Whirled Species-that just isn't right, but I heard it enough this evening to kinda enjoy saying it.
Congratulations St. Louis, you’ve won the 2006 World Series.
And I discovered pitching.
The last time the Cards took the series, it was 1982 and I was a sophomore in high school. I've always been a fan, but in 2000, I discovered football and baseball took the backseat. Yes, I hear the sighs and see the heads shaking. But, I picked up in the post-season like a lot of folks.
While I was watching the game tonight, I started to notice pitches. I've never really understood pitching and I don't now. But, for the first time, my eyes were glued to the pitchers and barely noticing the batter.
It was like the first time you really understand how something works--when the light bulb goes on and you look beyond to see the mechanics. I have a new hero--Jeff Weaver. And Wainwright is right behind him. I saw Wainwright close the Mets and was so nervous for him that I kept bouncing from room to room.
Tonight, I stayed put. Something very unusual during a sports event. No furniture was turned over. No light fixtures taken out. I was mesmerized by Weaver’s intensity, speed, and accuracy. I even began to recognize strikes and balls without looking to the umpire or listening for the call.
Sports are not for everyone and sometimes they are just an excuse for fans to be stupid. But, when the artistry and refinement are revealed, well, sports can be captivating.
Friday, October 27, 2006
Saturday, October 14, 2006
A picture can launch a thousand mantras
People have asked me, “How did you become interested in Tibetan Buddhism?”
It is and isn’t a difficult question. My exploration into Tibetan Buddhism has been long. Sometimes in great leaps, sometimes precariously slow.
I have had two opportunities to share the same ground with His Holiness the Dalai Lama. And I assure you that if you have ever read someone’s account of meeting him, his great compassion will touch you even in a crowd of 100,000. After experiencing HHDL presence, it is difficult to accept that this man is only a simple monk. He is only a simple monk, but he is also the Buddha of compassion.
But the answer to the question? I did have a trigger. There was a place in my life when I was apparently ready to be introduced and it was then that I happened to watch KUNDUN, the Martin Scorsese film about the life of HHDL and the invasion of Tibet.
At the end of that film, I felt like someone had reached in and touched my heart to its farthest depths. I was so deeply offended by the actions of the Chinese and saddened by our human capacity to harm, even in the presence of the greatest source of wisdom and compassion, that I immediately set out to research and discover Tibet and try to understand the position of the Tibetan people.
It appears by the reaction of some people that I have met, that they find this story difficult to accept. Sometimes, I sense an unspoken questioning of how could a movie launch such a fundamental shift in the way I live my life?
Why not? We are a culture obsessed with films, DVDs and the Internet. One of the most successful subjects to transfer to these mediums has been Buddhism. We often attribute negative and harmful behavior to music, movies and video games. Why are we reluctant to believe the opposite could be true?
With this in mind, do not think I am trite when you ask me about Tibetan Buddhism and my first response is a question.
“Have you ever seen KUNDUN?”
It is and isn’t a difficult question. My exploration into Tibetan Buddhism has been long. Sometimes in great leaps, sometimes precariously slow.
I have had two opportunities to share the same ground with His Holiness the Dalai Lama. And I assure you that if you have ever read someone’s account of meeting him, his great compassion will touch you even in a crowd of 100,000. After experiencing HHDL presence, it is difficult to accept that this man is only a simple monk. He is only a simple monk, but he is also the Buddha of compassion.
But the answer to the question? I did have a trigger. There was a place in my life when I was apparently ready to be introduced and it was then that I happened to watch KUNDUN, the Martin Scorsese film about the life of HHDL and the invasion of Tibet.
At the end of that film, I felt like someone had reached in and touched my heart to its farthest depths. I was so deeply offended by the actions of the Chinese and saddened by our human capacity to harm, even in the presence of the greatest source of wisdom and compassion, that I immediately set out to research and discover Tibet and try to understand the position of the Tibetan people.
It appears by the reaction of some people that I have met, that they find this story difficult to accept. Sometimes, I sense an unspoken questioning of how could a movie launch such a fundamental shift in the way I live my life?
Why not? We are a culture obsessed with films, DVDs and the Internet. One of the most successful subjects to transfer to these mediums has been Buddhism. We often attribute negative and harmful behavior to music, movies and video games. Why are we reluctant to believe the opposite could be true?
With this in mind, do not think I am trite when you ask me about Tibetan Buddhism and my first response is a question.
“Have you ever seen KUNDUN?”
Sunday, October 08, 2006
Isn't he a bit like you and me?
Today I washed my car. It was covered in approximately 3.5 inches of dust and was giving me heavy guilt. It is after all a 2000 Celica--a car that several teenagers have assured me is incredibly cool.
After a wash, I like to take out my car for a nice air-dry race on the highway. Little beads of water zip up the windshield and off the roof, onto every car I pass. Just add a fitting tune at full volume and it's a 15-minute treat.
I was on the return leg when I noticed a person on the Big Bend bridge...
He's as blind as he can be
Just sees what he wants to see
Nowhere Man can you see me at all?
As I approached I recognized him. Not a man I know, but I man I have seen here before...
Nowhere Man, don't worry
Take your time, don't hurry
Leave it all till somebody else lends you a hand
An African-American man in a red tank shirt, stopped in the middle of the east bound lane, starring down at the oncoming traffic...
Doesn't have a point of view
Knows not where he's going to
Isn't he a bit like you and me?
He's alone on the bridge clutching the fence as though he's trapped...
Nowhere Man, please listen
You don't know what you're missing
Nowhere Man, the world is at your command
How many times have I seen him?? 2? 3 times? Does he see me watching him?
He's a real Nowhere Man
Sitting in his nowhere land
Making all his nowhere plans for nobody
Making all his nowhere plans for nobody
And in an instant he's in my review mirror... an image with his back to me.
Making all his nowhere plans for nobody
After a wash, I like to take out my car for a nice air-dry race on the highway. Little beads of water zip up the windshield and off the roof, onto every car I pass. Just add a fitting tune at full volume and it's a 15-minute treat.
I was on the return leg when I noticed a person on the Big Bend bridge...
He's as blind as he can be
Just sees what he wants to see
Nowhere Man can you see me at all?
As I approached I recognized him. Not a man I know, but I man I have seen here before...
Nowhere Man, don't worry
Take your time, don't hurry
Leave it all till somebody else lends you a hand
An African-American man in a red tank shirt, stopped in the middle of the east bound lane, starring down at the oncoming traffic...
Doesn't have a point of view
Knows not where he's going to
Isn't he a bit like you and me?
He's alone on the bridge clutching the fence as though he's trapped...
Nowhere Man, please listen
You don't know what you're missing
Nowhere Man, the world is at your command
How many times have I seen him?? 2? 3 times? Does he see me watching him?
He's a real Nowhere Man
Sitting in his nowhere land
Making all his nowhere plans for nobody
Making all his nowhere plans for nobody
And in an instant he's in my review mirror... an image with his back to me.
Making all his nowhere plans for nobody
Saturday, September 23, 2006
Angel in the Cubicle
I like to believe that I live by a philosophy birthed by Virginia Woolf--that to be a successful writer one must have a room of one's own and kill the angel in the house. It is the second part of this philosophy that I'm considering today.
The Angel in the house is a phantom in my head that harps on loyalty, charity, forgiveness and humility. These are not bad qualities, and they are a part of my life philosophy. However, the Angel in my head is also the first lady of martyrdom. Oh woe is me.
The goal is to kill the Angel in the house--invite equality into your living room and express yourself. I have a room of my own. I am married to a man who encourages and supports me. I have ideas and the ability and means to express them. I have succeeded.
But the Angel does not die so easily. She finds other places to live. Like in my cubicle. If Virginia could see our lives today, would she add another point to the list for success? Would she change the mantra? Kill the Angel in the cubical?
I believe she would.
Angel, I'm calling you out. Pack your damn bags.
The Angel in the house is a phantom in my head that harps on loyalty, charity, forgiveness and humility. These are not bad qualities, and they are a part of my life philosophy. However, the Angel in my head is also the first lady of martyrdom. Oh woe is me.
The goal is to kill the Angel in the house--invite equality into your living room and express yourself. I have a room of my own. I am married to a man who encourages and supports me. I have ideas and the ability and means to express them. I have succeeded.
But the Angel does not die so easily. She finds other places to live. Like in my cubicle. If Virginia could see our lives today, would she add another point to the list for success? Would she change the mantra? Kill the Angel in the cubical?
I believe she would.
Angel, I'm calling you out. Pack your damn bags.
Friday, June 30, 2006
Slipping through the looking glass
Something caught me by surprise today. I've lost 27 pounds.
You are probably wondering how this caught me by surprise. Well, it did Alice and I'm not sure whose body this is.
I've been overweight since kindergarten. Unpleasant names to cutting comments, I've been "rubinesque" forever. Eventually, I embraced my bodacious bod and began tweaking my self-image to include extra B's (boob, belly and butt). I even learned to love myself. *gasp*
I'm not a career dieter. I sometimes experiment, but I've always been non-committal. My mother is convinced that I lost a few pounds on a diet with her when I was 16. It must have been significant because I've blocked it from memory.
I was raised on fast food--Big Macs, White Castles and Imo's pizza. In my 20's, I learned to cook and ate much healthier. In my 30's, I discovered activities like gardening, step aerobics and of course, belly dancing. But, I never dropped much weight.
A few weeks ago, Weight Watchers came to my office. The rally call came--join the weekly meeting. NO WAY! I'm anti-diet and it cost too much. But when the second session came up and I became inspired by the success of a co-worker, three more of us signed up.
I signed the check and went to the first meeting. Then, I bitched all the way home. I pitched a full out 3-year-old fit. I think I may have even pounded my fists on my friend’s dashboard. I'm not always open to suggestion.
I turned the whole flex point diet into a game and played "how many points is this?" with my coworkers. I didn't really expect results. Just like my college experience when I went to school because I loved it. Eventually, I had 42 hours with a 4.0 before I realized what that meant. This diet has been equally surprising.
Suddenly, I'm facing the possibility of actually achieving a goal I've had for 30 years. I used to say, "If I could just lose this weight, everything would be perfect." Well, I finally stopped believing that and suddenly I’m wearing some fat girl’s pants.
I feel like I woke up under a mushroom and a Cheshire cat just winked at me.
You are probably wondering how this caught me by surprise. Well, it did Alice and I'm not sure whose body this is.
I've been overweight since kindergarten. Unpleasant names to cutting comments, I've been "rubinesque" forever. Eventually, I embraced my bodacious bod and began tweaking my self-image to include extra B's (boob, belly and butt). I even learned to love myself. *gasp*
I'm not a career dieter. I sometimes experiment, but I've always been non-committal. My mother is convinced that I lost a few pounds on a diet with her when I was 16. It must have been significant because I've blocked it from memory.
I was raised on fast food--Big Macs, White Castles and Imo's pizza. In my 20's, I learned to cook and ate much healthier. In my 30's, I discovered activities like gardening, step aerobics and of course, belly dancing. But, I never dropped much weight.
A few weeks ago, Weight Watchers came to my office. The rally call came--join the weekly meeting. NO WAY! I'm anti-diet and it cost too much. But when the second session came up and I became inspired by the success of a co-worker, three more of us signed up.
I signed the check and went to the first meeting. Then, I bitched all the way home. I pitched a full out 3-year-old fit. I think I may have even pounded my fists on my friend’s dashboard. I'm not always open to suggestion.
I turned the whole flex point diet into a game and played "how many points is this?" with my coworkers. I didn't really expect results. Just like my college experience when I went to school because I loved it. Eventually, I had 42 hours with a 4.0 before I realized what that meant. This diet has been equally surprising.
Suddenly, I'm facing the possibility of actually achieving a goal I've had for 30 years. I used to say, "If I could just lose this weight, everything would be perfect." Well, I finally stopped believing that and suddenly I’m wearing some fat girl’s pants.
I feel like I woke up under a mushroom and a Cheshire cat just winked at me.
Thursday, June 08, 2006
A Prairie Home Companion finds its voice on film
The compelling quality of radio is that it is perhaps the most intimate experience a person can have... next to marriage.
For nearly 15 years, I have scrubbed the tub, folded laundry, and pulled the weeds alone while listening to Garrison Keillor's tales of Guy Noir, Dusty and Lefty, and Lake Woebegone. This evening, I watched A Prairie Home Companion in a theatre filled with people who knew the theme song and got the jokes. It was almost like a meeting of the Secret Brotherhood of the Chatterbox Cafe.
PHC is complete. Completely funny. Completely melancholy. Completely engaging. The stage is set with the romantic accoutrements of a live radio show. Most fantastic are the performances of Kevin Kline, Meryl Streep, Lilly Tomlin, Tommy Lee Jones, Virginia Madson, Woody Harrelson, John C. Reilly, and dare I admit it, Lindsey Lohan. And there are secret gems. Names you'll only know if you've listened to the live show. Names like Sue Scott, Tim Russell and Tom Keith.
As an avid listener, I tried to reign in my expectations. A movie can never fully imitate what you imagine. But, PHC invites your expectations. It gracefully maneuvers where others only clod. The grounding element is the man himself, Garrison Keillor.
This films unique quality is that it fosters and nurtures its best asset, that soft-spoken, unshakeable, dry wit that is the Keillor voice. The medium changed. The characters came to life. A camera moved in for a close up. But Keillor remained the unassuming storyteller who merely weaves his way through his last show—just another Prairie Home Companion.
As the final credits rolled, I realized that there was not a single poor performance, not a plot line I didn't buy or scene that didn't fit. And even more exciting is the pleasure of being well entertained by a movie as satifying as the radio show.
For nearly 15 years, I have scrubbed the tub, folded laundry, and pulled the weeds alone while listening to Garrison Keillor's tales of Guy Noir, Dusty and Lefty, and Lake Woebegone. This evening, I watched A Prairie Home Companion in a theatre filled with people who knew the theme song and got the jokes. It was almost like a meeting of the Secret Brotherhood of the Chatterbox Cafe.
PHC is complete. Completely funny. Completely melancholy. Completely engaging. The stage is set with the romantic accoutrements of a live radio show. Most fantastic are the performances of Kevin Kline, Meryl Streep, Lilly Tomlin, Tommy Lee Jones, Virginia Madson, Woody Harrelson, John C. Reilly, and dare I admit it, Lindsey Lohan. And there are secret gems. Names you'll only know if you've listened to the live show. Names like Sue Scott, Tim Russell and Tom Keith.
As an avid listener, I tried to reign in my expectations. A movie can never fully imitate what you imagine. But, PHC invites your expectations. It gracefully maneuvers where others only clod. The grounding element is the man himself, Garrison Keillor.
This films unique quality is that it fosters and nurtures its best asset, that soft-spoken, unshakeable, dry wit that is the Keillor voice. The medium changed. The characters came to life. A camera moved in for a close up. But Keillor remained the unassuming storyteller who merely weaves his way through his last show—just another Prairie Home Companion.
As the final credits rolled, I realized that there was not a single poor performance, not a plot line I didn't buy or scene that didn't fit. And even more exciting is the pleasure of being well entertained by a movie as satifying as the radio show.
Tuesday, May 23, 2006
Volunteer Addiction?
Been away, back now. Sorry. Life sometimes hits like a ton of not-so-proverbial bricks.
I volunteered at a food pantry yesterday instead of sitting at a desk all day hating the words "work" and "order". (Job related stress seeping into the happy hatch.)
Anyway, the company I work for, an awesome company by my measure, offers all employees the opportunity to spend two blissful days a year working for a charity. I have had the good fortune to work with Habitat for Humanity and Heat Up St. Louis! Yesterday, I worked at the Food Bank.
Good karma for me. Good karma for the company. That's a win-win.
This is a really cool company policy for other than good karma reasons. First, you get to do something that you know is going to help. And that offers a great sense of satisfaction and accomplishment. For instance, I know that my teammate, Mar and I can haul drywall for a grateful future homeowner fast enough to make the big construction dudes raise their eyebrows. I know I can perform like a circus barker in front of eager football fans heading for a game and actually convince them to part with twenty-dollar bills to help pay heating bills. And, along with 15 co-workers, I can help feed more than 6,000 people in one day.
Secondly, you get an opportunity to get to know people from other departments, people you know only from the hallways. Wow, I work with some incredible folks. It is amazing to see a large group of people put some elbow grease into it, as my mother would say. We don't know each other, but suddenly we are a rock solid team. We'll do what it takes and we'll make it happen. I feel like the Rosie the Riveter, "We can do it!"
Thirdly, you get one day away from whatever it is that is pushing you to reach for the phone to call in sick because you need a bloody break. Amen.
The crazy thing about these volunteer days is that they get me so pumped up that I forget my limits. I forget that I ever had limits. I sleep like a kid that swam all day and wake up grateful to be able to help.
It could be an addiction, I tell ya.
I volunteered at a food pantry yesterday instead of sitting at a desk all day hating the words "work" and "order". (Job related stress seeping into the happy hatch.)
Anyway, the company I work for, an awesome company by my measure, offers all employees the opportunity to spend two blissful days a year working for a charity. I have had the good fortune to work with Habitat for Humanity and Heat Up St. Louis! Yesterday, I worked at the Food Bank.
Good karma for me. Good karma for the company. That's a win-win.
This is a really cool company policy for other than good karma reasons. First, you get to do something that you know is going to help. And that offers a great sense of satisfaction and accomplishment. For instance, I know that my teammate, Mar and I can haul drywall for a grateful future homeowner fast enough to make the big construction dudes raise their eyebrows. I know I can perform like a circus barker in front of eager football fans heading for a game and actually convince them to part with twenty-dollar bills to help pay heating bills. And, along with 15 co-workers, I can help feed more than 6,000 people in one day.
Secondly, you get an opportunity to get to know people from other departments, people you know only from the hallways. Wow, I work with some incredible folks. It is amazing to see a large group of people put some elbow grease into it, as my mother would say. We don't know each other, but suddenly we are a rock solid team. We'll do what it takes and we'll make it happen. I feel like the Rosie the Riveter, "We can do it!"
Thirdly, you get one day away from whatever it is that is pushing you to reach for the phone to call in sick because you need a bloody break. Amen.
The crazy thing about these volunteer days is that they get me so pumped up that I forget my limits. I forget that I ever had limits. I sleep like a kid that swam all day and wake up grateful to be able to help.
It could be an addiction, I tell ya.
Saturday, March 18, 2006
Shred, Baby, Shred
I was afraid of my office until yesterday. After two personal days and all the will power I could muster, I finally see an end to the paper jam.
I'm a self-proclaimed compulsive neat freak who loves to organize. (There's a line that makes a prospective employer's mouth water.) However, I've realized that I have a hitch in my neurosis. If a letter needs to be read, but can be read later, it is put into "the stack". Like my earlier fear of banks and post offices, the time has come to pummel this hitch.
The Stack in my office stuffed my office. Yes, neatly hidden and organized, but a major CF nonetheless. The Stack lived neatly in trays on over my computer, neatly on top of my desk, neatly inside my desk, neatly in the bill file, neatly on the bookshelf, neatly everywhere!
I do have systems. The important things do happen. It's The Stuff that comes in the mail and email from my HR dept and everyone else I have an account with that clogs the machine. Even though I can be heard ripping and shredding junk mail every week, people insist on sending me newsletters on my benefits, letters about improved service, or just other crap regarding my accounts.
"This is important, I'll read it later." But I won't.
But as of today, I have. I've finally emerged like a spring tulip. Hehe! I spent two days reading, filing and shredding. Now, not only do I know all about the pet insurance my company now offers, my chi is flowing freely. Amen!
I'm a self-proclaimed compulsive neat freak who loves to organize. (There's a line that makes a prospective employer's mouth water.) However, I've realized that I have a hitch in my neurosis. If a letter needs to be read, but can be read later, it is put into "the stack". Like my earlier fear of banks and post offices, the time has come to pummel this hitch.
The Stack in my office stuffed my office. Yes, neatly hidden and organized, but a major CF nonetheless. The Stack lived neatly in trays on over my computer, neatly on top of my desk, neatly inside my desk, neatly in the bill file, neatly on the bookshelf, neatly everywhere!
I do have systems. The important things do happen. It's The Stuff that comes in the mail and email from my HR dept and everyone else I have an account with that clogs the machine. Even though I can be heard ripping and shredding junk mail every week, people insist on sending me newsletters on my benefits, letters about improved service, or just other crap regarding my accounts.
"This is important, I'll read it later." But I won't.
But as of today, I have. I've finally emerged like a spring tulip. Hehe! I spent two days reading, filing and shredding. Now, not only do I know all about the pet insurance my company now offers, my chi is flowing freely. Amen!
Saturday, March 04, 2006
Nummy, Nummy, Shimmy, Choo-Choo
I'm a sweaty mess, but I feel good! I just spent the last hour practicing a new choreography, and I'm very close to nailing the footwork.
When I was a little girl, I went to dancing school like so many other little girls. I danced in tap and jazz, like many other little girls who got the thumbs down in ballet class. That was okay with me. I liked tap and jazz better *sticking out my tongue and sending the raspberries to all you tutus out there*
I wasn't graceful enough and I certainly wasn't built for it. But when it came to tap... well I could take down the house, literally. I tapped all the way to the chorus line--with the teenagers! But, I had to end my dance career when I went to a new school. I never quite got over it.
Between 7th grade and 36, I pondered going back to dancing school. I danced in the talent shows, went to all of the high school dances, and for 10 years, I religiously attended ladies night. I have never been afraid to get into the center of the dance floor and work up a sweat.
So, it really isn't too surprising that 3 years ago I started belly dancing. I'd always wanted to try it--but then there isn't much that isn't on my list of things to try before I die.
After months of seeing classes in the YWCA and Continuing Ed catalogs, I finally committed to going to one class. I was afraid at first. I was sure that I would be lead to the back of the room and asked not to return. Just like ballet. I could not have been more wrong. I highly recommend Aren's class at Shaw VPA. www.bellydancemirage.com
All my life, I've been holding in my tummy. Today, I'm pushing it out. When I shimmy, I'm glad that I jiggle like Jell-O. What started as something of a lark, grew into a great exercise and has blossomed into a full-blown commitment.
Sure, the costumes are beautiful, the music exotic, and it is an ego boost. But, it can be much more than that. I've discovered an appreciation for whole new cultures. I've become more comfortable with my body and developed some fantastic friendships. But, one of the things I believe is most profound is the new found joy I've discovered in just being a woman. This is the great celebration of woman-ness.
Just wrap a coin scarf around your waist and shake your hips. Once you hear those coins jingle, you'll feel like you’ve just heard the most delicious secret. And you will never be the same.
When I was a little girl, I went to dancing school like so many other little girls. I danced in tap and jazz, like many other little girls who got the thumbs down in ballet class. That was okay with me. I liked tap and jazz better *sticking out my tongue and sending the raspberries to all you tutus out there*
I wasn't graceful enough and I certainly wasn't built for it. But when it came to tap... well I could take down the house, literally. I tapped all the way to the chorus line--with the teenagers! But, I had to end my dance career when I went to a new school. I never quite got over it.
Between 7th grade and 36, I pondered going back to dancing school. I danced in the talent shows, went to all of the high school dances, and for 10 years, I religiously attended ladies night. I have never been afraid to get into the center of the dance floor and work up a sweat.
So, it really isn't too surprising that 3 years ago I started belly dancing. I'd always wanted to try it--but then there isn't much that isn't on my list of things to try before I die.
After months of seeing classes in the YWCA and Continuing Ed catalogs, I finally committed to going to one class. I was afraid at first. I was sure that I would be lead to the back of the room and asked not to return. Just like ballet. I could not have been more wrong. I highly recommend Aren's class at Shaw VPA. www.bellydancemirage.com
All my life, I've been holding in my tummy. Today, I'm pushing it out. When I shimmy, I'm glad that I jiggle like Jell-O. What started as something of a lark, grew into a great exercise and has blossomed into a full-blown commitment.
Sure, the costumes are beautiful, the music exotic, and it is an ego boost. But, it can be much more than that. I've discovered an appreciation for whole new cultures. I've become more comfortable with my body and developed some fantastic friendships. But, one of the things I believe is most profound is the new found joy I've discovered in just being a woman. This is the great celebration of woman-ness.
Just wrap a coin scarf around your waist and shake your hips. Once you hear those coins jingle, you'll feel like you’ve just heard the most delicious secret. And you will never be the same.
Sunday, January 22, 2006
Embrace the big mush inside
2 hours. It takes one hour and forty-five minutes to get to the good stuff.
Call it a chick flick; roll your eyes and wave me away. But, if I could bottle the last fifteen minutes of Sleepless in Seattle, I'd keep it close and spritz the air every time life seemed too routine. If Holly Golightly wouldn't tolerate humdrum, why should anyone?
Oh, I do love Mr. & Mrs. Smith-style action. You can't beat the break from reality that comes when you hang out with Mr. Potter or a bunch of hobbits. And, I always enjoy sorting out life with Ulysses Everett McGill, Pete, and Delmar.
But, this week I have complete control of the TV (insert evil laughter). I'll be wrapped in a blanket with a cup of tea and hangin' with Meg Ryan or Julia Roberts or Audrey Hepburn.
Tonight I spent the evening with Meg and Tom in You've Got Mail. Tomorrow I have an appointment with Julia and Hugh in Notting Hill. Until my husband returns, I'm going to catch up on my chick flick fix.
Who knows? When he gets back, I might be itching for a little Jet Li... Unleashed, maybe?
Call it a chick flick; roll your eyes and wave me away. But, if I could bottle the last fifteen minutes of Sleepless in Seattle, I'd keep it close and spritz the air every time life seemed too routine. If Holly Golightly wouldn't tolerate humdrum, why should anyone?
Oh, I do love Mr. & Mrs. Smith-style action. You can't beat the break from reality that comes when you hang out with Mr. Potter or a bunch of hobbits. And, I always enjoy sorting out life with Ulysses Everett McGill, Pete, and Delmar.
But, this week I have complete control of the TV (insert evil laughter). I'll be wrapped in a blanket with a cup of tea and hangin' with Meg Ryan or Julia Roberts or Audrey Hepburn.
Tonight I spent the evening with Meg and Tom in You've Got Mail. Tomorrow I have an appointment with Julia and Hugh in Notting Hill. Until my husband returns, I'm going to catch up on my chick flick fix.
Who knows? When he gets back, I might be itching for a little Jet Li... Unleashed, maybe?
Sunday, January 15, 2006
No there isn't a murderer in my home...
Yes, that is me making all of that racket. Yes, the neighbors heard me. But, I don't care. I'm happy.
Tonight, I was late to the Broncos-Pats game, but not too late. I saw the second half and ohhh yes! The Pats are out of the playoffs! Can I hear a universal HAAAALLELUJAH! Very satisfying. The balls were flying--30 yards? Sorry, Tom, but that's Lynch with your ball. Interception!
Okay, so I'm a softy, and I felt a little guilty about being so damn happy, but I've been waiting for this for too long. The only thing that would have made it sweeter is if it had been the Rams kicking the Pats butt.
Tonight Denver moves on to the next round, and they took out New England! Congratulations Denver, you ROCK!
PS- Jake, the Grizzly Adams look works for ya, dude. Hey, I like football, but I'm still a girl. ;-)
Tonight, I was late to the Broncos-Pats game, but not too late. I saw the second half and ohhh yes! The Pats are out of the playoffs! Can I hear a universal HAAAALLELUJAH! Very satisfying. The balls were flying--30 yards? Sorry, Tom, but that's Lynch with your ball. Interception!
Okay, so I'm a softy, and I felt a little guilty about being so damn happy, but I've been waiting for this for too long. The only thing that would have made it sweeter is if it had been the Rams kicking the Pats butt.
Tonight Denver moves on to the next round, and they took out New England! Congratulations Denver, you ROCK!
PS- Jake, the Grizzly Adams look works for ya, dude. Hey, I like football, but I'm still a girl. ;-)
Thursday, January 12, 2006
Aaack, there's giant hairball in my throat!
When I'm whining all of the world is a stage. Without a doubt making you laugh reduces my mammoth problems to their rightful ittybittyness. A favorite hobby of mine is inspiring your laughter. In fact, I'd liken it to the rush a skydiver has when that other foot steps into 2,000 feet of solid air. It's my extreme sport.
If you're being wronged, I'm ready to listen and then shuffle off to a butt kicking. I'm relentlessly loyal and thou dare not be crossed. If you're happy, sad, indifferent, I'm a giant ear. Share and I'll laugh, cry and suffer a lack of commitment with you.
But when bad stuff happens to my family and me, my ability to speak evaporates. Suddenly, my inner ear starts screaming, "You sound like a bloody drama queen!" Whatever it is, it can't be as bad as that look of extreme concern on your face.
Don't get me wrong, I totally appreciate my friends and family and the fact that they care. Hell, I'm tickled as heck to have friends and family who care. How lucky is that? But, okay, when the house comes down around me and whatever the worst is has happened, I loose my skills.
Nothing sounds right coming out of my mouth. Thank you? I appreciate your concern? Over used. I desperately want to find the exact word that will completely express exactly how much I appreciate you and the fact that you care. But, there I am, lost. Babbling. Graceless. I'd love to have some grace. I hope in my next life I do.
What I do have is a drive to fix it. Since I can no longer communicate, I instead become driven to fix it. Who? When? Where? How? What are the options? Line up those geese, Duckie, and let's get passed this.
I'm very empathetic and I'm totin' a load of compassion. Heck, I couldn't even handle the death of a 25 ft gorilla. King Kong was truly misunderstood. But, when I tell you something really sad has happened; please forgive my graceless, incoherent sentence fragments. I'm working on it. Really.
If you're being wronged, I'm ready to listen and then shuffle off to a butt kicking. I'm relentlessly loyal and thou dare not be crossed. If you're happy, sad, indifferent, I'm a giant ear. Share and I'll laugh, cry and suffer a lack of commitment with you.
But when bad stuff happens to my family and me, my ability to speak evaporates. Suddenly, my inner ear starts screaming, "You sound like a bloody drama queen!" Whatever it is, it can't be as bad as that look of extreme concern on your face.
Don't get me wrong, I totally appreciate my friends and family and the fact that they care. Hell, I'm tickled as heck to have friends and family who care. How lucky is that? But, okay, when the house comes down around me and whatever the worst is has happened, I loose my skills.
Nothing sounds right coming out of my mouth. Thank you? I appreciate your concern? Over used. I desperately want to find the exact word that will completely express exactly how much I appreciate you and the fact that you care. But, there I am, lost. Babbling. Graceless. I'd love to have some grace. I hope in my next life I do.
What I do have is a drive to fix it. Since I can no longer communicate, I instead become driven to fix it. Who? When? Where? How? What are the options? Line up those geese, Duckie, and let's get passed this.
I'm very empathetic and I'm totin' a load of compassion. Heck, I couldn't even handle the death of a 25 ft gorilla. King Kong was truly misunderstood. But, when I tell you something really sad has happened; please forgive my graceless, incoherent sentence fragments. I'm working on it. Really.
Saturday, January 07, 2006
Evicting the Bouncing Yellow Ball
In school it was the administration vs. the students. Then boss vs. employee and average person vs. politician. All my life there has been an us and them. However, we and they both want to be happy. Neither they nor we want to suffer. We really aren't so different, but it is so easy to ignore what we do not see.
Somewhere in Bangladesh a woman fell asleep at the sewing machine she was working at for a pittance a day. Somewhere in China a girl is trapped in a system reminiscent of the early 20th century coal mine company town. Somewhere down the street from me is a third generation hardware store about to go out of business.
Now, all things in moderation. I believe we all tote some serious Karma baggage, but this is when and where I take responsibility for my actions and the results. I know that not buying shampoo and toilet paper from Wal-mart will not save the seamstress, the factory worker or the hardware store owner from the Karma that is their own. However, it is my choice not to support company practices that I would not practice myself.
I have never liked Wal-mart anyway. Have you ever shopped in a Wal-mart? It's pure suffering. I actually got more satisfaction from surprising someone with kindness than anything the store had to offer. But, I digress.
I'm not really into resolutions, but I am resolved. No more Wally World for me.
Somewhere in Bangladesh a woman fell asleep at the sewing machine she was working at for a pittance a day. Somewhere in China a girl is trapped in a system reminiscent of the early 20th century coal mine company town. Somewhere down the street from me is a third generation hardware store about to go out of business.
Now, all things in moderation. I believe we all tote some serious Karma baggage, but this is when and where I take responsibility for my actions and the results. I know that not buying shampoo and toilet paper from Wal-mart will not save the seamstress, the factory worker or the hardware store owner from the Karma that is their own. However, it is my choice not to support company practices that I would not practice myself.
I have never liked Wal-mart anyway. Have you ever shopped in a Wal-mart? It's pure suffering. I actually got more satisfaction from surprising someone with kindness than anything the store had to offer. But, I digress.
I'm not really into resolutions, but I am resolved. No more Wally World for me.
Monday, January 02, 2006
Good Bye, Mike
Not a pretty picture, I admit, but this is how I greeted 2006. Sitting in the kitchen, wrapped up in my giant fuzzy robe with my neurotic cat curled up in my lap, I waited for the coffee. I flipped on the TV to watch some local, pre-game jabbering. I got a little vocal and scared the cat.
Talk of players and coaches moving and retiring always rocks my world. I love the Rams, but there are a number of players in the NFL that I watch with nearly as much enthusiasm. For me, football is not just about the Rams; it's about a good game.
The TV guys started tossing out possible exits. Might be Brett's last game in Lambeau. Last run for The Bus. Vermeil's bound to have a tearful goodbye in KC. Axe for Tice? Marshall's last run? Mike Martz cleared to play, but not picked.
I have opinions on all of these, but I won’t rant. I do believe Brett can and should play more. I think the Viking's waited 45 minutes too long to fire Tice. I think that Marshall should be on that field a whole lot more. And Mike? Well, Mike is tough, isn't he?
I have a love/hate relationship with Mike, like a million other people. Good coach/bad coach--living with Mike is like being stuck in a revolving door. I've tortured my ever-so-patient husband with rants that end with declarations of incapable play calling and ridiculous, fickle player treatment. Then my husband would throw a Hail Mary out for Mike. Humph!
But, I can never stay mad at Mike. He has too much spunk. Too much offensive genius. Too many wins. And you have to feel a little sympathy for the guy after Brenda got involved in the q-back debacle. Heck, you've got to feel a little sorry for Kurt, too.
And then, Mike got hit with some seriously negative karma. There was talk going in that if he didn't win in 05, he was finished in St. Louis. I raised an eyebrow and waited. Now, I have to admit, I'm feeling a little like he got the shaft on that last shot.
I do believe it's time for a new coach. The team is loaded with excellent players and they deserve a better coach and a little better behavior from the office. But, Mike's illness really highlighted the grey area in this decision. What might have happened if he hadn't gotten sick? Don't you wonder a little?
All this said, I wish him the best. I really believe that this is a great opportunity for him because there is a better place for him and his skills. I hope he finds it soon and I wish him great success.
And, maybe he'll change the way he handles challenges and timeouts? Naw, not Mike.
Talk of players and coaches moving and retiring always rocks my world. I love the Rams, but there are a number of players in the NFL that I watch with nearly as much enthusiasm. For me, football is not just about the Rams; it's about a good game.
The TV guys started tossing out possible exits. Might be Brett's last game in Lambeau. Last run for The Bus. Vermeil's bound to have a tearful goodbye in KC. Axe for Tice? Marshall's last run? Mike Martz cleared to play, but not picked.
I have opinions on all of these, but I won’t rant. I do believe Brett can and should play more. I think the Viking's waited 45 minutes too long to fire Tice. I think that Marshall should be on that field a whole lot more. And Mike? Well, Mike is tough, isn't he?
I have a love/hate relationship with Mike, like a million other people. Good coach/bad coach--living with Mike is like being stuck in a revolving door. I've tortured my ever-so-patient husband with rants that end with declarations of incapable play calling and ridiculous, fickle player treatment. Then my husband would throw a Hail Mary out for Mike. Humph!
But, I can never stay mad at Mike. He has too much spunk. Too much offensive genius. Too many wins. And you have to feel a little sympathy for the guy after Brenda got involved in the q-back debacle. Heck, you've got to feel a little sorry for Kurt, too.
And then, Mike got hit with some seriously negative karma. There was talk going in that if he didn't win in 05, he was finished in St. Louis. I raised an eyebrow and waited. Now, I have to admit, I'm feeling a little like he got the shaft on that last shot.
I do believe it's time for a new coach. The team is loaded with excellent players and they deserve a better coach and a little better behavior from the office. But, Mike's illness really highlighted the grey area in this decision. What might have happened if he hadn't gotten sick? Don't you wonder a little?
All this said, I wish him the best. I really believe that this is a great opportunity for him because there is a better place for him and his skills. I hope he finds it soon and I wish him great success.
And, maybe he'll change the way he handles challenges and timeouts? Naw, not Mike.
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