Hair. Mine. I’ve had it long, short, permed and now dyed. Mostly dyed. I can’t believe how much I have to get it dyed to keep the illusion of youth. I warned my husband never to complain unless he wanted to be married to someone who looked old enough to be his mother. Did I just confess to that? When I was little, my mother would tell me stories so I would sit long enough to have my hair braided or combed into pigtails or a ponytail. Anything to tame that scraggy mess. But I was a stubborn one and there was many a time I refused to have my hair contained. My poor mother. I have never liked my hair styles or how my hair would take shape. Some women have the beauty thing down- I never did. The only thing nice about my hair is that is that I have a lot of it. I mean A LOT. Two bowls of hair dye kind of a lot. I will never be an old lady with thin, cotton candy hair. No, I will still be getting it thinned at eighty. Probably having it dyed then as well. My son just had his wisdom teeth out. I have a horror story of when mine were taken out and dreaded his after care. It was a long week of recovery for him. Everyone seems to have a horror story of wisdom teeth. As horrible as it was I would have gone through it again rather than have my son go through it. It is a good thing, though, that he had to face it. As much as we think we want to protect our children, I really think my role as a parent is to teach him coping skills to use as an adult. There will be unpleasant and even painful times in his life. He will need to deal with them. He can learn to do that in his safe, loving home environment. We needed to tell him he was strong enough to get through it. Now it is a badge of courage and honor for him. If you can survive your wisdom teeth extraction, this will be nothing! My mother’s words have come back to haunt me- “This will hurt me more than it will hurt you.” and, “It’s good for you.” I always thought of Halloween as a chance to be something you didn’t normally get to be. Perhaps that is why there are so many princess and superhero costumes for Halloween. Now that I am older, I play the game, “What age would you like to be again?” Mostly, I hear people say they want the body they had at twenty but don’t want to relive any of their years again. Everything they learned brought them to the wonderful place they are today. I am fascinated with time travel books but I don’t want a redo in my life either. If I didn’t go through some of the bad times, I wouldn’t be the strong person I am today. I have my secrets to hide. I have my cringe-worthy moments, and I had my growing up to do. But if I could go back in time, I would like to give myself a hug. I would tell her to relax a bit- that things will all work out just fine. I know what my younger self would do. She wouldn’t believe a word of it. She would take that pretty princess gown and stomp on it. (After secretly holding it up to herself in the mirror.) She would glare at me and tell me to get out of her way- she had places to go and things to do. Maybe, I should bring her a super hero costume. She is going to need it. Someone complimented me recently. It wasn’t about my outfit, my looks, my food, or anything else that really doesn’t matter. They complimented me on my writing. The fastest way to someone’s heart is through honest praise. The best way to compliment me is to praise my family or my competence- especially my writing. I admit, I can hold that compliment close and replay it in my head or reread it over and over again. I am hungry for it and wish the taste would last forever. I can’t believe I am alone or uniquely needy. Everyone loves praise. Praise is endearing. Why wouldn’t I want people to feel good about themselves and feel good about me for giving that pleasure? Why then, is it hard to find a way to remember to praise others? Why do I stop with one sentence when I could make it a full course banquet by adding one or two more sentences? Now is the time to compliment. To quote Ken Blanchard author of, The One Minute Manager, we need to “catch people doing something right” and let them know it. I’m going to try a little harder. Maybe I will be complimented on my efforts! A college roommate is coming to visit next week. I have been cranking songs that we used to dance to all week- you know, when music was music. I met my husband at college. We visited it this past summer. The campus was almost the same, but campus town was built up so much more! The University of Illinois in Urbana-Champaign was founded in 1867. Some of the classrooms have fireplaces in them. The architectural details are fabulous. Some of the steps are made of marble inspiring me to write the following poem: Marble Stairs Old steps, Worn smooth Dip to the feet of time Empowering those Seeking success Whispering that It really is Worth the climb. Our university has a famous statue with the words, “To thy happy children of the future, those of the past send greetings.” I am proud to be one of those in the past sending greetings. As we posed to have our picture taken, we were surprised by the number of students on their phones by the statute. “Oh, Mom, they are just catching a Pokemon.” But it’s the statue… My husband’s birthday was yesterday. It coincides with our need to get a new stove. After eighteen years, it is better to buy new than to repair. I tease him that that is his birthday present. It’s on order, meaning we have no oven to use. Poor guy, he had to settle for a store bought a pie for his birthday. He loves chocolate mousse, so I will make him a huge batch for this weekend. No need to weight it down with cake. It is too hot to bake anyway. While the rest of the country thinks about fall, we will have to wait patiently until October to have the temperature in Phoenix drop below 100 degrees. Don’t mention fall; I can’t get my hopes up yet. Birthday cake or pie? Homemade or bought? Dinner at home, at a park or at a restaurant? I've been watching the Olympics. My husband asked me who I was rooting for in a competition. My answer may be strange, but I said that I was rooting for whoever was up at the moment. I had no favorites, I was cheering each journey as unique. There is a teacher/speaker named Taylor Mali who talks about his role as a teacher. He says he can "make a C+ feel like a congressional medal of honor and an A- feel like a slap in the face. (How dare you waste my time with anything less than your very best.)" I feel that the Olympians measure their success in much the same way. There is the athlete who feels they should have received gold, but earned a silver. Then there is the person no one expected to be in contention earning a medal, but ends up on the podium. For me, I love the story of Arthur Mariano who earned a bronze for his floor routine. His joy at winning bronze was so complete that it still brings tears to my eyes. I cheer for that person rather than the person who feels disgraced at winning the silver. I watch the Olympics because the athletes gather together after years of hard work and sacrifice to live their dream. Their measures of success may be different, but from where I sit, they can all be called Olympians. My goal is to be published. I am at it for hours and hours each day. I am a writer now working on becoming an author. May my first success be as exciting as Arthur's. May someday I feel that selling a 100,000 copies of a single book constitutes a failure. But may I never lose the joy of my craft just as the athletes should never lose the joy of their sport. What will success look like for you? I watched a newscast recently talking about how reading books could help you live longer. Finally! I was expecting it to tell me I was more likely to gain a few pounds be sitting around reading. Instead, it was all about the benefits. I love to read. When I was young, we had a piano in our house. I grew up thinking I needed to have a piano in my own house until I realized I didn't play the piano. I have bookshelves in my house instead. It is simply a matter of doing what you love and surrounding yourself with that love. I have friends who will only read a book once. I can understand that, but sometimes it is worth visiting an old friend, right? Even just reading the title on the shelf can bring back memories much like a photograph. I know your secrets and I won't tell. I read you when I was having a hard time win my life. You made me laugh. You made me stronger. How could I give that away? I remember an old Twilight Zone episode where a serious reader wishes that no one was around to bother him so he could read in peace. He wakes up the next day as the last person on earth. As he lines up all the books he wants to read, he ends up breaking his glasses rendering him unable to read.... Everything in moderation, I guess. Still, a day to myself with a good book sure seems promising. I canoed over 45 miles in five days! (Try walking one mile on your hands….) I enjoyed the people I was with and the challenge before us. Many days were cold and rainy. Some days were nice and sunny. I needed to be a role model of cheerfulness and perseverance for all of the days. Three weeks later I was in Moab, Utah hiking up the two miles to see the famous Delicate Arch. It was over 100 degrees. “You go on ahead,” I said to my husband and son half way up. “I’ve seen it. I’ll just wait here.” I wondered what the difference was between the two trips. On the canoe trip, the longest I portaged was a half mile. I never once felt like giving up. Of course, that wasn’t even an option. Since the arch hike was a round trip, I could just wait until they circled back toward the parking lot. Could knowing I could give up make it easier for me? On the canoe trip, I carried a 40-50 pound back pack along the trail. On the arch trail, the heaviest thing I carried was a water bottle. It should have been easier to finish, not harder. The arch trail was much steeper than the canoe trail, but the canoe trail was more technical with rocks and roots to dodge. I would say the steepness made it harder than the technical portion of the trail. The more I thought about it, the more I think it boiled down to two things- temperature and attitude. It was over 100 degrees compared to 70 or 75 degrees. At 100 degrees, very little seemed worth the effort. That certainly affected my attitude. But my attitude was affected even more by the fact that I was with family. With family, I didn’t have to put on a happy face and pretend to like to sweat. I could be my most honest self and say, “You go ahead, you are stronger than I am and that’s ok.” Is it a good thing that they let me get by with less? Is it a good thing that that we didn’t have to worry about everyone else’s spirits and keep them motivated? Why don’t we give our family our best? Why don’t we push for the very best from them? Is our home a place to rest or a place for our best? I am going to Boundary Waters Canoe Area in June. I haven't been there since I was in high school. It is everything I love; canoeing, camping and the great outdoors. I am going with the scouts- all teenage boys and men with muscles. Will I have the stamina I had in high school? My memory has made it one glorious adventure. Let's hope that reality comes close. I've been working on yet another story. This one takes place in Durango. No surprise, they love the mountains and hike near a stream. The main character is a wonderful watercolor painter. That is something on my bucket list to learn. I love watercolor paintings. There is something about the translucency of the color on the page that makes me introspective and poetic. It is like Wheezy in Toy story, "I feel great. In fact, I think I feel a song coming on!" Hopefully, I can say that during my canoe trip. If I start writing a piece for dueling banjos, then you'll know I'm in trouble.... |
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