Attitude Matters — No comments
05
Feb 12

Just a trip to the market. And I feel better about us.

Usually this isn’t the best sight.

Your vehicle stopped with a police cruiser in the rearview mirror.

 

But it’s not be for me. Let me back up.

*    *   *

I headed to the store to buy ingredients for chili. Because…

a. It’s the Superbowl.

b. My 18 year old invited other 18-year-old males over to watch the game.

Earlier in the day, it dawned on me that 18-year-old boys expect food.

Leaving the store at 4 p.m., I thought 4 p.m. on Sunday — always the lightest traffic on Main Street.

(Never let your guard down. Even on quietest hour in entire week on Main Street.)

A short time later, a small red car flipped out my windshield.  Just seconds in front of me, I slowly pulled my car over and thought, Did that just happen?

 

This could easily be a post on how life can change on a dime. How I think of my son in a car  and conclude we should never let our children drive anything but Big Wheels.

But it’s not. After I got home and started the chili, my knees still a little wobbly from witnessing the crash, what hit me was how everyone stopped and helped.

Within seconds of impact. People were out of their cars seeing if the passengers were alright and trying to get them out of the car.

Men, women, all races, all incomes. People still dressed from church, people still in stinky workout clothes.

I helped women pick up all the contents from the trunk that had spilled onto the road. Cleaners, bars of Ivory soap, something that looked like it used to be a cap to deodorant. All the while, men and women — all ages and all sizes — talked to the women and kept them calm.

This country seems so divided. People angry at each other.

But when it mattered, when people just reacted,  we do care for one another.

When one is down — we do rush in.

No matter if the Giants or Patriots win.

We care.

 

 

Attitude Matters / Running — No comments
04
Feb 12

Long runs are long runs. Longer distances change you.

Mental toughness.

That’s the unspoken, all-important take away from the long run.

As another Saturday winds down, I’m reflecting on, dissecting upon the long run.

Today, I write of endurance. Mental endurance.

I do this a bit sheepishly for I only ran 11.5 miles. To an endurance athlete 11.5 miles is baby pabulum, but after a year or so of minimal long distance running,

I’m a baby again.

And this baby wanted to stop running at 1 hour, 45 minutes. Just another 15 minutes home, but I was stick-a-fork-in-me done.

Running in the middle afternoon, the air temp warmed to the 70s. I was tired of running in 70 degree heat. I was thirsty. My weak left ankle was complaining (even in my b0o-ti-full new shoes.).

I complained.

But the thought of walking home was not an option. (It would take longer and I really wanted to be home.)

Push through.

And that’s why people are different people after completing the marathon.

You push through pain, you push through discomfort, you push through looking to passersby’s like a sloppy, shell of yourself. Just keep moving in spite of all the reasons you want to give in.

And unlike all the other times in life you believed when your mind screamed “I CAN’T,” you pushed ugly-through.

Making it home…to the finish.

I took the icky medicine when I didn’t want to.

I might not be strong. I might not be fast. I might not be a lean mean ab-machine on the cover of Runner’s World.

But I overcame myself today. And that’s better than 99 percent of the population.

I’m tough.

(Relatively speaking.)

Have you been changed by running?

Children — 2 comments
03
Feb 12

Sleepover birthday parties. Do you remember?

Seems I don’t.

My daughter is having a group of girls spend the night tonight to celebrate her birthday.

It will be them and me out in the cottage out back.

Help.

I’ve gathered up all the catalogues and magazines I’ve let pile up and along with the online world at my fingertips — I should have a grand time.

We’ll see.

I was trying to remember what we did on sleepovers as a girl.

 

 

We are going out to eat. I’m sure we did that.

They are going to have popcorn and watch movies. Now the movie part probably didn’t happen because back when I was in grade school, movies were only things experienced on a large screen in a dark room with lots of folks. Not watched by yourself in a screen the size of a 3 x5 card.

I spent the night out lots. Yet no specific memory remains.

Other than standing in front of my friend’s stereo while she pulled out an Elton John album. AMAZING. For that would have entailed her mom taking her to the mall record store. Then her mom bought Captain Fantastic. My mother would have looked at the cover and freaked.

That’s my only memory from a sleepover.  Woo.

Well, that and when girls were at my house and the same young Captain Fantastic lass went to get my mother in the middle of the night because we were having a seance. Trying to lift my “dead” cousin by each holding two fingers under her.

I’m not sure I remember or that throughout the years my mother has so talked of being summoned in the dead of night to see my cousin stretched out dead on the bed that the image branded in my mind.

No.

For whatever reason, I only have vague notions of not wanting to be the first one asleep to avoid my pinky stuck in warm water (though we never did that) and usually some Drama Island orchestrated by a few mean girls.

This looks to be a meangirl-less bunch.

And nary a Ouija board in sight.

Do you have specific memories of any sleepover? Could I have blocked it out for some dreadful reason?

Boredom perhaps?

 

 

 

Uncategorized — 9 comments
02
Feb 12

What day would you live over and over….

 

And over and over again.

It’s Groundhog’s Day and this post was inspired by a link at CBCnews where a tweet of mine was featured. If you click — you have to scroll down a ways to see me. The post poses the question…”What day would you live over and over?”

That got me to thinking.

What if today was the day that played over and over for the rest of my earthly days?

Everyday for the rest of my life I’d have oatmeal for breakfast.

Leftover vegetable beef soup for lunch.

I’d spend the day transcribing an interview for an article I’m writing. I’d hear the same words from the same man and type them over and over. I’d hear all the goofy things I said again and again and forever think — why don’t I BE QUIET in these things.

But it was so beautiful, I sat outside behind the house enjoying the sunshine while I listened and typed away.

Everyday at 4:22 p.m. I’d look outside to see this…

And everyday I’d get to run in a new pair shoes.

Now that would be cool. Any runner knows how wonderful that would be.

 

 

 

Then late in the afternoon I’d come to my kitchen door and see this.

 

 

This is what it said.

 

 

So instead of cleaning my kitchen, every day I’d go to a 6 p.m. kickboxing class for the first time. By day 395, I’d have the routines down.

And I’d dine on takeout pizza for dinner.

(No way I’m messing up my clean kitchen.)

*    *    *

Back to the original question. What day would you live over and over? Wedding day? Day a child was born? Day you graduated from college against all odds? The day you knew the business you started was going to make it? The first day in the little beach house on the water at St. Simons Island — I somehow managed to afford?

The last one has possibilities.

The best part of this blogtherapy post is that I realized even though I’ve had some great days, I don’t want to redo any of them.

The day I’d like to live over and over is the day I haven’t lived yet.

February 3.

What about you? What day would you relive over and over.

 

Uncategorized — No comments
01
Feb 12

That game called Life. Or how I got all my pay raises as an officer.

Life.

Or should I say the game of LIFE.

 

*    *    *

Sunday was my daughter’s birthday. She not only awoke one year older; she woke up on the proverbial wrong side of the bed.

By the middle of the afternoon, the privilege to use any electronic device – with the exception of her toothbrush — had been taken away.

“Do you want to play LIFE?” That was her question at about 4:30.

With all other forms of entertainment snatched from her she was reduced to this.

I hadn’t played Life in at least 30 decades, but how hard could it be? I’m over mid-way through the real thing (at least mid-way through the part before I’m messing up diapers again).

Why not do things differently this time?

I chose to forego college and select a career.

Police Officer.

Officer Collins that’s me. I did really well as an officer. Got my raises and got to collect lots of $5000 speeding fines from fellow members of the Life gameboard who were reckless enough to spin a 10.

I got married and acquired two children (a boy and girl). Lost my job and decided to try college this time. And I became an…

Accountant. Ha.The perfect career for me since I have to add 17 + 26 with paper and pencil. But in the game of LIFE,  I did well in the accounting trade and got all my raises quickly reaching my salary cap at $110,000.

Alas, I didn’t win. My daughter the doctor beat me by about $200,000.

It’s funny. You spin the dial, drive to the spot on the board and read what your fate is…“twins,” “Pay day,” and “taxes due.”

And you deal with LIFE.

Each day we wake up spin the dial.

I’ll get a job. Seems there are lots of folks looking for work. LOTS.

We’ll start a family.  Then you never get pregnant.

We’ll buy our dream house in town and our children will go to private schools. The bank took the house and the children’s school is no longer private.

*     *     *

Was just at a party tonight and was talking with a few girl friends.

“How did we know what to major in at college, when here we are at mid-life and have no idea what we want to do?”

I have an idea what I want to do. The question remains how do I do it all?

Tomorrow holds another spin of the dial.

How are you doing at the game of LIFE?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Food / South — 2 comments
31
Jan 12

Squatter’s Rights on a table and the Eager Beaver.

He just tried to snake my salad.

UGH.

The overeager, overachieving bus person had his hand on my salad bowl.

“Excuse me,” I said looking first at his hand and then to his face. “I’m not done yet.”

You want to freak somebody out….

that freaked out eager-beaver table cleaner.

Having time to kill in Athens, I decided to work and treat myself to lunch. I don’t do this ever for I am a good curb-excess-spending wife and mother.

And this guy was trying to take my salad.

Don’t come between a woman and her salad. One that is a treat she rarely enjoys. (Don’t come between me and any food actually.)

Clearly, I had hardly been here 30 minutes and though the restaurant was busy, no one was waiting for a table.

I was abiding by all the establishment’s login “thou shalts” as I understood them. And besides, this was a treat. He wanted me to rush through my ice cream sundae with sprinkles. (Well, my theoretical ice cream sundae.)

I figured an hour was fair enough for a ten dollar purchase.

The Beaver didn’t think so.

I’m bugging the poo out of him and he’s a little shaken. I see him as he furiously sweeps under the tables around me.

Close. But not too close.

It’s not fair that the woman across from me has sat there with her lunch companion — not eating, talking away – longer than I and he hasn’t reached for her bowl.

Clearly, my equal rights under the 14th Amendment as it applies to large franchise eateries with free WiFi had been violated.

No, there’s safety in numbers. The Beaver only looks for the lone pathetic woman (having a wonderful time) to try to hurry out the door.

 

 

He did until he found out this one bites.

Or gives a slightly threatening growl.

A grr.  

He must have found some other patron to torment for haven’t seen him in a while.

Okay, time for me to go.

Pity.

Ever squat on a table? Either by yourself doing work or talking with friends?

 

 

Uncategorized — 15 comments
30
Jan 12

Living a Vinyl Soundtrack in a Digital age.

Music.

I listen to music all the time.

This should have been easy breezy.

Yet I struggled a bit –

but for this moment in time here is the Soundtrack for My Life. (Clue small shower from sparkler and smattering of applause.)

*    *    *

Linking in with Stasha @Northwestmommy’s Monday Listicles, our assignment suggested by Bruna @beeswithhoney was…

If they were to make a movie of your life what would the soundtrack be like? Share 10 songs that best tell the story of your life. 

So here it goes…

I am so trapped in vinyl.

1. Daydream Believer by the Monkees.

As a little girl, I lived in a dreamworld with tons of imaginary friends who I tried in vain to convince my mother committed all the mischief she pinned on me. The Homecoming Queen part never come true (though surely I must have dreamed that it did).

 

2.  Daughters by John Mayer.

It was Mom, Dad, my sister and I. Dad was the dominant figure in our world. Maybe it was easy to live in daydreams when dad took care of everything. Yes, an estrogen-filled house run by dad. (Who was very dear.)

3.  Breakaway by Kelly Clarkston.

What does a dreamer with a dominant dad do when she starts to wonder “What about My Dreams?”  She head to Texas to school, decides to go by a different name and has the time of her life (until that point) at college.

4.  Oh Atlanta by Alison Krauss.

After four years in college, I headed deeper into the Southland and spent the next few years of my life miserable at Emory Law School. Got my Juris Doctorate and boo-co loan payments. (Which my dear parents did pay most.)  The absolutely best part of law school was the friendships I made. Love those folks. Especially one in particular.

5.  Lawyers in Love by Jackson Browne.

One night at a law school party, innocently talking to Artie Handleman, we were rudely interrupted by a fellow who asked, “When are we getting married?”

The joke was sooo on him. Two and a half years later, we did.

 

6.  Small Town by John Mellencamp.

After over a decade in Atlanta, we moved out to small town Georgia over a decade ago.  You can breathe in a small town and people care in a small town. I could never go back to big city life again. (At least without a lot of kicking and screaming.)

 

7.  Learning to Fly by Tom Petty.

Hit mid-life and looked around. Started to spread my wings. Or what non-daydreamers might call having a few mid-life crisis moments. Luckily, I flew more then I crashed. (Or maybe I just dreamed it that way?)

 

8. With a Little Help From My Friends by the Beatles.

Couldn’t have gotten through life without my friends. The number one being my husband.

 

9. Mr. Blue Sky by ELO.

Another mid-life revelation.  If I am a dreamer — why not dream positive?

I committed to going through the second part of life half-full.

10.  Still Crazy After All These Years by Paul Simon.

No one captures the human condition as a song writer like Paul Simon. But what do I know?

 

Finally, the best moment of cinema and song — and I guess if truthful, this kind of sums me up.

What about you? What is some of the soundtrack to your life?


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

5.   Lawyers in Love by Jackson Brown. After for years in

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Fitness / Running — 5 comments
28
Jan 12

Saturday’s long run day. What now?… Just get out of bed.

I run.

Unless injured or gravely ill, I’ve run for exercise the last 28 years of my life.

If you are new to running or a long time runner who wants to see that all runners’ neurosis are the same, you might want to follow along. (I mean normal runners. Not a gifted gazelle from another planet’s gene pool.)

Since I blog daily and Saturday’s find me out on a training run, it occurred to me that each Saturday for a bit, I’m going to share what I have learned over the last 28 years. I maybe not a certified expert — but I have street cred.

 

*      *      *

I’m training for the Disney Princess Half end of February and the ZOOMA Half at Lake Lanier on April 22.

Today I was to run 10 miles.

The first point ‘ll cover this in post is the most critical — other than finding a training plan and sticking to it — to getting your required asphalt time in.

DO IT EARLY.

Here’s the painful part.

Get out of bed before light — usually in the cold. Early enough to have a spot of coffee, stretch and go. I’m like a turtle poking around in the morning, so if I want to be out the door by 7 a.m., I need to be out of  bed by 6.

Fighter fighter would not be the profession for me.

If you have a family,  early translates…BEFORE CHILDREN STIR.

Made that mistake this morning. Once their up, it’s soooo hard to make it out the door.

But thank goodness my Prince said he would take his hungry fiefdom to Waffle House.

Some helpful things I  do to help get my rear in gear and out the door early.

*  Remember to set alarm. (This really helps.)

*  Lay clothes out. Look at weather the night before and plan your athletic wear accordingly.

*  Coffee pot already to turn on.

*  Get out of bed when the alarm sounds.  (This is where I had critical mass failure today.)

*  Have a running buddy. Knowing Kim is pulling her van up in your driveway helps to get the most protesting bod vertical.

*   Lace up and get moving.

 

And once you do — it’s great. It was this morning. A quarter mile into the run, it was so beautiful, I was questioning why, oh why is it hard to get out the door?

Ten miles done.

What about you? When do you get those long runs in?

 

 

Children — 4 comments
27
Jan 12

Go Team Twilight. But I’m clueless which one.

I’ll right. I confess.

I’m the only women in America who has never seen any of the Twilight movies.

My daughter has. Because her father watched them with her.

She is having a birthday this weekend and today was the day take cupcakes to school.

Poor Guy. He sat waiting patiently under wraps to be eaten.

Yes, she is Team Jacob.

Like everyone else on the planet.

If I had to choose, I would choose Team Edward.

No, I’d chose Team Edward-with-a-Tan. Surely, vampires could withstand a spray-tanning if they can hang out on cloudy days. (Which is a totally bogus rule I think. I chose to be a purist  in matters I know nothing about like vampires.)

Kids really watch you when you have a tray of cupcakes. Boys even don’t say anything about eating a Jacob cake.

When asked why she likes Jacob my daughter’s reply, “Because he’s cute.”

FYI. I ordered half chocolate Jacobs and half vanilla. The chocolate RULED. The only child who wanted one was Colin Sitzmann and after I got so excited to give away a vanilla Jacob, my daughter told me he was not in her class.

Rule Number 2345 of taking cupcakes to school: CHILD’S CLASS ONLY. I made this mistake once with my oldest son and was sentence to three afternoons study hall.

My daughter had only one request.

Leave his face for me.

 

Done.

The Jacob-in-Frosting is growing on me but think I’ll stick with Edward-with-a-Tan.

What about you?

Team Jacob or Team Edward and why?

Come on. You are one or the other, admit it.

 

Attitude Matters / Fitness / Uncategorized — No comments
26
Jan 12

Musing on attitudes at the pool. You look Marvelous.

“Hi, Andy.”

Andy is a huge Alabama fan and the last time I swam in the afternoon was the day of National Championship game.

“Congratulations,” I said. For in the South we congratulate people if “their” team wins as if they were in uniform on the field throwing the ball around.

Then I had a bit of panic.

Did Alabama win? They did win didn’t they?

I couldn’t for the life of me remember if they indeed won.

“Yes, they did,” Andrew replied. “Quite handily.”

That’s why I was at the pool. If I needed to dunk my head in water to clear the fog — I might as well get some exercise.

I got in my lane and did my workout.

The older guy to my left was smoking fast (for an older guy.) Then to my great relief I saw he was wearing huge scuba-type fins.

There were two older women to my right. They exercised up and down the lane.

I’m not by any means an extroverted swimmer, but if I’m kicking with the board and make eye contact with another pool participant, I only think it civil to smile, nod, or give some recognition that they are another human.

I swam and tried to enjoy it. Tried to squash thoughts how my shoulders will never rotate like they should on the backstroke and how my chest never seems to pop out of the water like the aqua queens.

I got done and went to the locker room.

While getting dressed, I heard the two older women come in.

And one remarked to the other, “That was Marveloouusss.” The word went on for about 10 syllables and was as rich, deep and melodic as a banana split on a July evening.

Her marvelous resonated over and over in my head. I wish I had it recorded.

I’d play it and swim in it.

She didn’t look like she was haven’t all that much more fantastical fun than me. Heck, even pokey me lapped her constantly. (Yes, I live to lap octogenarians at the Aquatics Center.)

But she was having a marrrveelllouusss time.

So am I — next time.

For it’s up to me you know.

 

 

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