Attitude Matters

Attitude Matters — 18 Comments
30
Apr 12

A Top Ten “Rah” for Me.

Praise. And Stasha’s Monday Listicles.

I mentioned how I don’t do praise well in a recent post — so in an endeavor to stretch out of my tiny rubber room comfort zone I chose:

A. LIST ABOUT THINGS WE ARE GOOD AT over

B. THINGS WE WOULD DO IN 48 HOURS WITH UNLIMITED MONEY AND NO RESPONSIBILITIES. (That would be way to revealing and send me scurrying back to the rubber room for sure.)

* * *

So with a deep breath, here’s a stream-of-consciousness list of things I do well.

10. Write in stream-of-consciousness.

Thank God for this blog for it releases the pressure behind whatever dike holds back all the billions of seemingly unrelated, related thoughts that bounce around in my head.

9. Have fun with my children.

Maybe because I’m still a big kid, but I love to just go play. Whether hiking the beautiful trails at the Botanical Gardens, ooohing and ahhhing at giant sleeping pythons at the reptile house, ride crazy roller coasters (preferably after a beer first because I am a huge chicken) or driving seven hours to spend one day at an awesome water park,

I love playing with my kids.

7. Tan.

Horrible curse in life to be good at something so bad for you. But I love sitting in a chair at the ocean’s edge doing anything or nothing at all. (With proper hat and SPF.)

6. See the talents of others.

I have always had a sixth sense about people and part of this gift is recognizing their talents. I hope I do all that I can to encourage those that I see…but some days I get too trapped in my thoughts to do the best at this one.

5. Write good notes.

This has really suffered with the digital age but I always tried to write a sincere note once again tapping into my people sixth sense. I need to sit, be quiet and write notes again.

4. Interrupting.

My husband — where ever he is at the moment — is nodding his head vigorously. Over the last five years, I have tried to be aware of this and shut-the-heck-up when someone else is talking.

3. Creative things.

Not like being creative with quantum physics or unlocking the genetic code of shark’s to find a cure for cancer, but your standing doodling, painting, photography, sewing, experimenting with new concoction of trail mix creative.

If you like undisciplined creativity, I’m your gal. That’s probably why our walls are covered with framed children’s art and primitive creations I’ve collected along the way.

2. Gardening.

I’d so much rather be outdoors than in (and my housekeeping suffers).

My love of flowers has taken a big back seat to my vegetable garden the last few years but I love watching things grow and being a part of that experience.

1. Love.

I’m a quiet, introverted lover of all things.

People, places…the lovely birds I watch as I type this…the silly turtle that I’ve just laid in her outdoor pen.

Maybe that’s why once I started writing and began getting approval, I can’t stop.

When you care deeply for things and are more the introvert — writing is the perfect way to let all that love pour out.

That’s it. Gooo Jamie!

What are some things you do so very well?

Huh?

I know there’s a bunch.

The rest of the story. My grandaddy and his WWII Baby Boom.

Grandaddy.

I always called my grandfather Grandaddy even as grown woman stooping to kiss his 95-year-old head.

I knew lots about my Grandaddy but it wasn’t until he was in his late 80s that I learned the “rest of the story.”

Joining up with MamaKat this week at little late, but couldn’t resist her prompt 3.) Tell us something you learned about a grandparent that surprised you.

*** * ***

My grandfather was a obstetrician in Orlando from the 1920s till he retired. Back then Orlando was citrus, mosquitoes and beautiful sandy-bottomed lakes.

And babies needing to be delivered, for where men and women reside in close proximity that tends to happen.

So Grandaddy delivered lots of babies through the Depression and then came WWII.

All the doctors enlisted and went over to serve. I mean all.

But Grandaddy couldn’t pass the physical because of phlebitis in a leg. An injury sustained when an old sterilizer burst (basically a bladder filled with boiling water).

This troubled him greatly but what could he do?

So Grandaddy and another obstetrician in Brooksville (town outside of Tampa) where the only baby-delivers in Central Florida. All the rest went to Europe. Not to deliver babies but help patch-up babies who had grown into young men.

For a period of a few years, these two men delivered every baby born between Tampa and Orlando.

* I had always heard my grandmother say how Grandaddy slept with his shoes during that time.

Doctors made house calls back then.

* I had always heard how just to see his Dad (who was never home) my Dad went on the calls with him. My Dad jokes how he knew what everyone’s living room looked like in Orlando for that is where he sat waiting for his father.

But not until his late 80s did I hear the rest of the WWII Baby Boomer story.

When the war was over and all the doctors back at their practices, Grandaddy invited them all to a banquet.

At the end of the meal, he handed each one an envelope.

In it was all the monies he had collected from their patients during the time they were gone.

He said it was the least he could do because he was unable to serve.

*** * ***

I was the oldest of his granddaughters.

After I went to law school, he said I reminded him of Portia from the Merchant of Venice.

image credit

I think that highly unlikely, but I loved it that my Grandaddy thought it so.

What about your grandparents? Any surprises for you?

Attitude Matters / Midlife — 5 Comments
3
Apr 12

Waiting Room Lamentation.

Waiting rooms.

That’s where I was this afternoon.

The hum of the air conditioner – a voice behind me through a wall answered the phone, calling out to check if a patient’s son was current with a tetanus shot.

By the time we got there, later in the day – chairs were empty.

The phone trilled on, folks scheduling appointments for the next day.

Appointments for people to come and fill up the chairs to wait once again.

I have rushed in this very room with a child bearing split skin over her chin on one occasion and split skin on the knee another.

Once carrying a child with a charred thumb after sticking a paper clip into a light socket.

Today was just calm waiting.

Sometimes we are made to wait. Other times we nail ourselves to the chair refusing to walk through the door when our name is called and a curled finger beckons.

We could spend most of our mortal existence in rooms — waiting.

Comfortable in a holding-pattern at 30,000 feet expecting that sooner or later someone or something will impact our lives for the better. (Or we’ll finally land in Bora Bora and not Dubuque.)

I’m done with that.

Done waiting for opportunity to throw open the door, running up to me with a full pant-on. Good fortune gushing all over my t-shirt on how deserving I am.

Nope.

No more waiting rooms for me.

Well, except this one…because it really is a waiting room and not a metaphor for a woman treading water in a mid-life cliché.

How about you?

Are you big on waiting?

Attitude Matters — 5 Comments
2
Apr 12

Guilty Indulgences. Not that there’s anything wrong with it.

Guilt implies wrong doing.

Therefore guilty pleasures would mean deriving fulfillment from doing wrong. Hmm. Let’s see how many of these I’m willing to share.

This Monday Listicles we are to confess 10 guilty pleasures at the suggestion of Miss Marina Star.

10. Sunbathing.

Blame this guilt on the overwhelming evidence that prolonged sun exposure increases your chances of skin cancer and looking like a prune well before your time.

That said, you can take the girl out of Florida but it’s awful hard to take Florida out of the girl…even as her skin is getting more prune-ish by each passing 80 degree day.

9. Target.

Blame my guilt here on one word…impulse. And there is no place on earth I am more succeptialbe to “want-based” verses “need” purchases than Target.

I blame Target.

Cute stuff at relatively low cost = a basket of over $100 on the credit card.

Hate it but I can’t help myself.

8. Naps.

A long, long time ago in a galaxy far, far away, I used to nap. I guess I felt guilty napping but that was alleviated by falling into a sound sleep.

7. Reading.

Okay. This is double guilt. I feel guilty about taking time I should be cleaning or writing or sleeping to read.

And I really feel guilty about admitting I feel guilt reading. Who does that?

6. Big Rich Texas.

A god-awful show about these crazy narcissist women in Dallas, Texas and how they infect their children with the same malady.

I can’t not watch. That sentence a lovely obscene double negative that fits right in with BRT.

5. Pedicures.

I apologize to the world because I haven’t had an official one in a while. Trying to save money at risk of ugly exposed toes.

4. Facials and Peels.

Why guilty for this? What some (including this someone) find mandatory healthcare for women who’ve reached a certain level of life experience.

Money and time.

But I do love them so I do indulge every now and then.

drinks by+the+pool pics on Sodahead

3. Ordering frozen drinks by pool on vacay.

I don’t feel guilty about drinking in middle of day, on money spent on overprices drinks or the calorie count (Well, don’t worry to much about that after the first one.)

2. Take out for dinner.

On this I cast aside guilt for extra money and often-poor nutritional value. It’s worth it for a night I can sit down and talk with my husband before 9 o’clock.

1. Face lifts.

A girl can dream can’t she?

Attitude Matters — 10 Comments
14
Mar 12

Catching fish means removing some hooks.

Fishing.

For my formative years of life, before I cared about boys and acting somewhat girly, often I was found barefoot with my hands wrapped around a line that was dropped in a lake.

Looking just like this.

Except I didn’t use such a fancy-shmancy lure. We only had hooks and purple worms.

When my daughter caught this little bass yesterday, she tried to remove the hook.

So she called to me from the squishy, muddy lake’s edge to help her remove the hook.

Eew.

I can’t do that anymore.

Where was my son?

The son that caught this guy earlier.

Well, he was far away catching things out on a boat in the bay.

Poo.

So we struggled.

Actually, my daughter ended up getting the hook out fairly quickly.

See, she didn’t mind touching the fish. Which now in the intervening decades has begun to gross me out.

Yes, if you play with a rod and reel you better be willing to touch some fish.

Or bring your daughter fishing with you.

Do you fish? Or did you back when you could touch their slime-coated bodies straight out of the lake….?

Attitude Matters / Children — 3 Comments
6
Mar 12

Getting out the door by 7 a.m. How do people do this?

I’m up early most mornings.

Out the door by 6 a.m. with the caveat that I’m in workout clothes and can be basically comatose as long as I’m somewhat vertical and moving forward.

This morning was different. I had to be out, dressed and thinking. Able-to-hold-an-intelligent-conversation thinking. That meant my children did also. This also fell on my weekly single-mother morning when Dad is at bible study.

This takes planning. And nerves of steel to offset any rising frustration at protesting, dragging feet children.

How do people do this?

This morning my daughter demanded waffles.

I listed off all I was willing do. Open a pack of Pop Tarts, box of cereal and jar of peanut butter. Make waffles from a mix, no way. Every moment was precious.

“Disgusting. We have nothing to eat. Guess I’ll go to school hungry AGAIN.” My daughter’s rage against me while she lay dressed, wrapped in a blanket squarely on the heating vent.

She ended up with Apple Zings in a baggie. (Generic Apple Jacks to people who don’t know of leaving the grocery with a headache after trying to figure the cheapest product to buy per ounce.)

As I dropped my youngest two off at their grandmother’s to get them to school, I had brief moment of satisfaction.

Getting on the highway this morning, it felt like I was heading somewhere fun. For I’m never on a highway before 7 in the morning, if I’m not fleeing to fun. Or at least a change of scenery.

I made it to my appointment in plenty of time, only to discover no reading glasses. Since I was mean mommy who said no to waffles, I had plenty of time to run into the store and buy another pair.

Do you do this every morning? With young children? With waffles?

Attitude Matters / The Music of Life — 3 Comments
29
Feb 12

Then I saw your face….in my kitchen every morning. Davy Jones.

“I always wrote the song around the title.”

That was Davy Jones’ observations on a recent radio interview.

I’m the opposite with blog posts. I usually don’t think of the title until after it’s written.

Which probably explains for my poor titles and aimless wandering of content.

* * *

As I sat in a waiting room late this afternoon, the DJ on the radio spoke of how sad she was to hear of Davy Jones’ death.

The woman sitting beside me looked up from grading a stack of papers — her nose and forehead a bit scrunched.

“Davy Jones of the Monkees…not the Pirate,” I decided to offer.

“Oh. That makes a lot more sense.”

This album cover hangs in my kitchen.

I never had it as a child but the minute I saw it in an old album section of a bookstore

(Wow, if they aren’t two endangered species — albums and bookstores.),

I bought it.

Why?

Because the Monkees always make me happy.

They made me happy watching them as a four year old and five songs are permanent fixtures on my iPod.

*  Hey, Hey We're the Monkees.

*  Last Train to Clarksville.

*  I'm a Believer.

*  I'm Not Your Steppin' Stone.

*  Daydream Believer.

Favorite episode of The Brady Bunch? Okay, maybe not favorite when you think of the Hawaii ones or the Silver Platter one — but I loved it when Marcia got kissed by Davy Jones.

She did get kissed didn’t she?

I’m not even going to google it because that’s the way I remember it.

He was adorable and kind and talented.

Thank you Davy for always bringing a smile to my smile,

a kick to my run and

a driving-in-the-car dance that never fails to embarrass my children — whenever and wherever I hear your music.

Who doesn’t feel the same way?

Attitude Matters / Running — 2 Comments
11
Feb 12

Who has seen the wind? Neither you or I. But when the trees bow down their heads, it will kick your rear.

Never tweet anything thing you aren’t prepared to back up.

Last week, I retweeted a tweet by @NTTR (North Texas Trail Runners):

“There is no such thing as bad weather, just soft people.” Peter Coe

That quote tumbled over and over in my mind today. My training schedule was 12 miles.

Long Run Training Rule Number 2068: You’ve got to run no matter the conditions because you can’t control conditions on race day.

When I left on my run today it was 39 degrees and with 30 mph wind gusts.

I was going to do a seven mile lap with the dog. Drop him off and finish five more miles.

I dropped the dog off at the house.

I looked at a my husband and said, “I’m going back out.”

“What?” He asked. “You put yourself through more running than a Minnesota pioneer woman.”

I didn’t go back out.

I’m soft.

Poo.

My water bottle and Cliff Peanut Butter Energy Bar still sit out on the curb in the wind and cold — uneaten.

My discarded sweatshirt still lies in a ball behind a pine tree along my route. Alone in the cold and wind and approaching darkness.

I failed them all.

You know who seemed completely unaffected by the wind.

Tebow, my dog.

He seemed invigorated by it.

I guess that’s why dogs pull sleds to and fro around the Arctic Circle and not teams of middle-aged woman from Central Georgia.

I’ll do seven miles as penitence tomorrow and try one last long run next weekend.

Now to shape my Play-Doh self in to a ball and roll toward the showers.

Have you ever bailed on a long run?

Group hug.

Attitude Matters — No Comments
5
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
4
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?