Back in the saddle?
Just yesterday, I was waiting to board a plane when a kindly little, old lady came and stood next to me. She smiled politely and noted that she had my same suitcase. Hers was larger, but she liked my small size for when she goes on bowling trips. I made light conversation with her and turned my attention back to the line as they called those who needed extra time to board. A family pushed through to get on the plane. There was a mother, a father, 3 small children and a set of grandparents. They happened to be Indian. Before I knew it, I felt a tiny hand on my back and a head on my shoulder with that little old lady’s voice attached to it, whispering in my ear a disgusting racial slur about the family. Startled, I looked at her oddly and stepped away, which gave her room to tap the next person pushing through on the shoulder and loudly ask, “Are you handicapped? How come you are going now?”
Seriously…no joke…that happened. And, I thought, you know…you just can’t judge a book by its cover. She sickened me and intrigued me all at once. And, because of that odd, awful encounter, I thought, it might be time to start telling stories again.
I love telling stories and I collect them all the time, especially while I travel. So, I think I’m going to re-invent this blog again…this time as a place to log my most incredible, sometimes disturbing, sometimes moving, sometimes mundane encounters while on the road, in the air and just living life as a corporate traveler. One thing is certain. I learn from each interaction…good or bad. I hope you’ll come back along on the journey, find something in it for yourself and share it with others.
Hitting the Pause Button
I’d like to say I’m shutting her down but that seems so final. Really, though, writing this blog has not been happening lately. It used to just flow out of me. And, now, it’s something just hanging over me. So…in the spirit of trying to live life without putting unnecessary pressure or restrictions on myself…I’m going to hit the pause button on One Normal Woman.
My daughter gave it to me about this last night. She is furious with me that I’ve stopped reaching out to publishers on my book and haven’t been writing lately. She says I have to keep trying, keep going. She’s absolutely right. She gets that from me…her never die, “pick yourself up, dust yourself off and keep moving” spirit. I don’t want to disappoint her. And, honestly, I never say never.
So, this isn’t good-bye forever. It’s just me putting my head down to rest for a bit. I’ll ping you when I’m back. Deal? In the meantime, enjoy your “normal” lives and when something crazy, funny, difficult, silly, challenging or just plain hum-drum happens, think of me and laugh about it. Hell…give me a call and tell me about it. It may just wake me up from this slumber!
The Incredible Speeding Time Machine
There’s this amazing phenomenon that begins to happen as you move beyond young adulthood and into middle age. Time speeds up. Sometimes it’s in a “time flies when you’re having fun way,” but most of the time, it’s just time barreling forward. Take this summer for instance…a great summer, full of fantastic outings, outdoor activities and even a few lazy days, but it’s all happened in a blur.
Living in the South, my kids get out of school just before Memorial Day, so late May. It’s been 2 1/2 months since then…about 10 weeks. That’s 70 days; it’s 1,680 hours. That’s a decent amount of time. And, during that time, we’ve spent a week at the beach, a long weekend in the mountains, and spent countless evenings or afternoons at the pool. The kids did swim team for 5 weeks; my daughter, mother and I had the trip of a lifetime in London; and my kids even fit in several camps — my son focusing on science, cooking and drama and my daughter doing a high-adventure ropes sleep-away camp. Meanwhile, I’ve worked…taken numerous business trips, launched new programs and big, huge meaty events, communicated news to thousands of employees and worked some more. When you pack all that in, 70 days or 1, 680 hours doesn’t seem enough. No wonder it seems to have flown by!
This is where it gets serious though. Because in addition to all of that, we also learned this summer that my stepfather — my Mom’s husband…my kid’s grandfather – who has been fighting cancer, doesn’t have anymore treatment options. And, amid all the summer “stuff,” I’ve been watching my family suffer as they take in this news. All of sudden, it isn’t just an interesting phenomenon…this time passing too quickly thing. All of a sudden there truly isn’t enough time…at all…for anyone.
You see, this is the summer I officially became the sandwich generation…not because my parents need caretaking. They are strong, able, sharp people. But, because I’m in the middle of caring for my children and giving them what I hope is a wealth of experiences AND helping my mother face into a life-changing transition in her life. She’s caring for her husband. She’s scared and not wanting this to happen. She’s dealing with the unknown, and I want to help. My Mom and I have always relied on each other to a fault. And, in this case, I want to be able to ease the fear, make it all better, help her have the answers. Yet, I can’t. This is one of those things you have to live to find out what will come next. You can’t really shape it. And, that’s hard.
It’s hard enough that you just want to say, “Stop. Hold on. Let’s all take a break here; slow things up and figure this out.” But, time doesn’t allow for that. Life doesn’t allow for that. My kids still have needs. My job still has demands. And, time…it just keeps moving, in a blur. I tend to be a person who likes to be in control of things. So, why can’t I slow it down a bit? It’s because…and here’s a really profound thought, I know… time is fixed. Setting aside the dripping sarcasm of that last thought, the fact is every minute is still 60 seconds. It can be mind-boggling when you realize these minutes are the exact same as those I experienced when I was young, single, being cared for by my parents and was often bored watching the clock tick slowly by. The time going by now is ostensibly the same as when everyone was healthy and able and happy.
Time is relentless. So, it just keeps marching on. All the emails have started back up again…the “don’t forget the 8th grade band trip and all the paperwork you need to complete to ready our child for it” and the “sign up for drama classes or you’ll miss out” and the “be at student orientation by 8 a.m.” and “be sure you have purchased your $300 worth of mandatory school supplies by X date” emails. There are those and more pouring into my inbox. Work continues to demand my attention. Yet, all that really matters is that we ensure my stepfather and my mother are enjoying every minute of this precious time…the time when he’s still strong. We don’t know how long that will last. We hope it will be a very, very long time. In the meantime, life continues, for all of us, and we have to make the most of it. Actually, out of all of us, he seems to get this more than anyone. And, just like him, we have to embrace it. We have to embrace the time we have.
Sandwiched or not, that’s what I intend to do…continue living life even as it speeds up and goes by lightning fast. Blink and it could be gone. Or, watch and enjoy the light show. That, my friends, is the current dilemma of this one normal woman.
Harried, Hormonal, Heaven
You know what I hate about being a woman? The hormones. Honestly. We can all act like they don’t change us, and we can even argue that male hormones cause issues for them. I mean who hasn’t considered the stereotypical idea of a man making decisions with something other than the head on his shoulders. So, maybe I shouldn’t hate being a woman because of hormones. Maybe I should just hate hormones. Either way, it’s a nuisance.
It’s a nuisance that my husband, after nearly 23 years of knowing me, will ever-so-casually warn me that I’ll be getting my period shortly. How does he know this? Well…one would think he wouldn’t make a rookie mistake by explaining that he knows this because I’ve been acting a little “differently, a little off” and that usually means about 10 days til my period. One would think that but he’d be incorrect. Yet, that person would be wrong…because my dear husband decides to share his insights with me every, single month. And, dammit all, he is right….always And, even worse, I have no idea. At all.
There is something wrong with that, right? Something not right about me having no clear idea of my cycle, which, in my defense, has been erratic at best my whole life, and him having it timed to what seems like almost the minute. It annoys me yet captivates me all at once. How does he do that? Am I that obvious? And, that’s when I realize…yes, apparently, yes I am. And, then I’m annoyed all over again.
Day-to-day, I am a capable, in-command woman who handles a full-time job, motherhood and a host of other important roles in life (wife, volunteer, daughter, friend, bill payer, grocery shopper, calendar commandant, and more) without issue. Yet, I seem unable to understand the nuances of my own body and personality. And, then, I head to the bathroom unknowingly one afternoon on any given month and…surprise…it all makes perfect sense. Because, he’s right. I haven’t felt like myself. And, now, I know the reason.
I think it’s the smugness that does me in. He’s so “in the know,” and I’m…well…just so clueless. There was a time, when we were young and trying to have children, that I would have paid money for this type of intel. That I would have killed to know exactly 10 days before my period…the fertile time. For some reason, he didn’t share his information then. Yet, like clockwork, he does it now. Always somewhat too little, too late.
And, then, I wonder why? Why am I so clueless about this? It’s important to be in tune with yourself. And, I’m just not. Or, maybe I just don’t want to know. I’m betting I’m not the only one. I know it’s taboo to admit this, and many readers will disagree with me, or say PMS is not real or hormonal ups and downs are a lame excuse for not behaving well. But, for those who recognize themselves in this…even in the slightest…what power could we harness if we had this knowledge about ourselves? Would we always be even keel? Would we always know how to buffer our ups and downs? And, as I write this, I wonder how many women have harnessed this power? How many men for that matter? How many of them are out there controlling their testosterone driven impulses and channeling them into productive activities?
Yet, as I think that through, it all sounds too neat…too together. Hormones are known to drive people together in a positive way, and push others to say things in the moment they might not say otherwise. They are the reason for procreation — new life. They do have their merits…some pretty, big meaty merits.
If you haven’t noticed, I am someone who likes a bit of control over my world. Hormonal impulses create a bit of the unexpected in my controlled life. So, I guess I won’t hate. I’ll embrace…at least for this moment. As for my husband, maybe he’ll read this and correct his rookie behavior…because, let’s be honest, he really is taking his life in his hands each and every time he suggests I’m a little off. I’m just saying!
Objects in Motion
Inertia. I learned about it in 7th grade science, I believe. It made perfect sense. Objects in motion stay in motion. And, for years and years, I’ve referred to it on a superficial level when I see it play out in front of me. It’s an intriguing theory and all. But, lately, I’ve begun to understand it beyond that simple explanation. It’s more than a ball that keeps rolling and keeps rolling until stopped. It turns out it is a theory that can play out physically and mentally.
My first wake-up call was while running a 10K a few months ago. It was the longest distance I’d ever run but I found myself doing it. Once I got going, I just kept going. I had trained. I was ready and my body did the rest….that and inertia. It became abundantly clear when at about mile 5, I slowed up for water. The volunteers handing out the water didn’t quite have a rhythm down and I had to stop to get a cup. I walked and drank and then, feeling pretty good, started to run…or not. I was moving and clearly thinking, “Ok…time to run that last mile,” but my legs didn’t do it. I had stopped the motion and my body decided it didn’t need to stay in motion at the speed I was willing it to go. It took several tries. Seriously, I looked like some washed up telekinetic freak scrunching up my face, walking along and thinking “move legs, run.” Until, slowly, very slowly they began responding and I dragged them along until I was at a jog again. That last mile, though, was not like the first 5. It felt terrible. I pushed through and made it happen, but the laws of physics stood true. I should have never stopped.
You might have noticed that I haven’t posted in awhile. Same theory. Life got crazy. I have been moving along at a clip. Doing everything that needs to be done. I swear…the last month of school for the kids is busier than even the holidays. It should be fun…end of season parties and school plays and class parties and teachers gifts and celebrations, but it’s all piled into three weeks that tend to also be busy weeks at work. Add to that the trials of life in general…hormonal sass from my daughter, helping my son achieve nearly unachievable goals as he struggles to overcome dyslexia, and the horror and sadness of my stepfather facing into cancer yet again while my Mom tries desperately to help him overcome it…it’s not a surprise that I was moving so fast that I slowed up on the writing. I slowed up enough that the particular activity didn’t stay in motion enough to propel it forward. And, I thought, I’ll just lay my head down here and rest a bit. Before I knew it, two months had passed.
Don’t get me wrong…it hasn’t been too much…this life of mine. As I strongly believe and have based this entire blog on…it’s normal. These are the things everyone faces in one way or another, and sometimes you have to slow up on one thing to manage another. So, I slowed up on writing. For just a bit. Until today. Today…as I sit here with a physical reminder of why it’s important to stay in motion. That particular reminder would be a searing pain in my back…my old lady back that managed to rear its ugly head….or, in this case, its ugly herniated disc…just because I stopped.
You see, after the crazy month of May and all its school-year-ending activities, we took a family vacation to the beach. I managed a business trip the week before as the kids finished school, my husband packed us and I had less than 24 hours to get the rest of the plans together before hitting the car to drive to visit my Mom and her ailing husband and then, two days later, unload on the beach. We got there and I looked out on the ocean and thought, “I’m not moving from this spot for 6 days.” Ironically, I really didn’t. The first day was normal…active, but normal. I went for a run and then walked the beach with my kids, boogie boarded in the waves with my daughter, swam with my son, built a boat out of cardboard, duct tape and Saran wrap with my family as part of a poolside activity at the resort and walked back to our condo to crash for the night. Sounds like a lot, but this is my week to let loose and play with my kids. This is what we do at the beach each year, and I love it. So, the next morning, as my husband and daughter set off for a bike ride, my son and I walked on the beach and then played Bocce. Next, he wanted to build a sand castle. That’s when it happened. I stopped the motion. I sat down on the sand while he brought me buckets of wet sand and water and I just leaned over and molded his creation. He did all the work. I just enjoyed the sun and sat mostly still. And, when we were done, I went to get up and I was stuck. Literally stuck. Like an old lady in a medical alert commercial, I could not get up. My body wouldn’t move and when it swayed even a centimeter, the pain was overwhelming. The sun was beating down, my son had no idea why I wasn’t moving on to the next thing and my husband and daughter were off on a two-hour biking trek, leaving me to figure this out on my own.
I’ll be honest, I’m not sure how I actually got up. I know it hurt…I remember the wave of nausea that accompanied the pain once I was on my feet, but I don’t remember actually standing. And, my sweet son just put his tiny arm around me as we made our way up to our chairs. We rested there and then we made it to the pool where I could get some shade and let him play while I caught my breath and figured out how to get a call into my doctor to get pain killers sent directly to me at that pool. Ok…it took a bit more work than that, but we found our way. Funny thing…it didn’t ruin our vacation. I mean…if you have to be laid up, a beautiful place with an ocean view is the place to do it. Yet, one friend said it all when, upon hearing the story, she said to me, “Only you could injure yourself while relaxing.”
I disagree…it wasn’t me. It was inertia. I stopped. I don’t think I should have. Or maybe the lesson is maybe I should stop more often so my mind and body know how to react to it. Honestly, I’m not sure. Maybe I’ll take another Percoset and ponder it. I do know this though…don’t mess with the laws of science. I don’t care who you think you are…they win…every…last…time. So, I sit here just waiting…waiting until I can get into motion again. And, then, who knows…I may never stop again….because…if you haven’t noticed, the juices are flowing and my normal life continues to march on which means there’s always a story to tell, my friends, always!
A Powerful Lesson – The Art of Cursing Taught by Kevin Smith
I love me a good curse word. I really do. Dropping an f-bomb or a good “GD” sometimes feels like the only way to really make your point. It’s not very ladylike, and, I know all too well the lesson I often impart to my kids…using words like that takes away your power. It makes people focus on the jarring moment that you do it instead of the point you are trying to make. Yet, it’s still one of my dirty little secrets.
The people closest to me know this. They’ve heard me just be me and use the words I love so much to make a point probably one too many times. The people at work only know because I shared my love of cursing in a team-building session one day when we had to tell the group something they didn’t know about us. “I curse like a sailor,” I said proudly. They were shocked. My boss kept remarking, “You have a really good governor on that.” Yes…yes I do…back to the life lesson I give my kids…I know it takes away any power in what I’m saying if used at the wrong moment, so I don’t use it often at work.
I guess that’s why I was taken aback at a recent event I went to. The speaker stood in front of a nearly full auditorium dropping the f-bomb and words used for the female anatomy that are typically off limits for even the most vile cursers like me. He did it so naturally that I realized it’s just worked into his daily speech like any other word, as often as “the,” “and” or “very” might be. There was rarely a sentence without one or two f-bombs used in interesting new ways as adjectives or just because. It caught me by surprise and I’m not sure why. It was within character and completely fit the audience so it wasn’t crazy or out of place, but it made me laugh. That’s not the only reason I was laughing though. The group of about 1,000 people or more around me were also pretty entertaining.
You see, my husband is a huge Kevin Smith fan. You know Kevin Smith? The director who produced Clerks, Mallrats, Chasing Amy, Dogma etc. He’s been known for 20 years as being cutting edge, irreverent and intelligent in his humor and his art. He’s the big guy also recently known for getting asked to leave a Southwest flight because he wouldn’t buy two seats, and they thought he was too large for just one. They clearly didn’t know who they were dealing with because Smith is very active in the podcast world and blogosphere right now. He launched a social media rant right there in the gate area and all got resolved pretty quickly. I’m sure that rant was laced with some great profanity…I should go back and read that!
So, anyway, Kevin Smith has made his latest movie, Red State. It’s not his normal fare. It’s a dark look at the extreme right religious evangelism out there as well as politics and shortcomings in our government. It’s gory and gross and intense. And, it doesn’t have a distributor. So, Smith himself is screening it around the country. He opens the screening with a personal introduction and closes it with a one-hour plus rambling Q&A that was interesting, thought-provoking and funny in a very relatable, non-Hollywood manner. It helped that the theatre was full of “his” people.
What do I mean by that? I mean that I’ve never seen so many heavy, tatted up, pony-tailed men in huge t-shirts and baggy shorts in one place. Not scary tatted up, pony-tailed men, but rather, the kind you used to know in college. The academic stoner type with a good serving of geek thrown in. There were many “we’re not worthy” bows going on in the audience every time Smith said…well…pretty much anything. There were many laughs with associated snorts throughout the audience. There was an abundance of mobile technology. And, of course there was a lot of whooping and hollering every time Smith used one of the more off-limit words. I have always felt comfortable in pretty much any crowd. In high school, I could hang out with the Beta Club as easily as with the Cheerleaders and find myself shooting the breeze with the stoners in the smoking lounge that afternoon without skipping a beat. But here, I felt like there was a spotlight on me pointing to the one middle-aged woman in the room who often gets mistaken for a prude. I wanted to shout, “I love to curse too! So what if I had to walk out of Chasing Amy because the sexual references became too much for me. I’m still cool. I just have my boundaries.”
But, then, among the Smith look-alikes and crowd with more greasy long hair per capita than I can do justice to in a short description, a real “moment” took place. During the Q&A, it was time for the very last question. We happened to be sitting right next to the microphone where people had lined up. And, this young guy walked up and started to ask his question. He stammered, his lisp loud and clear. He tried again and only got out a shallow groan and this: “I’m trying not to pass out here…what was my question again? Hold on…” And, this crowd of rough-looking, cursing people, many of whom literally cheered during violent scenes in the movie just minutes earlier, laughed nervously…but wait…not in an ugly way…there was some support there too. While it all happened, Smith wandered to side stage, jumped down and came directly to the guy trying to ask his question. He held his hand and said, “Don’t be nervous. We’ll do this together. What did you want to ask me?” The guy was flabbergasted but got it together and asked. Smith held his hand through the whole answer…a good 4-5 minutes and hugged him in the end. And, the crowd went wild. They were among “their” people and, like any good group, nobody disrespects one of their own.
This sweet moment was juxtaposed with the fact that as Smith and the unknown question asker held hands and swayed together during their talk, Smith used the f-bomb at least 3 times and peppered the answer with a few other choice words. Yet, there was no power lost in that moment. Just a nice thank you to those who have supported him for the past 20 years from a person who, in his words, “won the lottery and got the dream job of making pretend for his career.”
As for this woman who might wear the costume of a prude, and who attended this and other Smith movies in the past on the fringe just to support her husband’s interests, I enjoyed every minute of it. I especially enjoyed the moment when Smith admitted that he’d been “creeping out women for years” because that’s exactly how I felt until I saw him, heard him and felt a genuine decency from him. So, cursers unite…scream it from the rooftops if you need to…Shit, Damn, whatever your personal word of choice…turns out the real power is in your actions, not your words.
