Misadventures in Camping

I've camped all of my life. I have been feeling particularly grateful to my parents for introducing us to camping when my sisters and I were young. My parents, I don't believe, camped a lot when they were younger. My dad was a Boy Scout, so maybe he had some camping adventures. Mom grew up on a farm, so I'm assuming she like the outdoors and has adventure in her spirit. In any case, they came to the U.S. from Puerto Rico and before too long, we had a camping trailer.

Our trailer was  Prowler brand trailer. I remember plastic throughout and retro/Brady Bunch upholstery. It was an innovative piece of engineering. The beds magically appeared from nowhere. The beds that were up high were actually folded down from the wall. Two slides from the hinges, and voila, you had beds above your head. I felt like I had won every time I got to sleep up there. Each of those beds had a tiny window next to it. I could crank open my window and peek out into the night or discover the weather in the morning. I was always happy up there.

We loved camping at Solomon's Island where there was always a flock of kids on bikes headed to the pool, putt putt, bowling or roller skating. We stayed up late at night crabbing. At the time, the crabs were enormous. We'd take the crabs back to the site, cook them and eat them well into the night beneath a starry sky.  My family and I also traveled to West Virginia where I learned to love rock hopping in rivers. What great memories my parents created!

Then again, I don't remember dealing with the gray water or actually setting up the camper. Not my problem. As I got older, the perils of camping became a little more evident.

Let's revisit camping in Shenandoah with my two sisters. I have older sisters and like good sisters do, we decided to bond up in the mountains of our incredible state, Virginia. I drove my minty green Toyota Tercel to a trail where I met my sisters. They had driven there in my sister's (Jo-Joy) Isuzu Trooper (the big, old boxy kind). We were incredibly prepared and even donned matching, beige safari hats. During our three hour hike, we stopped at rivers to chat and watch the water pass us by and we "helloed" fellow outdoors-people (who probably thought our matching hats were awesome). Things were peachy until the three hour hike became four. We were out of water, we were out of food and we were lost and we were starting to get punchy. Nevertheless, we flipped the map over and rerouted and continued. One hour later we felt we were making progress. Jo-Joy, however, was not necessarily loving the situation. She's the type that gets...how do you say?? Hangry. Hangriness was pulsing through her veins. Syama and I tried to appeal to her senses, but she was too far gone. She had legitimate reasons. In the fifth hour she seemed to hallucinate and babble about granola and water and that was exactly when a sign appeared:

 

She started to run. Never mind that the lot was still miles away - she ran and ran hollering about food and water and stupid hikes and female bonding. She ran. It was an hour or so before we saw her in the parking lot. Jo-Joy was disheveled. Her face was dirty, she was sweaty and barely "hanging on" and laid out on the gravel lot.  When she came to her senses she confessed that she had tried to break into the cars in the lot to find food and drink in order to survive. She resorted to these measures because my other sister, Syama, had the key to her Trooper. Thankfully we survived and chowed on nuts and berries like every good trailblazer and squirrels do.

 

Bellies satisfied, we hopped into our cars and headed to our tent camping site. We each had brought  gear to get us through what was sure to be a starry date-night with nature. My trusty waterproof tent was up, we made some food, and settled in for the night. All three of us cozy in my tent. Just like when we were kids...laughing, telling stories. This closeness with my sisters was all I could ever want.

 

Eventually, we slept peacefully side by side - until the rain came. My "waterproof" tent was, apparently, water resistant. Jo-Joy scrambled to her Trooper. Plenty of dry space in there. Syama and I held firm - no way were we going to bail out on our camping adventure. The torrential downpour continued in the tent. Syama caved - another one lost to the Trooper. I could see them staring at me through the foggy window. Waving. Laughing. I peered out from my sleeping bag like a turtle in a shell. "Troopers are for sissies,"  I told myself. It was a stare down. In the movies, the equivalent would have been a shoot out in the middle of town, hands near holsters and a squinty eyed, piercing stare that was enough to kill your enemy. No. I had to resist. Whatever... I didn't and I jumped in the Trooper after kicking my stupid tent. Ah, the Trooper - it smelled like a dirty swamp and the air was damp, but it wasn't raining inside. Now, because I am the youngest, I always give in to my sisters' demands. There is no way around this. Submit! Or, you will be beaten into submission. I had to sleep on the wheel hubs. My head was propped up and my feet were propped up while the rest of me sagged between the firm lumps. Perfect. That night, sleep was intermittent at best.

 

The next day was the closing ceremony of our adventure. How sad to see it end! We gathered our drenched belongings and prepared for our reintroduction to civilization. Because Jo-Joy wanted to look nice for her return, she pulled out the blowdryer for her hair. The white flag had been waved.

 

Years later, my husband and I were fortunate enough to live in the Pacific NW where we often hiked and camped. The United States has and impressive landscape not to be missed! On one particular adventure with friends, we backpacked in to our campsite. The hike itself was incredible, but our camping spot was surreal, a clear green lake surrounded by mountains and pines. I've never seen anything like it and would escape there if my mind needed calm - but I can't, because I can not shake the trauma of it all.

Green Lake in Oregon. It is now known as Brown Lake.

 

Tents were pitched and lovely evening had by all. Once again, we settled in to sleep under a starry sky - until the rain came. Really? Again? This time, however, our tent was indeed waterproof. Michael and I had a very small tent, cozy for two. I call it, "the coffin". It's best that you really enjoy your companion if you are sleeping in this tent.

 

On this misadventure, we had our loyal dog, Gus. She was a brown, furry Lab/Chow mix. A sweet dog, a well trained dog (we didn't have kids then, so all of our attention went to her - the exact opposite of our current two mutts). Gus started to bark and cry during this intense storm. Lightning lit up the sky and claps of thunder left our ears buzzing. Soon enough, we had no choice but to begrudgingly "welcome' Gus into the tent. Needless to say, the coziness factor was lost, but it's all relative. At least we were dry and our little family was together. We managed a few blinks of sleep (as is the norm with most of our camping experiences).

 

The next day, we woke to a majestic sunrise over the mountains with clouds burning off at their peaks. The clear lake reflected the scene making it doubly alluring. But, all good things must end. And that indeed was the end as Gus ran away. She had a fierce longing in her eyes - like she must go into the wild and discover something that was out there. She did indeed.

 

If you are backpacking, you know to bring a small shovel. The small shovel is used to create your toilet. There is a standard depth you are "required" to dig to create your toilet. This was a slight oversight to a camper, but not to Gus. She found the non-toilet and rolled and rolled and rolled until she was completely satisfied and dizzied with excitement. She was the drunk girl in the bar. She trotted back gleefully - matted fur and the air around her was unmistakable. Green Lake would never be the same as my nauseated husband washed her fur with cautious intensity.

 

Did I mention that we were ticketed by a Park Ranger for camping too closely to another camper?

 

 20 years is STILL not enough time for Michael to label "that camping trip to Green Lake" as "fun". My recommendation is to never mention it to him.



PRs and Bacon Wrapped Dates

First CrossFit competition. It was a partner competition and we took 3rd place. That's me waving. That's my partner walking away and going to the Regional competition...twice.  I like to pretend that I played a significant role in my partner's success.

It's interesting watching people enter the world of CrossFit. I feel there is a psychological and physical evolutionary process that occurs.

 

First, there's the PR jackpot. When you begin, you don't have a CrossFit resume and, therefore, everything is a PR. You could call it "getting established", but that wouldn't give you much credit for your work. Call everything a PR. First time bench pressing? PR. First time doing a pull-up? PR.

From there, you proceed into really trying to perform the movements (aka: listening to your coaches). Some things you comprehend, some things you don't. Chances are, double-unders won't "click" until you've experienced countless lashings. You will get beaten by the rope. I've seen the lashings on faces, calves, forearms and buttocks (we share a lot of information in "the box"). One day you'll be want to quit and VOILA!  It's a miracle - you have double-unders!  That miracle is beter known as "practice".  Then there are the lifts. Not only will you attempt to master the nuances of each lift, but you will try to remember which is which. Is that a clean? A snatch?  (By the way, "snatches" never stop turning into a joke and never stop producing laughter when the word is mentioned.) What's a jerk? You'll find yourself wanting to lift faster, stronger and heavier, but discover that your nosey coaches will reprimand you for sacrificing form.  If you lift heavy loads, but your form is a mess, you will inevitably end up at square one at some point in your training...maybe even years later. You need to be patient. This is the part where people will say CrossFit is dangerous: don't lift more than you know HOW to lift. Chances are, you can lift it, but can you do it without herniating a disc? In my case, the lifts I attempt are consistently imperfect. It may be a small issue and some days it's a bigger issue, but occasionally, when I hit it just right...the bar will float. I've enjoyed that millisecond of a floating bar that occurs annually. It's when the bar is moving upwards and the momentum and speed and timing and my body and mind are communicating at the right place at the right time. When it happens, you know. When it doesn't happen, you will also know.

Eventually, you'll decide to lose that band so you can attempt kipping pull-ups. By the way, is that a real pull-up or a fake pull-up? I vote fake. Anyway, months go by and all of a sudden your brain's kipping pull-up neurons decide to connect and before you know it, you've PR'd your Fran time. Fran: the collision of  lung capacity, physical perseverance and quieting the voice in your head that keeps screaming, "NO". You might be coughing up a lung. Whatever you do, do not Google "Fran lung". Whatever, it is worth it.

The months go by and you find that you have hit a barren land, full of plateaus.......

Stay on target. Stay on target.

And what about your hands? The changes you see in your hands are incredible. Were they soft and sweet? Do you caress your children with them? Not anymore. I rubbed my son's back the other day and he said, "OW!" I use my hands to scrub my pots and pans when I don't have a Brillo pad. Why just yesterday I used my hands to sand down some rough wood on an outdoor project. Generous chunks of skin peel off of your palms (check the gym floor, your epidermis is hanging out there) and when you get home, you'll forget you've been skinned, begin to wash your hands and you will cry. I've seen grown, brawny men cry. When you recover, your hands will be leathery and invincible. I wear my hands with pride. You've graduated, my friend, your hands will never be the same.

So, then you decide you might want to work on your eating habits because, hey, you're in plateau land and you need a distraction to make yourself feel better. Let's PR some food. There's a big revelation happening...nutrition and exercise like to travel hand-in-hand. When one suffers, so does the other.  You'll discover paleo and go gung-ho. You'll eat paleo pancakes with dates and bacon and sweet potato. And after that, you'll eat dates, bacon and sweet potato with paleo pancakes. Then maybe you'll have sweet potato, dates, paleo pancakes and bacon. Eventually, you will miss a big bowl of spaghetti and define yourself as "paleo-leaning with a side of ice cream" with the occasional dates, bacon.... Ask me and I will tell you about moderation and "the middle way". You can eat, exercise and be happy all at once without feeling deprived. I will never give up chocolate chip cookies. Never! There are only so many ways to cook a fucking sweet potato. Just stop it, a sweet potato cacao cookie is not worth my time.

Full circle - back to the box-centered-focus. Now you find yourself "icing the cake." You understand the movements in the gym and you are well aware of what you can do and what you can't  need to work on. A floating bar! Your pull-ups are the equivalent Jennifer Grey being held up by Patrick Swayze during "the lift" :  it's the time of your freaking life!  Hallelujah, you have arrived at the pearly gates of CrossFit. The bar has wings! Your sweat tastes like angel tears!

And two days later you'll feel like you got hit by a truck.  Never mind, you will eagerly go back to continue your evolution.

It's Only Noisy if You Let it Get Noisy.

Recently, I had someone make a negative comment about my physical appearance. I'm not sure why anyone feels the need to comment on another person's appearance, but that's human behavior and scientists will always hope to understand our strange, mushy, nervy and fatty brains. While this person continued to comment, I realized that I couldn't hear what they were saying. It was as if someone grabbed my head and held it under water. The only thing I was fully able sense was my shame. I recall that I looked at the ground, that I turned my back to them for a moment, that I wondered what the purpose of their statement was. I wondered what a good response would be so that I would not hurt them and not embarrass myself anymore than I already felt.

As I read more about Buddhism (I'm not a Buddhist or anything else in particular , but maybe I'm a lot of things), I find a lot of common sense strategies for keeping my chin up when others purposefully or not "deliver a good shot" to that chin.  While I vacillated between confusion and understanding -Why would they say this? What is the purpose? What is happening in this person's life that they feel the need to say something that could hurt someone else?- I realized silence was the best response (I picked that up from Buddhism). Silence was my strength because nothing that I thought of saying was kind, valuable, necessary or would improve upon the situation.

But, let me dive back into the initial statement. Maybe this person's statement stuck with me because over the past year or so, I realized that I was okay with who I am. My physical appearance, first of all, has become significantly less important. I'm okay with the wrinkles and the quirks that Father Time subtly delivers. This wasn't always the case. Years ago, I spent nearly $200 (don't tell my husband) on anti-aging products. I smelled great, but I certainly didn't look like a younger woman and I didn't feel any better, either. Now, I see "anti-aging" and I choose not to fight that battle. Aging...there's no escape. Well, actually, I could die, right? I'm not ready for that quite yet so, I accept I aging. Challenge accepted! I'll attempt to do it with dignity, vitality and with complete awareness that I have been graced with the opportunity to see the years come and go. (Which reminds me...when I lived in Baltimore, there was a giant sign in the city that proposed that only 3 things were guaranteed in life: death, taxes and Cal Ripken. Aging was not on that list.)

What IS of primary importance to me is the serenity I have gained over the past few years. What I know is that when I allowed myself to be okay with myself - to accept what I have been and what I am and remain hopeful about what I want to become - I gave myself the gift of inner peace. I found quiet. Beyond that, a large space in my heart opened. I have space for you and you and you and you... for all of you. I have more space to give to others when that space is not filled up with doubts, concerns, worries and insecurities about myself. Until recently, I had never experienced this freedom.

In hindsight, what I realize is that I was tested and I failed. My mind was undisciplined and I allowed someone to steal what I had worked so hard to achieve. I chose to allow someone to occupy my emotions and thoughts and hey, that place is supposed to be off limits to all but myself.  The only person I was angry at during this time, was me. Equanimity remains something to be mastered. These days, I don't want to be part of certain dynamics - to cling to the attachments to undesirable behaviors or negative expectations and beliefs. I don't get any joy from conquering anyone but myself.

And recently, for about two weeks - almost consistently day after day, I've heard from one friend after another say that enough is enough. Their comments have all hovered around the need to take better care of that private, inner space and the realization that their happiness has nothing to do with anyone else. Happiness come from a place much more local than a person would think. They've let go or are in the process of letting going of the noise that comes from places that don't need so much attention and dropping burdens that aren't theirs and burdens that don't need to be so heavy. With that, I've seen honest contentment and the propagation of kindness that naturally follows.

The most beautiful people I know happen to be the nicest people I know.

Who loves you, baby? YOU should love YOU.

Staring at that wall, I sometimes forget my legs are moving at all.  This is where I go when I am angry, happy, thoughtful, excited, scared or confused. Truthfully, it's usually never just one of those that drives me there, it's usually two or more.

This past week, my blank wall held the secret to a recurring nightmare that I've had since about  the age of 5. The dream begins delightfully enough on gently rolling green hills. The sky is blue and the sun, the brightest yellow. I'm the only one out there. Nothing is nothing wrong with this picture, it's perfect. I find myself running on these hills - fast and free. It's pure joy. Slowly, I lose my step, and my legs can't keep the rhythm to the point when I am eventually crawling and dragging myself along the green grass.  I look all around and there doesn't appear to be a cause for my new disability - the  weather is great, I'm not sick, there's no mud - nothing. I just can not.  At this point,  I manage to wake myself up. I never stick around to find out how the story ends because being stagnant is too painful.

Last week, running under those full-spectrum light bulbs (a purchase made back in 1997 prior to a move to Vancouver, WA in preparation for the overcast, Pacific NW winters) I felt warm and happy and  in a state of "flow". The song "Unknown Caller" by U2 began and I heard these lyrics (and by the way, I never liked this song until this day):

Force quit and move to trash
I was right there at the top of the bottom
On the edge of the known universe where I wanted to be
I had driven to the scene of the accident
And I sat there waiting for me
Restart and re-boot yourself
You're free to go
Oh, oh

Shout for joy if you get the chance
Password, you enter here, right now
Oh, oh

You know your name so punch it in

And for some reason, my running dream came to mind and I thought, "It's okay to let her go." Stop hanging on to the gal who really likes to eat sugar, who looks in the mirror and cringes, who wallows in ruminations that serve no purpose, who worries entirely too much about things and people, who discounts her own accomplishments (but, has no problem recalling failures), who seems to thwart any forward progress for lack of self love and manages to create a secret inner world of melancholy. In other words, get up and start running again: I am the reason I can not run.

And that is where the great chasm lies. I do not recall feeling a sense of self love or worth throughout my life. I shoved self love and narcissism in the same box. They weren't so different to me and so, I held on to the idea that they were both bad, bad, bad. If you loved yourself so much, you certainly wouldn't feel the need to improve any negative characteristic about yourself. (This is just the sort of black/white thinking that causes so much harm on this planet.  I'm an expert at it so, if you'd like to know how NOT to think about things, call me.) The great "kick in the gut", which almost sent me flying off of the treadmill, was that the opposite is true: If you do not realize your self worth, you will never, ever feel better or do better.

So what does it take for you to realize that you are worth the trouble? What does it take for you to realize that taking care of your Self spiritually, mentally and physically is a worthwhile labor of love? When do you accept that you matter? Maybe the answer is when you begin to reflect upon your life. Personally, I found myself to the point of exhaustion.  Reliving and debating decisions long gone, grasping for missed opportunities and living in the past while the present patiently waited, but eventually walked on  - it was a tiresome and spiritually draining way to exist. I looked in the mirror and can sometimes only see the gorges between my eyes - where I carry worry and anxiety.  When I see those Botox ads, they ask, "Do you have an 11 on your forehead?"  No, actually, I have 1,111 on my forehead AND I don't have to make a stupid face to achieve that look.

Botox.com...erasing your emotions one injection at a time.

And a year ago, I found myself at a crossroads. While I had worked on the outside, the inside was still suffering. There was no peace and that's when I stopped moving...  just like in my nasty, little nightmare. I quit. I stopped some of the things I loved: volunteering, CrossFit, being engaged with others. I, quite literally, quit. Do you remember when Forrest Gump stopped running? I mean, he just stopped. That was me.

What a profound infirmity: the dissociation between the inner misery and the outer robustness. I (and probably you) can not function that way. As Buddy the Elf would say, I sat "on a throne of lies." Fortunately, despite the discord and upon aching reflection, I discovered that some of that wholeness from my outer-shell had oozed its way into my spirit. For the first time in my life, I realized my self imposed doom. Oh my God, I was the human Eeyore! When Michael asked me how much time I thought I had in this life and he emphatically stated, "You only get one shot at this," I began to feel Eeyore's stuffing fall out. I was listening and more importantly, believing.

The reality is, that somehow, someway, someday - you and I have to find the strength to take a truthful look at ourselves. It's not that pretty at times, but turn the page and guaranteed, you will find at least one positively, breath-taking quality about yourself (if you are having trouble finding one, contact me...I know I can find one for you). What is working and what isn't? What hurts us or holds us down? We attach ourselves to negative people, acts, and thoughts which become habitual, but the beauty of it is that we can detach ourselves, too! Maybe you need a little help doing that... and that's okay. We are THAT powerful when we embrace the fact that we are loved. And the love that matters the most is the extraordinary kind that we give to ourselves.

Michael asked me, after my run, what he should put on the white brick wall. He had considered a Portland Timbers pennant or poster. As much as it pained me to deny the Timbers a spot on the wall, I asked him to leave it blank.

And I sat there waiting for me

Restart and re-boot yourself

You're free to go

Oh, oh

Shout for joy if you get the chance

....

You know your name so punch it in
U2

https://www.youtube.com/watch?time_continue=5&v=YMzfeV2GE0M

http://www.timbers.com/

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Flow_(psychology)

http://marmonmuscle.com/  :  CrossFit Williamsburg, where a lot of the outer strength made my brain start thinking the inside could be just as resilient.

How to Meet A Husband

When I moved to Baltimore after graduating from college, I decided to go to culinary school. I don't really know why. In hindsight, divine intervention must  have placed me there. A friend and I (she had moved to a new city, too) had agreed to answer three personal ads. This way, we could cut through all the BS and connect with potential suitors (aka we were not good at socializing and were too shy to talk to any men). When I tell this story, people say, "Oh, you met online!" No. This was back when only a few folks had desktop computers and when you wanted to connect to the internet, you would hear a screeching sound and then several sounds similar to what a coiled mattress spring might sound like when it bursts out of the cushioning. Not only that, but it took about 10 minutes to connect. The answer is no. We met through the "City Paper" - a gritty, urban "newspaper" found in all diners and seedy corners of Baltimore.

True to my agreement, I responded to the three ads. Bachelor #1: Mystery man who liked Salsa dancing, cooking and who requested over and over that we meet for the first time at his apartment (which was probably a buried school bus..think Kimmy Schmidt). Naturally, he got the ax just as I might have...along with duct tape, a gag and a roofie. No thanks, Norman Bates. Bachelor #2: Nice voice, charming med student on a Caribbean island who was home for the holidays. We agreed to meet at the Inner Harbor - in public, I'd have witnesses. I don't remember how we identified one another, but we did. Perfectly nice gentleman...dressed nicely, clean cut and very desperately wanting a companion (then again, so was I...I was responding to personal ads, after all). While I enjoyed his company, the announcement, "When you meet my family at Christmas time...", scared the hell out of me. He spoke those horrifying kind words and the magic died more quickly than a mother in a Disney movie. Bachelor #3: Looking for someone "liberal in thought, but conservative in values," likes going to museums and being outdoors. Could it all possibly be true or was it too good to be true? I decided to find out by meeting him at The Admiral's Cup in Fell's Point.

Nervous energy got the best of me. I managed to lock myself out of my apartment. My apartment on St. Paul Street was a hell-hole. It wouldn't have been the end of the world had I never regained entry. Brown "water" leaked from the ceiling above into my tub, and the hole underneath the kitchen sink allowed wafting clouds of marijuana smoke from my neighbor's apartment seep into mine (but I didn't inhale). Of course, this also meant I was locked out of my minty green Toyota Tercel. Oh well, I got a cab and eventually found myself doing a pedestrian drive-by past the Cup's window. There he was, he was as handsome in person as he was on paper.

 I sat next to him and we engaged in a nice conversation while he ordered a beer for me.  Let it be known: I hate beer. I pulled the 'ol, "Oh just pick one for me," because: 1. I don't know any beer names  and 2. What's the difference? They all taste like hay anyway. That beer was politely sipped for a few hours.

Michael's covert plan of meeting at a bar was directly related to the perceived success of the evening. If we were incompatible, we could escape immediately after the beer. If it went well, we could progress to dinner. We progressed to dinner. (By the way, I noticed Michael had really great teeth. They looked strong, like a caveman's teeth. I mean that in a nice way...it seemed like such a primal thing to notice. I'm telling you the truth, though - ridiculously fabulous chompers.) The decision was made to go to The Wild Mushroom, but to get there, we had to ride in his car.

Riding in a stranger's car? Had my parent's taught me anything?  Apparently they had not. I was ready for such a moment. In my pocket, I carried law enforcement quality pepper spray. Below is a picture of a very similar can. As you can see, it resembles a fire extinguisher and it sprayed like a fire hose. Weeks earlier, I tested the spray with my friends in the alley-way behind my apartment - big, big mistake. The heavy stream ricocheted off of a brick wall and the droplets (and it only takes a few) sent us into uncontrollable coughing fits and stung our eyes so that all we could do was walk in circles and bump into each other laughing and crying all at once. With my trigger finger ready, we hopped in the car (not the sports car, but the Ford Taurus next to it - another reason I love my husband - he is sensible when you REALLY need
sensibility).

We had a terrific meal and the date continued on to Funk's
Democratic Coffee Spot. Funk's is now defunct - a great little hole in the wall that once offered to pay me "under the table" to make their bakery items in their tiny basement kitchen. It never happened, but I swear I would have been content working for them. And, who knows? Maybe as the secret baker, I would have served Michael a delicious slice of my pecan chocolate pie during his date with someone else. Sadly for her, I would've stolen his heart. He never stood a chance!  I digress. Michael, a coffee connoisseur, ordered quickly and expertly. I had never had coffee. I did not know how to pronounce "cappuccino" or "latte". Capushino? Capukino? Cap uh ke ke no? Lahhhtay? Laytay? Lateee? Hot chocolate. Yes indeed, "I'll have a hot chocolate, please," the sure thing.

Let's go back a little. Michael told me his name was Gus. Gus is a nickname bestowed upon him by his friend, Michael (who coincidentally  is coming to see us this evening and has the nickname, Woodrow). I suppose he used a false name for safety.   

Sadly the night had to end. To this day, I can instantaneously recall the awkward smiles, the shyness we both struggled through during the evening, the surprising ease of conversation and, best of all, the fact that I could not look directly at Michael...Gus...whatever. No eye contact. I had an exceptionally tough time engaging with him in this way. I looked all around his head....it was tough looking at a real man with a real life with sensibility and intelligence and handsomeness and just plain general appeal - and I had his attention. Me. Me? Me. Again, we left the next step open ended and I hoped for a call from him because in my heart, head and belly, I knew. He was marvelous and I had room in my life for him.

I didn't hear from Gus again for about two weeks. Two weeks, I said. While I was relieved that he eventually contacted me, those two weeks were filled with checking my answering machine and mindless distractions. When he did contact me, he was apologetic and confided in me that his cousin had been tragically killed in an accident (I believe it was the night we met or the night after). Michael had an immense love for his cousin and, fortunately, he had just visited him in Washington state -the unspoken decision for Michael to eventually live in the NW had been solidified during this visit. He was hurting - it was clear in his voice. And maybe it was this event that allowed him to dive in head first with me. As Michael would tell me years later while gently grabbing my shoulders during what felt like an exceptionally helpless moment, "How long do you think you have in this life? You get one shot."

Eventually, we would meet again. On this next date, we would get in the old Taurus and head to a friend's party in Federal Hill. The conversation on the drive there:

Michael: Oh, by the way, my name isn't Gus.
Ivonne: Hahah! What? Ha.
Michael: It's just a nickname that my friend Woodrow/Michael gave me.
Ivonne's thoughts: Shit. I forgot my pepper spray.

20 years later, my humble advice to you is to answer that personal ad (with pepper spray in hand).

 My date. One of the finest qualities in him is that he is honorable: moral, honest, ethical.

Plus, he's incredibly handsome and funny.

Dad duties with trombone accompaniment

Running/moving meditation - during which some of our best conversations happen. I swear he is not running away from me.

Enhancing lives in his favorite space: http://enhancinglife.uchicago.edu/

__________________________________________
Top 3 memories from year one with M:
1. Serving him chocolate pecan pie in my apartment. He confesses he could not finish it because it was so sweet and rich. I have never been able to successfully corrupt his only slightly sweet tooth - probably why his teeth are still in good shape!
2. Michael walked several miles though a snow storm to visit me one evening. That is the truth.
3. Sitting in Donna's Coffeehouse one night and discovering the "Passengers" Soundtrack . Afterwards, we walked up St Paul St. to the train station for no reason other than to be together and take in the simple and strange elegance of our gritty Charm City.


http://www.donnas.com/
http://theadmiralscup.com/
http://www.epicurious.com/recipes/food/views/texas-pecan-and-chocolate-pie-103169
http://enhancinglife.uchicago.edu/people/consumer-wisdom-a-modern-virtue-for-a-qualitatively-better-and-more-sustainable-economy

Check out this blog , especially the TEDtalks E. Perel gives. Completely worth it.
http://www.estherperel.com/blog/

Valuable Reading...and Rereading

"It is such a privilege to have people who continue each day to bless us with their love and prayer. These inner friends of the heart confer on us inestimable gifts.  In these times of greed and externality, there is such unusual beauty in having friends who practice profound faithfulness to us, praying for us each day without our ever knowing or remembering it. There are often lonesome frontiers we could never endure or cross without the inner sheltering of these friends. It is hard to live a true life that endeavors to be faithful to its own calling and not become haunted by the ghosts of negativity; therefore, it is not a luxury to have such friends; it is necessary." - John O'Donohue, To Bless the Space Between Us, A Book of Blessings

Let me not pray to be sheltered from dangers, but to be fearless in facing them.
Let me not beg for the stilling of my pain, but for the heart to conquer it.
Let me not look for allies in life's battle-field, but to my own strength.
Let me not crave in anxious fear to be saved, but hope for the patience to win my freedom.
Grant me that I may not be a coward, feeling your mercy in my success alone, but let me find the grasp of your hand in my failure.  - Rabindranath Tagore

I suppose I consider this next one a prayer. I used to read it everyday walking into work...

Desiderata
Go placidly amid the noise and haste, and remember what peace there may be in silence.
As far as possible without surrender be on good terms with all persons. Speak your truth quietly and clearly; and listen to others, even the dull and ignorant; they too have their story.

Avoid loud and aggressive persons, they are vexations to the spirit.
If you compare yourself with others, you may become vain and bitter; for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.

Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans. Keep interested in your career, however humble; it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time. Exercise caution in your business affairs; for the world is full of trickery. But let this not blind you to what virtue there is; many persons strive for high ideals; and everywhere life is full of heroism.

Be yourself. Especially, do not feign affection. Neither be critical about love; for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment it is as perennial as the grass.

Take kindly the counsel of the years, gracefully surrendering the things of youth.
Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune. But do not distress yourself with imaginings. Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness. Beyond a wholesome discipline, be gentle with yourself. You are a child of the universe, no less than the trees and the stars;
you have a right to be here.

And whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.
Therefore be at peace with God, whatever you conceive Him to be,
and whatever your labors and aspirations, in the noisy confusion of life keep peace with your soul.
With all its sham, drudgery and broken dreams, it is still a beautiful world. Be careful. Strive to be happy.
- Max Ehrmann

A prayer of Thanksgiving

Garden Meditations 
by Max Coots

Let us give thanks for a bounty of people.

For children who are our second planting, and though they
grow like weeds and the wind too soon blows them away, may
they forgive us our cultivation and fondly remember where
their roots are.

Let us give thanks;

For generous friends…with hearts…and smiles as bright
as their blossoms;

For feisty friends, as tart as apples;

For continuous friends, who, like scallions and cucumbers,
keep reminding us that we’ve had them;

For crotchety friends, sour as rhubarb and as indestructible;

For handsome friends, who are as gorgeous as eggplants and
as elegant as a row of corn, and the others, as plain as
potatoes and so good for you;

For funny friends, who are as silly as Brussels sprouts and
as amusing as Jerusalem artichokes;

And serious friends as unpretentious as cabbages, as subtle
as summer squash, as persistent as parsley, as delightful as
dill, as endless as zucchini and who, like parsnips, can be
counted on to see you through the winter;

For old friends, nodding like sunflowers in the evening-time,
and young friends coming on as fast as radishes;

For loving friends, who wind around us like tendrils and hold
us, despite our blights, wilts and witherings;

And finally, for those friends now gone, like gardens past
that have been harvested, but who fed us in their times that
we might have life thereafter.

For all these we give thanks.

Forgiveness. What the hell is it and how do I do it?

Forgiveness, unfortunately, has been on mind lately. I don't know how to graciously ask for it or receive it and, while I can give it, I'm embarrassed to say that I'm not actually that good at it.

I talk to Michael a lot about the subjects that occupy my thoughts. My writing was his fabulous idea. If he thought it would keep me from "yapping" so much, he was wrong. Truthfully, it's done the opposite - probably opened up a vault of hidden thoughts and words. Recently, I asked him to give me any information he might find related to forgiveness. Michael is an avid reader and is constantly learning. His mind does not stop and I take advantage of that. He sent me this article:

http://www.mindbodygreen.com/0-22322/10-reasons-to-just-choose-to-forgive.html

I don't love the subject line: It's best to leave retribution to the universe. It sounds as if you are waiting for that person who "did you wrong" to get hit by the karma bus when they least expect it. If you read more, you will find the true meaning of karma. I don't define it very well, but in my simpleton words: you create your own inner heaven or hell. You are the master of your well being. If you act like a jerk, you'll probably feel like a jerk (and if you don't, then you are a sociopath and you have bigger issues so, you should get to a psychiatrist).

I'm attempting to understand forgiveness not because I need to hand it out, but because I need to receive forgiveness. If I think for a bit, and not to strenuously, I realize I would need more than two hands to count out the people who probably feel they need an apology from me. When I dissect the situations,  I am painfully aware that most of the "dislike" actually comes from misunderstanding or miscommunication. The good intentions are abundant (I always recall that old Randy Travis song that says something like: the road to Hell is paved with good intentions), and good intentions matter to me, but they don't do too much when you are in urgent need of mercy. I have a few apologies to give, yes I do.

Sadly, the words "I'm sorry", weren't really a part of my vocabulary until adulthood. My husband taught me the value. He's a good man and knows that those two words (or three because, hey, "I'm" is a contraction) are not empty. He has never delivered those words without meaning. And when someone says I'm sorry (in the right tone and humbly - because those snotty, snarly I'm sorries that you know you've heard your children say to one another, don't really count), it matters. It matters a lot. I'm thankful for those words and for being given the opportunity to say them to someone I've hurt.  While being the giver of or the recipient of  forgiveness requires outrageous amounts of vulnerability, it is among the finest gifts we can share. 


I have trouble defining forgiveness. I have to remind myself of what it is and what it isn't. I can not turn to the Bible or any other religious readings to find its meaning. I do turn, however, to science. There are times during which I wish I had the extraordinary religious faith that many of my friends exhibit. I don't. I've tried and maybe someday I will find my answers in religion, but currently, I am a religious mutt and science holds my attention.
This article clarifies it all for me. I read it and reread it.

http://www.pbs.org/thisemotionallife/topic/forgiveness/understanding-forgiveness

 I often feel that forgiveness should be quick and forgetful. I am always disappointed when it is not - which means, I am always disappointed in how forgiveness works. I want to be better at handing out forgiveness (I don't need to do this very often - my closest friends are great empathizers and our wires rarely cross). Family is a bit more tricky. I don't have a thorough understanding of this...yet. Honestly, it seems like an enormous undertaking - coming to some understanding of familial forgiveness and relationships (expectations, disappointment, love, hurt, pain, joy...). It almost overwhelms me.

As mentioned before, I have read some of Nadia Bolz-Weber's writings. I agree and disagree with her, but she is entertaining and so unapologetically human that I can't do anything but adore her. Two of the biggest points I've found in her writings are:

1. You have to learn to live without the apology you think you deserve.
2. You will eventually be disappointed by others. Decide how you will respond.

These are tough lessons, especially because we have all been on either end and have probably agonized over each. I don't personally know anyone that purposely  sets out to inflict pain and suffering upon anyone else (even the passive aggressive nonsense...I can have a twinge of empathy seeing that this is a form of unresolved anger). These two points are like an atomic bomb exploded in my heart.  I owe someone an apology and I don't even know it!?  And, I KNOW I have disappointed others, but not purposefully . Here, I ask for forgiveness for any distress I've caused. 

Wouldn't it be nice if it were as simple as a form letter? If only.

I _________(name), offer an apology for the following reasons: __________.

I mean it, I really do. Can we forget about it now?

Love, __________(name).

I do wish for all of us to have the ability to delicately and gracefully share our hurt when it is necessary for peace or with quiet, but courageous compassion, find a way in our own hearts to bestow mercy upon others. We all need this peace. Whether we are the almsgiver or the beneficiary, we all need the opportunity to do better, to be better.