have advilled my way through it. But my lungs - I had to leave work a little early today because they were still bothering me. I made a decision based on my health and pulled myself from a crew filled with my friends. I'm still going and I'll be with them but the reality is that for the first time in my life I thought about the situation, about my breathing and all of the times this week I've ended up getting breathing treatments (crack pipes for asthmatics) and realized I don't want to be worse off next week. I want to feel better, to be stronger and able to breath without straining, to speak without pausing - these are things I want. And I want them more than the race to Catalina, even though I'm trained and ready for it.

And more than those things, I don't want to take the chance that I'll hurt myself even more. That logic to me, becomes yet another adult decision in a life that is probably filled with them. But it is the ones that register, "this is what it means to be an adult" that I remember. And I'll remember the time I couldn't race because I almost drown. There's always next year.

Almost Drowning. Part 2

2008-09-03T20:17:00.000-07:00

If you had told me before that I'd possible die that day I would have brushed you off. It was the first time in my life I've had a near death, or potentially life-threatening event happen and I think I refused to see it that way.

Ignorance can be bliss.
Besides, if I saw it as "near death" then I would be forced to think of all the things I really want to do with my life that I still haven't been able to do. It would have ended everything for me and that is just a place that I remain unable to go to.

So there I was on the beach being shown the reality of my situation and sent to Urgent Care. K. offered to take me and come back for me since I had picked her up in the morning. My team were intent on insuring that I wasn't left at the Urgent Care alone, and for that I am grateful. In the parking lot, I took a quick rinse off and then changed quickly near my car much to the amusement of my friends, but I wasn't paying attention. I couldn't speak much and didn't want to waste any words since speaking still led directly to coughing. K. dropped me off with promises to return with food and I went into the building, making my way slowly down the stairs.

The lobby was the first place that I had to explain to the woman at the desk that I was in a boating accident and almost drowned around 10 am that morning. She looked from the clock that said, "3pm" back to me. "I was stuck in the middle of the ocean, I came here as soon as I got back to the beach." She had to believe me, I smelled of salt water.

"Okay, sit down someone will be with you soon. In the meantime would you like a glass of water?"
The question seemed slightly ironic but I accepted gratefully. While I waited I overheard someone asking about the near drowning patient but they seemed in no hurry to take me to the back. An hour or so later, right after they did take me to the back, K. arrived with a hamburger and french fries. I was in the middle of eating the burger when the doctor came in. Looking a little like Jin from Lost, he started asking me questions - mostly focusing around why I would jump out of a canoe in the middle of the ocean. A few minutes into what was clearly becoming a psychoanalysis with Dr. No Bedside Manner, K. interrupted with, "she was supposed to jump out, she did exactly what she was supposed to do." I looked at her thankfully since explaining required a lot of words and was proving difficult for me to do. Next Dr. No Bedside Manner leaned over and started poking at the giant bruise on the back of my calf where my leg had hit the gunwhale. It took even more explaining for him to stop poking my bruises and stand up to listen to me breath.

That's when he took notice, and sadly so did I.
"Take a deep breath."
"No, a deep breath."
"Take a deep breath."
It was as he listened and kept asking me to do so that I realized for the first time that I could take a deep breath at all. He looked me in the eyes then and told me to sit down. As he pulled the curtain aside and walked out, I heard him call to the nurse. Minutes later I was hooked up to a machine and receiving a breathing treatment - the kind they give asthmatics to open up their lungs. Which was exactly what I was. Forty-five minutes later I could take a deep breath although it hurt. When that was done, I was shipped off for x-rays. Then back up to my room where they put me on oxygen like the 50 year-olds who look 100 in the anti-smoking commercials. The oxygen felt great and gave me enough of a blast back into reality that I decided that if I could make it, I would still go to the Jack Johnson concert that night. I was supposed to meet my friends at S.'s house for a pre-concert food and drinks but that was at six o'clock and it was almost seven. I was texting everyone, especially since K. had to leave at seven and refused to leave unless someone was there with me. So I had one friend lined up to take my place, three friends waiting for me so we could get into our VIP seats at the concert, and my sister texting me from her return flight from being in Costa Rica for the past few weeks.

It was then that the doctor came in with a lecture and dismissed me. I was to be monitored for the night in case of dry drowning since there was still a slight chance. If you almost drown apparently you're supposed to go to the emergency room not urgent care but since no one had told me... I had to get an epi pen in case my throat started to close up. And he had scrawled on the back of a business card what I was supposed to do if I felt any of the list of symptoms (tightness of breath, chest pain, etc.) - my orders were to call 911. Mr. No Bedside Manner let me go with no problems so I dropped K. off, went home and showered, tried to go to the store to get the epi pen but was foiled by the lack of my insurance card (it had been left at home on my table - a very stupid place for it) and then to S's for the concert.

Going to the concert probably wasn't the smartest idea. But it was a great concert, we had VIP seats and parking so I knew it wouldn't be the typical concert with pushing and long walks to the parking lot. Instead I was surrounded by friends who were concerned about me while we listened to Jack Johnson play some of my favorite beach songs. Emily let me stay at her house that night where I slept quite happily on the couch until the next morning when I had to run a few errands to get food so I wouldn't need to leave my house again for a few days. Which is exactly what I did.

Almost Drowning. Part 1

2008-08-31T22:47:00.000-07:00

Yesterday is the day I almost died doing something I love.

"Stow! Bail!" I've heard those same two words for six to eight weeks every year for the past two years. The steersman shouts it out, and those of us whose turn it is stow our paddling blades and jump out of the canoe into the deep blue water. The water surrounds us as we come up in time to watch the canoe glide by, our friends who were in the water on the other side of it climbing into the spots we just left.

For weeks I've been excited about yesterday's practice. Every year I've heard about it but the one year I was able to do it was the one year the club didn't plan for it. From Oceanside to San Diego - 30 or so miles and it is the last long practice before next weekend's race to Catalina. Excited, I could barely sleep on Friday night. Even with two alarms set I still worried that I'd oversleep.

As much as I hate waking up early, there is something about the stillness of early mornings. It was still dark outside at 5am when the alarms went off. First one, then five minutes later, the clock I hadn't set ahead went off. That was my cue and I jumped out of bed, slid into the clothes I'd set aside the night before, rubbed sunscreen where ever I could reach, grabbed my bag of clothes and my dry bag filled with snacks and water and ran out the door. K- was almost ready when i got to her house downtown so I waited a few minutes in my car. Two men watched me from their chairs at the 24-hour bar/restaurant next to her building. I saw one wave as we drove away. We met everyone at the practice site where we were able to load our stuff into E-'s car. E- proved to be the super-trooper and drove us up to Oceanside at 6 in the morning, even though she wasn't practicing with us.

In Oceanside, the sun was starting to fight the fog to see which would win the battle in the sky. Gathering at the harbor, we all listened quitely while we were assigned to crews, then we prepared the canoes, found our escort boat and launched the canoes into the water. There were 11 for our canoe which made the trip so much easier than if we'd only had nine. Even so, overall the trek from Oceanside to San Diego was easier than I thought it would be. Which sounds funny to say that since I spent a good part of it coughing salt water out of my lungs, but it's true. Other than the "almost drowning" part I loved it. The hardest part was wanting to cheer for everyone in my crew but my lungs and throat hurt. I could paddle but I couldn't talk.

It was an hour and 45 minutes into the trip when it was my turn to rotate out for my second break in the escort boat. I was happy to get out since I'd already paddled an hour and a half of that time. I needed water and food - my first break had been too short.

"Stow! Bail!" the words rang out and I did what C- said, stowing the paddle into the paddle clip and swung myself out of the canoe. Only as I did, my foot got stuck in the spray skirt. I've never paddled with covers on the canoes and I didn't anticipate any problems getting out of the canoe - in perhaps but not out. The back of my calf hit the top of the canoe's gunwhale while the rest of me fell into the ocean. I was under water being dragged by the canoe with my foot caught in the skirt. It wasn't more than 20 seconds before my friend managed to free my foot and I came up gasping and choking. Coughing I managed to pull myself into the escort boat and rested there.

The next hour and a half or so, I only sat out for one of my turns in the canoe. And only then because when they asked if I could go back in, I had been leaning over the railing coughing, and when I wasn't coughing, I had curled up along the edge in the front of the escort boat. A sad and pathetic site, I realize but I was making them laugh - in between fits of coughing that racked my whole body and left me shaky.

Eventually I managed to stop coughing and truly just shut up and paddled. If I spoke I'd break into another coughing fit. Sooner than I ever thought possible we found ourselves near Torrey Pines, and then La Jolla point, and then there was Crystal Pier - our pier. Only 25-30 minutes from the five-mile-an-hour buoys . I counted off how much longer in my head - would I need to do more changes? Would I be in the canoe for the cool down? A sailboat drifted by. On land as we turned in from the mouth of the jetty people called out to us - some to say hello, some to yell out our time, it didn't matter. We'd been paddling for hours and we all just wanted to get to our practice site. I think people were more hungry than anything else. We'd been laughing and joking around for a good part of the trip.

It's a funny thing being forced into silence. All at once it creates a net around me and I am no longer involved but instead watching all of the situations. Back on the beach, we slid out of the canoe into the water, our feet in the wet sand. Pulling the canoes onto shore I stood talking to one of my friends when another who is a nurse walked over. Suddenly the threat of something called "dry-drowning" took over and I had to head directly to the emergency room, or at least to Urgent Care.

Priorities

2008-08-09T14:32:00.000-07:00

This week I've had four different conversations about priorities. Once I gave the lecture and ironically, the other three times I received it. And yet here I am on a Saturday afternoon sitting at one of my favorite cafes with my laptop and a ton of notes in front of me.
Working.

At least there's a light at the end of the tunnel - I hope. In theory there is and I wonder how long the light will last since the last time it lasted for less than three or so days. I was just looking at pictures of my last trip to Santa Barbara which was only days ago but feels like it was forever ago. Relax and have fun? Last night I fell into bed and I don't know the last time where I was so tired. My eyes had hurt all day long and still I somehow pushed on until midnight or so. I don't recommend it.

Today is a better day and I'm in my favorite place with plans tonight and the rest of the weekend. Which is why I'm supposed to be working right now and not playing. Or blogging. The world is in such a weird place - and I just finished reading about tourists being shot in China at the Olympics as well as the death of comedian Bernie Mac. Not that I was a fan, I just find the juxtaposition between the deaths of these people and the art and world heros being created by the Olympics themselves interesting. How does one's life path lead them to the Olympics, I wonder.

Before I left my house to come down here I caught part of the qualifying rounds of the rowers. Watching their bodies move the boats effortlessly (I know it only appears that way) across the water I found myself missing that. Missing my rowing body from college. And missing being on the water in the peaceful crew boats that required something from every muscle in my body.

I rub my bruised arms thoughtfully. Tomorrow morning I'll acquire more for my collection that I have now. Tomorrow morning I'll jump into the canoes with my friends and forget about today's momentary longing for the sport I used to do, and used to be very good at. Not Olympic good, but good nevertheless. The trade between outrigger and rowing isn't a difficult one but I chose to make the switch almost five years ago and I've never looked back. Last weekend dolphins played in the water around our canoes, making us laugh at the beauty of the day. One is a culture that I have embraced whole-heartedly as it is not far from the one I grew up with. The other made me stay in the bay and in doing so, it would have created yet another limit on my life that sometimes seems to have many rules and recommendations. It wasn't until I watched it today on TV, having missed practice all week because of work (see priority conversations mentioned earlier) that I missd having the oar in my hand to pull it across the flat water with the energy from my entire body.

Mind body and soul. From my heart and mind through my arms into my paddle to pull the canoe under my feet. Moving everything forward.

Zut Alors, I have missed one!

2008-08-04T23:22:00.000-07:00

My birthday has come and past. I 'd love to say that I'm older but don't look it, wiser but don't show it off, more worldly, graceful, forgiving and patient, but that might actually get me struck by lightening. Normally around my birthday, I have some time to reflect and write down things that I loved and hated about the past year and how, now that I'm older I can do better on the new year. A fresh start, or "new beginnings" as my Spanish friend May is fond of saying whenever we toast.

Instead, because of work and an unnatural need to always be busy, my only chance to reflect came in yoga class as I struggled through each of the positions, convinced that the next would be easier than the last until the class was over. During that time most of my reflection involved looking in the mirror to make sure I was doing it somewhat right. But I left the class feeling taller, happier and ready to face the world - or at least the weekend in Santa Barbara. My birthday brought many different aspects to my attention - new friends, old friends who I miss, and an invitation list that consisted of 98% women and highlighted a key reason that I'm single - I just don't know very many men who aren't already attached. It also brought my sister who traversed the state only to not have my recognize her when she showed up earlier than expected and out of context. It took me a while to recognize that it was her - maybe my eyesight is going?

I think the greater chance is that my logic, the few grains that I have left are jumping ship as to not be the last one left. The opposite of musical chairs, with the winner taking it all (or at least the only chair) the last grain of logic is expected to work in overdrive keeping me acting as a functioning adult when all I want to do is go lounge in the sand with people we always pass in Del Mar on our way back from getting coffee.

My new friend made me dinner last night and is making me practice my French, which I appreciate since I haven't spoken it since 2002. I think it was in retaliation of my incessant "zut alors, I have missed one" or "French toast, french fries, french dressing..." all said in a very exaggerated French snarl, that he felt free to point out that the fact that I'm bruised from head-to-toe may make some people doubt the "healthiness" of my sport.

"My sport is very healthy," I said, trying not to move too much in case I moved something that hurt and wasn't done turning its final shade of purple. "Besides, there were dolphins."

Whenever someone questions the time I spend on the water, or my dedication to outrigger that many people just don't seem to understand, I offer up the dolphins. Sometimes I include the sunset if I need to go for the gold but most times I find the dolphins on their own work great. "And there were dolphins out last night when we paddled home."

"Dolphins?" they always say, "well that's very cool." Which ends any line of questioning that may end in them thinking I'm crazy. "She's not crazy at all for jumping out of a perfectly good ski boat to climb her way into a moving canoe, there were dolphins."

Of course, there were dolphins. No single men, but there were dolphins and they looked just as happy as I felt when we were out on the water yesterday. Bruises, or not, single (or any) men around or not, just good friends, the ocean, dolphins and the sun. It makes for an amazing combination. I may be a year older and not much wiser but I know what makes me happy and that has to count for something.

A hand on time

2008-07-20T22:56:00.000-07:00

I'm hoping things will start slowing down but when I look at my schedule for the month of August, I realize that I'm only kidding myself.

Notice I said August instead of July. July has been the fastest month I can remember. How did it happen that today is already the 20th? Only one more week from today and it will be my birthday. Each day I find myself trying to take something and nail it down to help separate it from the others. How was Tuesday different than Wednesday, or this week different from last week? If only to give me something to hold on to in the future. To avoid questions like, "what did I do in 2008?" Or when it takes me an hour to remember what I did two Fourth of July's ago. (Just for the record, this July 4th was spent sleeping in, then with friends at the British Pub (I KNOW, ironic isn't it), then over at their friends house - a delightful lesbian couple with whom we told stories and drank vodka lemonades with until the sun went down. I fell asleep in my friend's "cat room" that night, safely filled with benedryl and praying that i wouldn't stop breathing from the cat hair in the middle of the night).

Yesterday was commencement ceremonies for work. Filled with pomp and circumstance, they are one of my favorite things to watch. Having spent 363 days of the year (well not quite but it feels that way) trying to find people who want to go back to school, I love watching the celebrations on the other side of it as they graduate. Besides, yesterday the mom from Family Ties was the speaker and she did a great job. Light-hearted, but very touching, somewhat inspiring and personable.

Today, today I paddled all morning. Getting back out for the first time in over a week, surrounded by water and sea air always helps put life back in me. I've always thought that I must have at least a little sea water running through my veins. It was the first time this year we had an escort boat with us and I spent the first hour of practice more concerned with getting out of the canoe when it was my turn than what I would do to get back into the canoe. Although, honestly, it does surprise me sometimes when I crawl my way back in that I really can do it after so many years of just throwing myself against them. The last time I had to stow my blade and bail out of the canoe was the Dana Point race last year. It went on forever and ever and our canoe was third from last. Already that's hard on the morale. When I finally managed to get out of the canoe for the last time, long after my "one last 20 minute piece" had exceeded 40 or so minutes, I stowed my blade and bailed. Only somehow I forgot to bring my left leg with me. The rest of me was in the air and landing in the water, while my left leg remained in the canoe until it couldn't any more. At that point, it followed the rest of me by bumping against the side of the canoe in several places from my thigh down to my ankle. Ow.

Today, I managed to stow, bail and even climb back in twice perfectly fine. A little slow, but perfectly fine. Yes I have my bruises, but they're not as bad as they could be. After a relaxing lunch with E. in OB, I made my way back to the sanctity of my small casa and fell asleep. After everything that's been going on the past few weeks (months?), sleep and relaxation is all that I want to do.

Many might think that after all these years of paddling (this is year five), it might get old, too frustrating, repetitive or just too time consuming. It is all of those things at different times, but it still takes me out of my small world and shows me the world beyond what we know. It allows me to mediate with each repeated stroke, while getting out both my aggression, my competitiveness, and yes, even my stubbornness. See, while we sit working hard in the canoe to make it glide along the water, under our feet lies another world. And while I'm perfectly content to remain on the surface, sometimes it is when we dive in that we can see and learn just what we're meant to - depending on what comes our way.

Larger than life

2008-07-16T23:54:00.000-07:00

I've noticed that whenever I finally make the time to write on my blog tends to be after some sort of performance. Lately its been music and like tonight, it was Phantom of the Opera. This is the first time I've ever been to a performance on opening night, except for the Blue Man Group in Chicago, long, long ago. The last time I saw Phantom, i was in college. Kelly and I drove up to Los Angeles to stay with her theater friend Lisa and we got dressed up and went to see the Phantom. In college it was an exciting trip and I still remember the adventures of our trip up to the big city.

Tonight, even though I am tired, the performance was still magical. I know the songs, I've seen the movie recently, I've already seen the play. And even though some of the songs sounded dated, it was still touching where it needed to be and larger than life when it needed to be.

Everyone needs a little larger than life sometimes. Just like everyone also needs to calm the storm and come inside for the quite details and softer, touching moments. It can never be all just one or the other - not matter how much I sometimes yearn for larger than life. After a year of things being so much bigger than me, I have pulled them down to size to rebuild.

At the golf tournament on Monday, some of my friends commented on my determination to keep playing, even when we were all tired.

What they don't really understand is that stopping never once crossed my mind. It may cross my mind when I'm in the middle of the ocean in a crappy boat that can't help but fall behind. But stopping playing golf just because I'm tired and it's my first time - why? I'm there to play, I"m not sure when I'll play again. So why not take advantage of the situation and the relaxed atmosphere we created in our group?

Which is how I rebuilt everything in my life so I could stand upright again. I tend to not do anything quietly and even as I laid curled up on the couch trying to convince myself that I could knit, even though I'm not a knitter, or when I pulled out my dusty sketchbook to try making objects on paper resemble (even remotely) objects in front of me, and as I wrote words tied to other words, tied to other words - those were my quiet moments. Sometimes I sit when I feel like I should be dancing and I laugh when I want to be crying, but most of the time I'm passionate about what I'm doing and believe whole-heartedly that what I'm doing at each moment in time is what I should be doing and where I should be.

So even though there's no angel of music to teach me and help make my life larger than it should be, I'm okay with that. Eventually the angel of music turned on her and she had to leave him behind anyways. Because sometimes that is how it has to end. Otherwise, there'd be no appreciation of the times when there are good beginnings that come when you least expect them.

Inspired

2008-06-30T22:55:00.000-07:00

Tonight's activity proceeded an extremely busy weekend, a day filled with surprises at work and the fact that I can now run into people I know in the city that I live in. Granted these friends of mine were eating and drinking at the bar right next to their downtown lofts, but those are details in the larger picture. The larger picture being that I know people who live in lofts downtown who drink and hang out in the bar next door. And they have no problems yelling across the street to me as I walked by with two other friends.

Tonight's exciting activity actually involved going to dinner with friends who I was able to introduce - two extremely interesting and active women who I know from two different parts of my life. On one hand there is my artist friend who does project management and who I met even before I moved to San Diego. She is my Internet company colleague even though I didn't know her when we both worked for the same company. On the other hand is my vendor although I hate to use that word to classify people I like and respect - it makes me feel better to say that I'm lucky to work with her.

After appetizers and fruity rum drinks that sometimes leave me with dreams of the Virgin Islands when I close my eyes at night, we walked to the hall where David Sedaris was speaking and reading for his book tour. With an unique viewpoint and an utter and complete ability to take random tangents throughout a very loosely tied together story that could go from one extreme to another, David Sedaris had the audience laughing for the hour and a half that he read. I laughed at random observations, impeccable timing and fantastic story-telling talent. I also found myself wishing I'd seen him at a regular bookstore, given his book signings where he gave priority to men under 5'6" and to women over 5'10"...until he realized the men didn't like being surrounded by the giant women. His last statement made me laugh since before I had been scoffing, "only 5'10"? Really? Since when is 5'10" tall?

A long time ago someone told me I was a height snob and somehow my mom heard about this. "KJ, you better not be a height snob," her voice was very concerned that I was snubbing the short and that was no way to go through life. I think she was more worried that I would add her to the list. At 5'6", she would tell us stories about how she used to get comments about how tall she was as she was growing up. Then she gave birth to two giantesses and one true giant. And her kids grew up to have a favorite game called, "have you seen mom?" which is really only fun when played with mom standing between the two players.

After stopping to talk to two other friends who were at the reading and walking back to my car, I became thoughtful and a little jealous. What is the difference between these people who can become writers in every since of the word and me? Other than the fact that they do it consistently, and probably lead more interesting lives than I do which tends to bode well when it comes to having a story to tell.

In my car the radio played PJ Harvey's, "You said something" from Stories from the City, Stories from the Sea. Suddenly I was back in New York, driving from La Guardia to Central Islip on my every-other-week late Monday night trek. That was one CD that never left my pack. Others from that era of non-stop travel and stress include the Gorillaz, U2, Supreme Beings of Leisure, Thievery Corporation, Bjork, Beck, Moby and David Byrne. But more than anything PJ Harvey and the first Gorillaz CD for me take me back to the days of being almost 30 and running all around the country. Just like the soundtrack from Charlie's Angels reminds me of going running on hot summer days in Indiana, the others are all New York and hot spring and summer nights.

I sat in my car until the song ended so my memory could end with the last notes. I'm happy to be here and most of the time I love doing what I do. And sometimes it just takes a few notes from a song, a smell or the sound of a Long Island accent to bring me back to that time in my life where I was a tri-state girl. And each time it ends with the thankfulness that as intense as it was and as much as I enjoyed my time in NY - what on earth was I thinking? Who needs to be a tri-state girl, especially when the states are Colorado, NY and Indiana - three states that aren't even close to each other.

And then the song ends and I am back in San Diego, emptying my bags from my car to carry up to my empty condo. And I hum the song a little to myself wondering what it's like to be able to stand up in front of thousands of people, making them laugh, with your own story.

Lost in a Fog

2008-06-27T18:08:00.001-07:00

I suppose it should be titled, Lost in the Fog since that is really what happened last weekend. It was one of those weekends where all day on Saturday, I waited impatiently for Sunday and the morning practice where we could go out surrounded by water. That would make the 100+ degree heat all okay. What I didn't count on was getting sunburned from working outside on Saturday morning (and by "working outside" I mean making sure everything went perfectly for the local DJ to take a dive in the dive tank at one of the colleges - as in, hang out, take pictures and ensure he doesn't drowned). Since I followed the work stint by changing into a tank top and shorts and going to my first ever golf lesson (also work related but I'm a little afraid at how satisifying it was to hit balls and watch them fly). At least I had sunscreen on my face? Because by Sunday, my shoulders were sunburned - an external testiment to my stupidity and self-neglect.

Sunday I was smarter. Once we paddled outside of the jetty to where we hope that the water is cleaner I took my long-sleeve shirt off and wet it down in the ocean before putting it back on. AND I was wearing sunscreen. An hour of short pieces off shore, we paused for a few minutes so that the slow crew (hello!) could catch our breath. The wall of fog that had been hanging out to the south caught up with us, surrounding the four canoes and cutting us off from everything more than 20 yards away.

I might have been in the slowest of the crews, but we were the ones with the compass.

Life of Late

2008-06-19T23:44:00.000-07:00

In the past ten days I have been to Santa Barbara, Las Vegas, Orange County and Sacramento. I've worked a few 14-16 hour days and finally made it back paddling again. Old friends. Newer friends. Very new friends. Training. Dancing. Forgetting. Caffeine! And a glass of wine outside a beautiful hotel with the moon shining on the American River. A forgotten license, big innocent blue eyes. A second security check (twice) at the airport (including a pat-down). Time stops and starts again.

It's those times that I want to freeze into my memories.

Friends from college almost 15 years later gathered around the hot tub catching up and relaxing. A view of Santa Barbara in the background and mojitos in the foreground. Lounging by the pool in Las Vegas with friends laughing all around. Getting ready and sassying it up in Vegas to spend the night out dancing.

The feeling of vested interest I got at the George Michael concert. After all those years, I wanted him to do well, and in the second half of the concert - he did. I saw him perform the last time he was touring and his delight in knowing everyone in the venue liked him showed through. It is rare to see a star express true gratitude and appreciation for their fans. Stopping everything after working all day yesterday to have dinner with partners and friends. Then a glass of wine with a friend from college I haven't seen.

Last night when I opened my hotel room door, I found myself trying to stop time. There were three different tempting options - to sit outside on the balcony and enjoy a full moon on the river, enjoy the claw-foot style bath tub and fluffy white towels; or climb into the big bed with all the pillows and million thread count sheets. Paralyzed, I stood on the balcony for a few minutes, taking a deep breath and soaking it all in. The bath tub with its Hollywood '30's movies curve in the back was calling my name. And it didn't disappoint. Neither did the bed or the sheets. I really wanted to take that level of comfort and luxury home with me.

There were stories from the past weeks. They will come over time. Right now I'm just appreciating - all I get to do, all I have, all those I love, and all those who love me. It's so easy to forget and focus on what isn't there, instead of focusing on what is. And even if I'm placed in the clear plastic secondary security area of the airport and my head hits the top part so the alarm goes off - I can still truly appreciate that moment. Because those moments are also what my life is made up of. Every single little one. And for that I am not only thankful, but I am entertained.

A Very Long Fall

2008-06-05T21:39:00.001-07:00

There's so many aspects of my life lately that I feel like could qualify as a long fall, and an equal number that could conversely qualify as a long climb, a happy place, or even that I'm glad to be me with the life that I have. Maybe not today as much - but overall, absolutely.

The long fall in this case is more literal with my fall down the stairs at work last week. So I found myself on Friday evening running late (of course) and determined to get out of work so I could get to LA to see my friends, to sleep, to prepare for the next morning's race. That was when my heel caught on the hem of my pants and it sent me flying shins first onto the next stair, where I slid from stair to stair to stair on my shins. The only thing that stopped me was that I dropped my keys and grabbed the railing which eventually stopped me. Thankfully no one was in the building to hear me scream, and by "scream" I mean "swear".

Three steps isn't a long fall unless it is almost a week later and the shins in question are still bruised and swollen.

But a very long fall is into a horrid relationship and back out again. Into a stressful work situation and navigating the way out of it (mostly). Into a family emergency and stepping away from it as much as possible. Into the wild and back out again.

Those very long falls are important in life and as impatient as I am it's the destination I crave, not the journey. But even in the race last week where the water was choppy, waves were crashing along the canoe that wasn't rigged for stability, every once in a while I'd look up, take a deep breath and drive my paddle (appropriately named "the beast") back into the water. Every step or stroke moves us forward. And I guess the best to do is to hope that the next fall won't make it so hard to relax into child's pose when I need to.

To think I almost missed it

2008-05-27T18:19:00.000-07:00

On Monday night as the sun went down, I watched from the lawn seats as one star performer left the stage. Elvis Costello's songs drifted over the audience that was just arriving, settling in, or enjoying his every word. He wasn't who most of us were there to see and you could tell by the way he rushed through his songs - even though we all could have sang along to each song he played.

But he wasn't who I was there to see.
A group of friends were heading to the Police concert and had mentioned it to me. I thought about it briefly and then opted not to go. It was easy to justify - I'm busy, it's on a Monday night, I don't really need to spend money on it, etc. But on Saturday morning when one of my friends asked if I wanted to be her date, what else could I say besides, "uh, yeah!" (I'm not always articulate over text and it was morning)...So I found myself wearing multiple layers of clothes, standing on the lawn with friends, holding a beer screaming in happiness as the first lines of a song played.

As music always does for me, I was caried back to when I listened to the Police everyday for probably more years than I can count. It was always the battle in art classes starting in junior high and ending senior year or high school. The rappers versus the surfers. Thanks to the "rappers" I know the words to endless greats like "Parents Just Don't Understand" and other similar songs I've blocked out of my head. (They became more "rap" and less "Fresh Prince" in high school).

The surfers I have to thank for knowing all the words to Bob Marley's Legend. And until I stood on the lawn laughing, cheering and singing, I had forgotten that I also have the surfers to thank for the fact that I know ALL of the words to 99% of the songs Sting sang that night. The Police? They rocked it out. When I dusted off the mp3s on my ipod the next morning, Sting's voice didn't sound nearly as good as it had at the concert. Loud, clear and full of... of life? of passion? of someone doing exactly what they love doing? Whatever it was, Sting somehow sounds (and looks?) better now than he ever did before.

That leaves me. Standing on the lawn surrounded by thousands of people who were also singing along, who were also remembering these songs from long ago, who were enjoying both the moment and the memories. And I wouldn't have missed it for anything.
To think I almost did.

Fire it up

2008-05-25T22:38:00.000-07:00

Fire it up. Fire it up.

Earlier today I found myself wishing I knew more than just those three words repeated over and over again. Modest Mouse lyrics aren't always the most intuitive so when I found myself chanting "fire it up" I couldn't really take it any further than that. We had paddled all the way north to Scripps Pier from Mission Bay. What, about 12 or so miles? When we turned, we found ourselves heading directly into the wind that started slowly but picked up quickly. It made our return trip slow and increasingly painful.

"Fire it up, fire it up
When we find the perfect water
We'll hang out on the shore
Just long enough to leave our clothes there."

There was a moment though where we found ourselves not so snappy, or rather we were flat, tired and just trying to dig through to the otherside. The one thing we did manage to do well all day was that we worked together. If you're in a canoe for four hours in both easy and difficult, choppy water the one thing you want is for everyone to be working well together. Our timing was on target. We weren't the fastest canoe but we were first in fun - and that makes a huge difference.

The seals off of La Jolla watched us go by. One treaded water and stared, turning his head from our canoe to the others that were in front of us. Back and forth he looked at us as if wondering where we came from and what we were doing on his turf. It is moments like that when I flash back to the Island of the Blue Dolphin books. One girl left alone on an island surrounded by nature. While I wouldn't do well by myself, it is that connection to nature that makes me think of it every time.

"It honestly was beautifully bold
Like trying to save an ice cube from the cold
But even if we had been sure enough it's true we really didn't know
Even if we knew which way to head but still we probably wouldn't go.

Well we always [x2] had it all [x2]
Fire it up. Fire it up..."

Even with my shoulder that started to ache, blistered hands and fatigue that didn't set in until we were halfway back and the water that had been so amazing in its clear beauty earlier in the morning became rough, choppy and determined to slow us down. Even though I got nothing else done today since all I did was shower, eat, sleep and rest once I got home. Even with all of that, it was a great day. We paddled from inside Mission Bay to Scripps Pier - and back. Who else can say that?

View Larger Map

2008-05-12T22:37:00.000-07:00

To try to describe the last two weeks - I wish I'd actually taken pictures when I thought about it. Most of that time was spent in my kitchen. I also wish I was kidding, but it's true. Two weeks ago today I decided to start the South Beach diet with two friends of mine. Well, one of them talked me into it and for the first time in a million or so years, I am losing weight. the weight I'm losing is much more than physical and I pray that it continues. One thing that I have noticed is that after slaving away in the kitchen and being quite grumpy about it for hours, I do tend to enjoy the food more knowing the time and energy I put into it. The first night I stared down at my salad with a vast assortment of veggies chopped up in it and found myself talking to it. "After all that work I just did to create you, I am going to enjoy every single bite I take."

And I did.

There's probably a lesson in there somewhere but I am just not feeling like vetting it out so it is what it is. I continue to labor int he kitchen, "streamlining" where I can but for the most part, it is getting easier. Especially when I can see a difference and feel much better. It almost makes up for all that time in the kitchen when I'd so much rather be doing a million other things.

Like working out. On Saturday was our first race of the season and it was quite...well it was exactly what I expected - actually it was better than I expected since my crew didn't come in last. We placed 62 out of 70 (including co-ed and the fact that there were three boats disqualified in the 63-70 range). I'd feel proud but instead the race became purely mental and it almost beat me. There we were, paddling and paddling for our 10 mile race that actually was 12.6 miles (oops), thinking it was taking so long and the water was so hard. There, in the middle of the ocean we found a certain resilience that turned our race into a long practice workout. The weird case when you ask your crew to give more only to realize that no one had anything left to give. That is when you try harder and realize that you can't do it alone - you need those other people in the canoe to pull along with you.
Instead of going faster, we slowed down. Instead of working together we tried hard but barely made it.

There, in the middle of the ocean, I realized that left to my own devices, I'm a very lazy person. I really wanted to cut the race short and just go to shore - no one would care. But we didn't and we finished one of the most challenging races of my paddling career. There have been others but this one was mentally hard. I, for one, can safely say that I will never paddle a race with someone in the crew who hasn't paddled all year - especially if they are the steersperson. No matter how great I think they are, they're still going to be rusty.

Tonight at bunco we were all gathered around the table telling stories about the race, about or friends, about things people said or did that drove us crazy but at the same time that made us enjoy that person even more. A friend of mine is making a documentary about paddling and he's frustrated that no one will tell him the politics of racing on film. It is very political with people vying for seats in crews that they (we) feel we belong in. However, if you were to strip aside all of the politically correct answer and asky me why I paddle, it comes down to the relationships.

I paddle because of the people who have become both my friends and my family. I paddle because of my relationship with the ocean and the canoe as it glides over the water. Because of the laughter in the canoes and the silent awe of a beautiful sunset. Because of the workout that leaves me exhausted and yet feeling fulfilled. I paddle to see sunset views and city views that most people will never see in their lifetime. For the adventure of knowing that at the end of the day, we're going to shove away from land and go somewhere using our bodies and the canoe. I paddle because at the end of the day all of the races and the politics falls away and leaves good friends laughing around a table about all of the crazy stories from races and practices long gone. I paddle because it brings out both the best and the worst in me. And somewhere in this list is the cool cultural significance of the sport and the ohana that it generates around the world.
Those are a million reasons why I paddle which serve as strong reminders, especially after a race like Saturday's.

Competition Within

2008-04-30T22:37:00.000-07:00

You don't have to reach your toes, just your heart.

The weathered yoga-man guiding the class floated in between all of us laying on mats at his feet. Well, most people were laying flat over their legs. I sat almost straight up leaning over my legs that were directly in front of me. Who knew my toes were so far away. His words found their way to me and I smiled. I had been trying to force my way down - everyone else could do it.

And therein lies the problem. It was yoga class, not American Idol, nor was it a race. Sometimes the need to do as well as everyone else fills me and I end up struggling a lot more than I would if I would just let it be. The flip side of that is that it also pushes me more and I could make the argument that I get better when I have that competition and motivation. When the words rang out, I tried to self analyze - was I trying as hard as I could? Was I practicing yoga in a way that would re-connect me with myself? I need that kind of reminder, even when it makes me laugh a little.

old and new

2008-04-22T23:02:00.000-07:00

Tonight was one of those nights that I was both excited about and dreading. Yesterday I received an email that basically said, "I'm in town for tomorrow only, are you free at all?" from my old boss. As one of my employees said, "oh, your boss who was with you when you got your head stuck in the Empire State Building?"

Yes, that one.

In order to accommodate my plans (as only I can), I managed to have dinner with friends who grow increasingly important to me the longer I know them, attend (and participate in since they gave me a shout out) the 94.1 FM radio station party that involved people winning designer purses with cool prizes inside, and then running off to have drinks with my old boss - you know, the one who actually witnessed (and called me on) me getting my head stuck in the ESB.

My fortune cookie from dinner says, "Avenues of good fortune are ahead of you." It's probably the best fortune I've ever received, or at least the most apropos. Even if you add, "in bed" after the end of it. But I think that beyond the list of activities is the heart of the evening. It is one of those nights that I look around as I'm running through it and just truly marvel in how lucky I am. One of the nicest things that has come out of my dark winter months is just how much I appreciate the friends I have, the people around me, and the people I love. Somewhere tonight I forgot to be stressed about everything and getting from place to place and instead let it all happen as it needed to and I couldn't have asked for a better evening. Well, I should have jumped on the stage with the DJs and butted my way into their intro for the purse we gave away instead of just holding the bowl for them to select a name out of - but no one's perfect.

So I went from my new appreciation of my friends and the radio station event to my old boss - the one who was the last person to lay me off. Drinks with him and his friend/co-worker? was entertaining - like the old days entertaining. I only told one small story about him and he said he saved some for me to tell but somehow I didn't tell on myself to his friend. His friend had enough stories of his own - starting with the fact that he has a young son named, "Rocknroll". That is the baby's name.

Either way, the casual, funny and smart conversation over drinks reminded me of the energy and pace of how my life used to be. At times I've lately been feeling like I've been hiding at my job and not doing what I'm supposed to be doing. Not that I know what I'm "supposed" to be doing, but I think it is just that at times, I miss the energy and excitement of where I've worked before. Actually, I think I often miss that energy. I just don't miss the lay-offs part. I loved the transition from dinner with the ladies and deep girl conversation that ranged from burning bush, to work, to kids, to where ever. Then two hours later, contrasting that with the mobile media technology conversation about content, distributors and how the new smart, funny guy ended up naming his son.

A night of contrasts, but one that reminds me how lucky I am even if I didn't win any of the purses and the prizes given away tonight. I still win, and I feel it more and more everyday. I do find myself missing those I can't see everyday, and those who are far away, but that is also part of my being lucky that all of these people are there and in my life. And I raise my red wine glass, my pink cosmo, or even my gin and tonic to toast. Thank you.

Role Playing

2008-04-21T21:29:00.000-07:00

I laid on the futon, still not quite awake. The little body next to me snuggled closer before looking up at me. "Auntie Kendra, I think I hear footsteps," the whisper was as loud as the blue eyes that stared up at me. I pulled the covers over our heads so we could hide. "Shhhh, they're coming." At four and a half, the whispers under blankets can't be heard by people who walk into the room and turn on the lights.

And so my weekend as Auntie Kendra began. A. made the boys wait until the clock said, "eight, zero, zero" before waking me up - something I was quite thankful for considering I first heard cries at a little after six, zero, zero and knew that she and B. hadn't been quite so lucky.

It was that kind of weekend and I wouldn't trade those for the world. No matter how very tired I am when I get back home. How do people do it? Work and have kids? Two days exhausts me and sends me back to my overly quiet little condo. But after a nap or a good night's sleep, I'm always ready for more. It's worth it for those little hugs.

Now I'm home, tired and happy. And right now, that's enough.

Hearing Voices

2008-04-16T22:46:00.000-07:00

And last night, the voices I heard - well one of them was amazing. Even after all these years.

Who am I kidding - even hung-over Eddie Vedder's voice was unbelievable. I've never really won anything, so I'm glad I got to start with an Eddie Vedder concert. He sang for over two hours, telling stories, cracking jokes, and raging against the war, Bush, and cuts to education. His humor surprised me which made it more enjoyable.

Honestly, I'm at a loss for words (rare occurrence) given what an amazing evening it turned out to be. Today proved more difficult given that Eddie didn't get off the stage until almost 11:30, when he left us all with the Hard Sun. It was worth it though, even if I hadn't won the tickets. Amazing, absolutely amazing.

This is what I look like when I'm happy and I know it.

100 Words or Less

2008-04-14T22:29:00.001-07:00

Those who know me know that I never manage to meet my quota of words each day no matter how hard I try. And somedays, somedays I try hard. My parents might attest to the fact that perhaps I have a higher quota to fill than other people. Actually, most people think I have a higher quota than normal.

As for me? I think I just have a lot to say. Which is why it was so ironic that I received the call that I did today. Last week I received a newsletter in my email from a local radio station. They were having a contest. 100 words or less on why you deserve a pair of tickets to see Eddie Vedder in concert.

100 words? I can do that. So I did. I clicked on the newsletter, went to their website and started writing. Then I deleted it and started again. The second try was better. I clicked on Submit and found myself wishing I'd saved a copy. You never know, it makes for a good story.

Especially when you win.
The promotions director called me today. I won. My 100 words or less was selected as one of the two winners. So I and my guest are going to see Eddie Vedder in concert tomorrow night.

Elation. Apparently they read what I wrote on the air and announced the winners. I got the message and turned on the radio too late. Now I can't really remember what I wrote. The moment of spontaneity was lost the moment I hit submit. When I close my eyes I start to remember the spell I cast over myself. I wish I could use this for more than concert tickets. But for those few minutes I closed my eyes and thought of all the reasons why I deserve to see this talented artist perform.

My mind flew back to the only time I've ever seen him perform live - at Red Rocks in 1995. Probably the best concert I've ever been to (that and the last time I saw U2). I was 23 - not long out of college and on an eight-year adventure in Colorado. My flannel, ripped jeans and doc martins made me fit right into the crowd that night. And now? Now I have to wear a suit when I pick up the tickets on my way to work. I'll change before I head over and that change will be more than just clothes. I wrote of taking life full circle now that I've returned to San Diego and 12 years later, Eddie's here too. I spoke of moving forward and how you mark that time through music - how we've all grown, changed but stayed true to ourselves. And about how I'd love the opportunity to follow the circle through. Only I said it in 100 words or less.

And I won. There were other entrants (I asked), the promotions director had spent half the day reading them. I forgot to ask him what made mine stand out from all of the rest. Although it doesn't really matter since I don't have the words that I wrote. All of these words I have - I wish I could figure out, or have the discipline to do something more with them. I just need to find out what that is.

In the meantime, I'm heading down to see Eddie Vedder tomorrow night. Because I won tickets and couldn't be more excited to have won something because of my writing. Or more proud.

Chocolat

2008-04-07T23:59:00.000-07:00

The movie, not the book. I got sucked into watching part of it (most of it) tonight when I should be sleeping. I'd like to say it was for the culture, or so I could change my memories of the first time I saw it years ago when I stopped for a break from studying on my way home from the cafe and the woman behind me complained through the first half because I was too tall. But really I wanted to see Johnny Depp again.

What did I do all night tonight (while watching/not watching the movie)? Force the existing blog template into one that I liked even more. Isn't final but I fought with it enough for one night. Right now, today, the new template with the peaceful lotus flower I connect with more. Tomorrow, who knows what tomorrow will bring. Tonight it brought Johnny Depp, good French/Gypsy music and dreams of Chocolat.

Last Thoughts Before Bed

2008-04-06T22:24:00.000-07:00

I really should have gone to sleep a long time ago. As if going to a local concert last night to support Kai Elua (my outrigger club) wasn't enough, I woke up early for my first long practice of the season. Should be no problem - what's another Sunday practice? Only this year, the season started over a month ago and I'm just now able to go.

The best news? I felt great afterwards and was surprised it ended so soon. We'll see if I'm still saying that in the next few weeks as they get longer and longer.

One thing that I loved about the past few days (other than my caffeine high that I'm still reliving like the true addict that I am) is my true appreciation for my friends. All of them. The ones I see every week, to the ones I only get to see every year or so - each hold a place in me and every once in a while I remember to look around and see how full my life is because of them. It is at those moments that I remember how lucky I am. At practice on Thursday a friend I haven't seen in a few weeks came over after practice to give me a hug and tell me she missed me. Those little actions mean so much to me - especially as I can feel myself stepping out of the dark place I've been hiding in as I rebuild myself. Little did she know how much I've missed me as well.

On Friday night I had the good fortune to have dinner with a friend I met only a year or two ago, and yet J. is one of those people you meet and you feel like you've known for a long time. As I drove home that night, I thought that good food, good drinks, and non-stop conversation was the perfect way to end the week. But I forgot about Saturday. On Saturday night I went to dinner A. who showed me a cute new wine bar/restaurant that I will never be able to find again (it's in OB). At dinner, it struck me how I went from dinner with J. who has kids going off to college this year, and A. who is 10 years younger than me at least once a year. The perspectives on life are different and yet exciting all at the same time. And somewhere in between all of that, I did a million loads of laundry (finally, clean clothes!) and got to catch up with L. who's still trapped in AZ.

My little weekend that I feel like I did so little suddenly feels so full. (Unless I tell how many hours I spent on the couch watching movies and in the kitchen trying to make new and more exciting food than what I've been eating).

Before it gets too late, I need to sleep. I really do feel like I'm back and I'm not sure what pushed/pulled me to where I am now. The day off? The chance to escape for a weekend? The baseball game? Spring? Or maybe all of the above. Whatever it is, I thank God that I finally feel like I'm back - and to those around me I recommend watching out. Because I'm so excited about it, I can't seem to stop talking (or in this case typing). Keep your fingers crossed that I'm back for good.

All in a Deep Breath

2008-04-01T23:01:00.000-07:00

Tonight walking back to my car, groceries in hand, I couldn't help but stop in the middle of the nearly empty parking lot to breath in the air. Salty ocean air with smoke mingled in between the grains of salt. Bonfires and ocean breezes. All at once I was three and playing in the sand while my parents and their friends laugh. Then I'm six and cutting my hand on glass in the sand. Later, with my hand cleaned and bandaged I ate grilled hot dogs, laughing with my cousins while waves crash along the beach. I'm in high school with friends planning our own bonfires at the beach - Twin Lakes or at the Harbor - whichever will have the campfire rings available. I'm in San Diego for college, grilling food at the beach with friends - there's a picture of us laughing as we run from the waves. A few years ago, when I'm back again in San Diego and meeting new friends on the Fourth of July.

In that action of taking a deep breath I traced my life back to as far as I can remember and back again. It is all laid out in front of me in the parking lot. I want to capture the air to take it home. It is one of the main smells from my life, and one you never forget.

Last night a friend and I were lucky enough to get tickets to the Padres game. It wasn't until after I left work tonight (at 8:45pm - 12 hours after I got there) that I realized just why last night was such a surprise for me. I had Friday off work and then yesterday and today were spent in meetings - two days of most-day meetings were infinitely less stressful than my normal day. When I got to the pre-game party yesterday I'd had three days to relax so I could actually enjoy telling (and listening to) stories and relish in being surrounded by people I like and respect. There wasn't anyone to try to impress, just friendly faces to be around. There were several times last night when I looked around to realize just how lucky I am. And during all of that time, not once did my mind disappear to review the projects I still need to work on.

By the time 5pm rolled around tonight, that post-vacation day and fun evening high had worn off. It's a shame, really. I am not welcoming the feeling of drowning back, but it's back whether I like it or not. I'm not sure how to make it go away so I can keep that relaxed feeling for longer than I have. Tomorrow I can get back to swimming and Thursday I'll be at paddling no matter what. How do I habitually end up in jobs that require these extreme levels of work? Sometimes I wish I could be happy doing not much, or even just being able to be satisfied with mediocrity. What would life be like then? I only guess that the highs wouldn't be as high, the friends as good and as for me, well who knows what I'd be doing. I do know that this little taste of vacation wasn't nearly enough and can't wait to go back to the vacation well for more. So that one day, years and years from now, when I take a deep breath, the memories will continue to be just as happy for the next part of my life as they have been so far.

Baja

2008-03-30T22:31:00.000-07:00

Do pictures really say it all? Then if so, here's my first vacation in months - my weekend at the Baja hut in a few pictures.

It all begins with margaritas, tequila, and yummy food (not pictured).

The morning - the morning is all about the coffee, this one was even named for me. Oh how I love the caffeine. Although, I'm happy to report that I was so excited to walk along the rocks and relish every moment of my mini vacation that the caffeine didn't effect me like it normally does (my friends don't know just how lucky they are).

Friends relaxing outside the hut. Chairs, drinks, sun, campfire a straight path to the ocean - nothing beats it.

My boyfriend for the trip, Poncho. He's fuzzy, has four legs and was by my side whenever he wasn't on one of his Disney doggy adventure trips with his little puppy friend. Oh, and when he wasn't by his mom's side of course. So really I was back up to the woman who feeds him and a campside friend. Could be worse, I suppose.

The more industrious of the group created a woman out of wood and then we burned her by putting her headfirst into the fire. Trying to explain it would take far too long, let's just say we took the theme of "burning man" and gave it some girl power.

Really, who wouldn't want to spend as much time as possible here with views like this 20 yards away?

It might be windy but to feel relaxed and happy - well my shirt really does say it all (even if my hair was trying to fly away). It took a few days for the stress that normally surrounds me lately like another layer of skin to disipate (partially). Inspired. Finally.

There aren't any pictures of our return trip. Of the fact that we stayed too long, relaxing in the sun - so long that we had to wait 500 years to get to the border only to be rejected by our own country because we had 24 extra bottles of cheap Mexican beer. Oops. Only after sitting in the truck (three of us with my boyfriend Poncho at my feet) for another two hours did we make it back across. This time without the extra beer (I pulled it out of the truck and set it on a platform on the side of the road while we sat in traffic). The return trip left us sitting in the car for nine hours and meant I got home and in bed at 3am on Monday morning. An eventful, yet oddly uneventful ending to a fabulous trip.

The art of collage

2008-03-22T17:50:00.001-07:00

I've been creating these random collages based on how I'm feeling on a given day - and the magazine clippings that have caught my eye. I have a secret stash of pages and words that have caught my eye so here is what I've randomly put together in the past few years (I just got around to taking pictures of them). Art or trash? I like them but who am I to judge?

This first one is the most recent, I made it last week. The copy on it says, "Spend less time around the house and more time around the world." The copy in the right hand corner says, "retreat". Ironically, I have quite happily spent today doing things around my house. Although it is entirely possible that my day could have been better spent in say, Fiji, or perhaps Bali or Paris. There's always Paris.

This second one is from a year or two ago - not long after I got back from New Zealand. It is less a collage and more of an ad I suppose. On the back of it I wrote a note to myself about going back there some day - which I will.

This is the result of a funny article about a band I listened to for a while. The doorman hand given the lead singer the note that says, "Love always' win's." And they had laughed at all of the apostrophes. I think they add character - incorrect but character nevertheless. It is also the result of collaging on or around Valentine's Day two years ago. The whole thing of love and hearts can invade even the most jaded of us when we aren't looking.

This last one that I'm posting is from three or so weeks ago. I was asked what makes me happy, what I want to be doing right now. I do want to take refuge, to relax, to revive, to escape to somewhere that I can just lean my bike on a light pole and run along the beach. Someplace to heal myself, some place to write. It isn't hard to figure out why I want these things with everything that's going on. But it just sounds so ideal to me, especially after working so very much lately.

These collages are silly and they're not. I love the escape I find in making them and the thought that goes into every thing in them - even when there's very little added. I recommend trying it, they're surprising sometimes how they turn out when you look at them and realize what you've just said.

Struggles, Spirituality, and Happiness in a Pan

2008-03-22T11:55:00.000-07:00

It's Easter weekend and I'm struggling a little. Well first I'm struggling because it I'm supposed to be at paddling practice right now but I opted for almost three more hours of sleep - which I'm not regretting. After being sick all week it occurred to me that two days ago I got tired walking up a flight of stairs. It probably isn't the best option for me to jump in a canoe for a long weekend practice. It's a fine line that I'm struggling with - on one hand I should be pushing myself to get back into shape, get back into the canoe and get back into my life. On the other hand, I'm exhausted and I'm tired of being tired. Everyone keeps telling me I need to slow down. When I try, I'm filled with guilt about what I should be doing.

Even though sleeping in this morning was exactly what I needed. I still feel like I need to explain and justify my decisions. Where does that come from? It definitely gets old.

I'm also struggling because I originally thought I'd be in LA this weekend, Eastering with Harrison Ford and Calista Flockhart like last year (actually I was Eastering with my favorite LA boys when HF and CF stopped by). Only since I was sick the last few days I opted to stay here. See, more smart decisions that are smart for me yet make me sad - I miss my boys and my friends. Yet, I know staying here was the smarter decision. I'm sick because I'm worn out. I keep giving everything to work and have never figured out how to keep some for myself. Isn't that a form of self-preservation? Anyway, I now find myself wanting to go to church in the morning. Which is odd for me but paddling was today and that leaves a rare Sunday morning free. My favorite yoga class is still being taught but I just feel like I want a different type of spirituality. My dilemma is that I don't really have a church here that I like so I just need to pick one and hope that as I join the throng of people who are only there because it is Easter Sunday, I don't want to hear the basic Easter message. I want to hear something that will help my spirituality and give it more foundation than what I have lately.

My herbalist/acupuncturist basically told me on Thursday that I've run out of the hormones that help one deal with stress, and with life. "The well has run dry." Which apparently can leave a person with flu-like symptoms. So now I guess I feel like both physically and spiritually I need to find ways to build that well back up again. Was sleeping in today and resting the first step or was it just me being lazy? I don't know. But it is the choice I made and right now, I feel it was the better choice. I've struggled my whole life with trying (and failing) to dive in head first and following an all or nothing mentality. How does one change that after all of this time? Is it possible to get as much satisfaction out of doing something or believing in something just part way? I'm still learning.

But on a side note, in a very exciting discover - one of those that words just simply can't be found to describe - I made a pizza last night. I almost took a picture to post of it but I don't think the picture does it justice. For the past year and a half I have been craving a pizza - actually it has been about two years now since I last had one. When my brother, his wife and I walked through Little Italy, last week the smell of pizzas baking assaulted us everywhere we went. Thanks to Whole Foods, I was able to find a gluten free (and soy free) pizza crust mix, and almond and rice cheese. Now this might not sound like the most appetizing of pizzas but when you can't eat wheat, soy or dairy, one improvises. There were olives, sundried tomatoes and spinach to go with the gluten free crust and the almond/rice cheese. And I loved every bite of it. Happiness in a pan. I can't wait to try it again only with a new set of toppings. I'd say it's the little things in life, but in this case - that pizza is a big, big thing. Or at least a first step towards more options for food. And sometimes it is those things where one can find spirituality - or at least happiness.

Visitors

2008-03-18T22:40:00.000-07:00

Over the weekend my brother and his wife were in town. They haven't come to visit in a long time. So even though they were really here for a conference, I was able to steal them away for a few hours. We grabbed coffee and headed to the harbor and then to Old Town. At the harbor we took a few pictures. Only our pictures aren't actually of the harbor - they are of us in front of the County Administration Building.

To quote my "little" brother, "taking pictures of the harbor is so overdone. But taking pictures in front of the Administration Building, well not anyone can do that."

So here we are, on an incredibly windy day. I don't remember the last time I saw so many white caps inside the harbor, it was crazy. Although I wasn't really looking at the harbor as much as the Administration building...

Just call me grace

2008-03-17T22:43:00.001-07:00

Light traffic in the morning meant I could sneak off the freeway an exit or three early and stop for coffee. Iced coffee, the kind that is tricky to make at work. Decaf of course. I pulled into the first parking spot, stepped out of my car into the sunshine of Southern California spring and walked right up to the counter. They made my drink right away, which I doctored up and then walked out the door.

Or, I guess I walked mostly out the door. Some nice guy had held it open for me (kind of) and in trying to catch it from him, I took a step and promptly tripped, dropping my pretty iced (decaf) all over the ground. Ice and coffee rained onto the doormat, and my foot. I looked down at the mess I'd created and started to turn back inside.

"Go back in, they'll give you a new one," the man to my right stated matter of factly. "Just tell 'em that you dropped it. They'll take care of you."
"Oh yes, go tell them and they'll give you a new one," this time an older woman who was out walking her dog had a few words to tell me. She even opened the door for me and followed me inside. "You shouldn't wait in line, go tell them at the drink counter." She almost pushed me over that way. I've never been peer pressured into doing anything by retirees before.
I explained what happened to the guy behind the counter who just looked at me then grabbed a cup to start making me a new one.
"Did they take care of you?" I heard the woman shout and looked up to see her waving at me. I smiled and nodded - "got it!" A minute later she came over to tell me that she tried but since I had a "fancy coffee drink" she couldn't help me - but she'd tried. "They're making it right now."
"Oh good. I told you they'd help." I smiled and nodded at her since clearly she was looking to be thanked for her good advice.
"Here's your drink." The barrista shoved it towards me. "Oh and if you're going to drop this one, can you please do it away from the building?" As if on cue, a guy walked by caring a mop - he walked outside to mop up my mess.
"Well, my plan isn't to drop two of them, my plan with this one is to drink it."
He just stared at me as if I had dropped it on purpose the first time. I managed to walk out the door and past the mopping guy without an incident. As I started to walk towards my car, the woman was waving at me again. "Just think! Now your day can only get better!" Yeah! I smiled and waved at my own personal cheerleader for the morning.

It was so weird and yet never ceases to amaze me how at times people just really want to take care of me. Normally I just assumed that it was when I am too dumb to figure out how and when to take care of myself. But every once in a while a perfect stranger rises to the occasion (no matter how trivial) to help push me into whatever direction they feel I should be going in. I wondered if she has any friends besides her dog. Or if her husband just died and she has no one to talk to. Or maybe she just wants to pass along words of encouragement to someone who look like they could use it. Whatever her reason, it made me laugh and I enjoyed it. Even the completely untrue statement that my day couldn't get any worse than spilling my coffee. It can always get worse. But then, it can also always get better.

art for the sake of art

2008-03-15T11:53:00.001-07:00

Every night this past week I have knitted before going to bed. Into each turn of the needle, I feel words, memories and random thoughts coursing through me. I know I should be drawing. I can see what I want to draw, I can hear the words I want to write and yet I keep knitting. Each word, thought, emotion gets tied to the next. People say it's therapeutic but I'm not so sure. Instead I string together the threads of my thoughts, tying them all together so I can then wrap them around me neck.

Does it really work that way? At the end there is no expression of my thoughts as each forms, threads its way in and out then are tied off at the end. Are they gone? Each row looks the same as the last. Perfection and uniformity are regarded as they become a form of discipline and talent, but I know it isn't me. It doesn't reflect who I am or how I'm feeling (which is probably a good thing most of the time). However, I need some element of that. My fingers move as I glance across the room at my sketchbook that lies untouched by my hands. It is a funny thing, feeling guilty for not doing one thing when I'm doing another.

With the time change this week, we went out on the canoes and left the bay. The colors of the ocean at sunset are some of my favorite. The colors from the sky reflected in each ripple. And now, as the sun sets in front of us, there's a view I wouldn't trade for all the world. Four canoes, filled mostly with friends paddling out to watch the spring sun set from the middle of the ocean. I love seeing miracles like that - let alone when I'm lucky enough to witness it multiple times in the same week. For as much time as it takes, I love it when paddling season starts and the time changes. These are the moments that I try to remember, the moments that I have woven into my beginning attempts at knitting.

And this week? Better than last.

to northern california and back again

2008-03-05T22:07:00.000-08:00

there was one evening last week where i found myself sitting and discussing a combination of life and work with a martini in hand and most of the san francisco bay in front of me. the night before i had wandered the streets a little only to end up at a sushi place across the street from my hotel. it was perfect in its simplicity and the trendy yet cool cave like feel to the back room was exactly what i wanted. Or was it good sushi, a place to write a little and a small bottle of sake? anyway, i'm digressing.

martini in hand.
san francisco bay as the sun set and day turned into night.
alcatraz lit up and the ferry slowly crossed the bay. we sat in the old bank of america building on the top floor, eye level with the top of the transamerica building. i've never been so high in san francisco before. i pictured myself old and catching bart to go places, walking around the city. back on the ground, a man walked by me with his yoga mat, as if he just walked out of the last story i wrote. i crossed the street in front of the chinatown gate and smiled at the woman picking up trash for the city.

Now I am back home and happy to be here. while the waves in santa cruz were amazing, i don't surf. and as for my family, it was great to see them again so soon but really, i missed being back home.

until i got back in the office and realized just how much work lies in front of me. i don't think there has ever been a time in my life when i've been responsible for such an incredible amount of work. it is completely unrealistic and yet i find myself trying. although buried deep inside me is the overriding need for a vacation/break, high levels of frustration, and surprisingly, a newly found self-preservation mode. who knew i had it in me? apparently when life gives me too much i just say no, walk away, and i stop being able to fall asleep.

the not sleeping part is my favorite. at least once i get there, i manage to stay there. but still. it isn't fun being me right now. which is why my latest ringtone is the cure, "why can't i be you?" and i sing it to all the people lazying about throughout their days. what is that like?
i'd find out but i have a scarf to finish knitting...

Acceptance

2008-02-24T19:26:00.001-08:00

Okay, for some reason I loved Tina Fey's women's news on SNL last night. Hilarious and yet completely true. Bitch is the new Black. Ha!

Today in yoga (it was raining which meant that I just said No to paddling - in the rain and the wind even if it was the first day of the season) the Inspiration card I selected was the "Acceptance" card which was appropriate and completely perfect for my life right now.

Accepting. What has happened, what is currently going on and what I can do in the future to make my life back the way I want it. Well, at least the things that I can control and trying not to worry about the rest. That is so much easier to say than do. The nice part is that I am excited about things again and finding passion in life. I'm also learning that I don't need to be busy every single minute of every single day.

We'll see how long that lasts.
Acceptance.
Bitch is the new black - accept it.
Even if it doesn't last for much longer.