A little frivolous, this post.  I spent much of my youth at a roller rink.   It was the first (and only) thing I could physically do better than my sister.  Seriously.  I will never forget that night- sorry Lita.  (See, I even spell your name the way I want to!)

I had a huge identity around by ability to race around backwards, forwards and fly through the air.  Often, the flying ended with a hemoglobin or two and I didn’t care.  Roller skating created my confidence after being a very shy special-ed student who couldn’t get words out of my mouth.  I basically was a rock star on skates.  My best friends happened at that rink, Chris $, Tracy, Debbie… the list goes on.   I have such fond memories.

Last week a bar in San Francisco cleared the place and set up a Roller Disco.   Costumes required.  Unbelievable fun.  Seriously.  I am surprised by how poorly I skate now, how much my fear of broken bones might mess with the boogie oogie ability.   There we were in our sparkle disco pants, Michelle in her pink Studio 54 jumpsuit and our hair in side head pony tails.   Going round and round.  I had forgotten entirely about striped tube socks.  Every single person in costume remembering some trend I had forgot.

Hilarious.

A friend, Jack Daly, asked me once if my best days were ahead of me or behind me.  Behind me I could physically do things that astounded me.  I could live on Top Ramen and Diet Coke (I’d add ketchup to the Top Ramen when I felt like having spaghetti) and live on 2 hours of sleep. I remember a moment when Holly pointed out to me that I never ate… I had really never noticed.

After an All Night Skate at Fantasia when I was 13, I could roller skate home at 7am (5 miles) with NO problem… put on my swimsuit and go play on the diving board all day.   (I am sad that my son has never been to a swimming pool with a diving board - a sad view on bumper padding kids- diving boards are awesome!  Bring back the diving boards!)

I digress.  Ahead of me I hear news of brittle bones, being tired, sagging eyelids…well, and sagging other things.  I’m going for a mammogram today… I had an eye appointment this week to adjust my glasses to (Gulp) bifocals.   Stuff is sliding.

Last week with my arms in the air and my boogie ON … I lost control and nearly fell on the floor…. out of the corner of my eye I watched as 80% of the people on that floor did the same thing.  “I’ve got it.. look at me.. I can dance and skate… WHOA!”  A sudden loss of balance, arms flung in the air to avoid the crash,  in the midst of a pelvic maneuver to a downbeat.   Am I out of practice or do I believe all the hype out what happens as we age.   Both.

The roller floor truly was the happiest place on earth.  Although there were rollers who clearly had never been on skates… those of us who used to live on them and forgot how… and also these freakishly talented humans who can do things on skates I can’t even do on my feet… it worked.   (yes, I do use ellipses a little too much, I know.  I like them.)  There was this song.. this sound.. beneath all the arms flailing in the air to stay vertical, the sound of ball bearings, the loudest bass I think I’ve ever heard, the ever present Fender Jazz Bass keeping us all in tune…. I heard… over and over…’sorry’.   We bumped, nearly tripped each other, crashed… and everyone would mutter with such relief  ’sorry’.   Sorry meant, “whoa, I almost went down and since I’m older my bones will absolutely break because that is what I have been told and you just kept me from that by me bumping into you … thank you and I’m so glad you didn’t crash and I’m sorry.”   When I was younger that little bump would have likely ended up with a Riedell between the wheels and some sort of fisticuffs.

Do I even have a point?  No.  I’m just in bliss thinking of this month.. of going again.   I’ve started taking the steps two at a time of late as I increase my level of exercise.  Last night I actually CRAVED steamed broccoli.    This morning I skated in my house.  Yes, you heard that right.  I put on my roller blades and tried to do a past maneuver in the kitchen.  Sitting on a swelling bruise on my butt in the middle of a knocked over cat food dish, I laughed harder than the night I saw the )@($*@)( Matt Damon video.  Life is good.  (PS: totally unsuccessful in my skating maneuver… it’s okay, I have about 29,501 9at least more mornings to practice it until I die.  My nursing home will have a rink rather than a pool… unless of course there is a diving board-then I will take both.)

Ahead of me Jack.  Absolutely ahead of me.

Years ago I had a beautiful little dog named Popich. I miss him. Almost every day.

Last week  I watched a little puppy run into the street and nearly get run over. I ran into the street and held him. Sobbing and relieved that he wasn’t crushed by the car in front of me. I call the number on his tag. Left a message.

He is so happy to see me, this dog. I spent about 10 minutes with him and thought to myself, he isn’t in a happy home. I don’t know why I felt this - I just KNEW it.  I thought for a second about keeping him.  NO, that wouldn’t be right call the number.

He sits next to me in the car as I rush to pick up my son. I’m trying to figure out how to make sure Sebastian knows this is NOT a present for him and his dog. He wants one so badly.

I get the call and the address to take Socks home. I think to myself, the guy on the phone doesn’t seem very relieved. I rush over there.  Wait to pick up Sebastian until after.  This of course will make me late picking him up.  I had to make a quick decision.. I rush over.

I try to hand the dog its person , “Oh, we don’t like to hold him, just put him down.”

No “thank you” - no relief …. No joy that their dog is okay. No concern.  (Yes, I am unfairly judging people right now, I know.  There is likely an explanation.)

The dog followed me to the gate and tried to come home with me. I wanted SO BADLY to just keep him.

I don’t know if they know what they have.

Most of us don’t always admire what we have. We have things that are precious and we let things blur.

Now will never come again.

I read that somewhere.

This moment as I type these words is so precious. I don’t always  savor it.

I savored Popich when I had him and in a very sad instant I lost him.

I couldn’t stop thinking about that little dog, Socks.

I rang their door bell yesterday.  An impulsive act as I drove by to ask them if I could have the dog.

They didn’t answer.

I could hear him in a cage outside their house, crying.  The fence isn’t THAT high….. how many years would I get for stealing that dog?  I am pretty sure I can pull a Chris Brooks on that fence….

Maybe savoring a moment and stealing do not mean the same thing.   I’ll wait.  Somehow I have a feeling that is going to be our dog.  I’ll change his name from Socks to “Inflating Bulb”  (that is the thing on  blood pressure equipment that gets held and squeezed a lot- get it?)

Don’t ignore anyone you care about today.  Stop reading my stupid blog and go hug them.  ;)  I’m stopping here so I can go wake up my son.  “Mom, you are squeezing me too tight.. ,” will likely be his response.  He isn’t a morning person.

i’m talking with my family and somehow the PSA for movie downloading comes up.

I do my best to imitate the PSA for downloading movies over the internet….
(go ahead, watch it so you get the full effect)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LJuw8EA0cYQ&feature=related

My niece Vanesa says…..

“Yeah, I wouldn’t do all that, steal a car etc…too much work… I would CLICK a BUTTOn…”

i love my family

In SoCal at Wilson Creek Winery.
Many cars here.
One, bumper sticker “Sarah Palin 2012″
My brother in law groans
“hey bro, you don’t like Sarah Palin?” I ask sarcastically?
“Sure I do. For target practice.”

I live in a small town.
I have a small son.
We drive in a small car.

I am very verbal. I talk a lot. A large mouth.

I stop at the coffee shop a lot in our town to get a large coffee. Not every morning.. lots of mornings. Sebastian is often with me. My neighbors are almost always there - a bunch of guys chatting about the Lions club, the city, whatever a bunch of dudes discuss with such glee.

We always have morning happiness and pleasantries. I love this town.

Well. There is this guy in town who is, well, um, cute. I think I must have pointed him out to some of my girlfriends or something when Sebastian has been in the car. I am a little embarrassed about my behavior, just sing the Mrs. Robinson song while reading the rest of the post. (he isn’t THAT young… probably about 6-8 years my jr.) I don’t leer or cat call at him or anything… I just, well, noticed and I suppose said something .. a couple of times… maybe.

So. Sebastian and I are in the coffee shop in line a couple of weeks ago. “Cute boy” comes in and stands in line behind us. Sebastian says, REALLY loud, “MOM, CUTE BOY IS HERE.”

Okay. Um. I’m SURE no one heard that. He is a 4 year old after all. People don’t listen to the incessant ramblings of a 4 year old before they have had their coffee. I’ll just distract Sebastian with chocolate milk and act like nothing happened. We get our drinks and head out the door.

Right outside the door, Sebastian trips over his shoe string. Ugh. Get me out of here. I start to tie his shoe for him (because he doesn’t know how) and cute boy comes out. Just do not make eye contact… he didn’t hear it.. and if he did why would he think it is about him. It is cool. Just keep doing what you are doing.

He kneels down at Sebastian’s eye level and says, “Tell your mom I think she is cute too.” Stands up and walks away.

My face is RED. He waves at me from his car. Smiling.

I forget about it. It happened a couple of weeks ago. I haven’t seen him since. He’ll forget. It is fine. (NOTE to self: watch what you say around Sebastian.)

This morning, I bounce into the coffee shop. One of the guys comes up behind me and whispers in my ear, “I’m sorry cute boy isn’t here for you today.”

OH MY GOD! Writing stuff on my blog is fine… I don’t care if the whole world knows my stupid stuff… but IN PERSON before coffee… this is just unbearable. Red.  Laughed about it all day.  Then realized….

I’m moving to a larger town. Getting on an airplane at 9pm tonight to check out Norco. I’ll get lost in the sea of humans and horses.

Sigh.

A scaled the hill behind my house today.
I lost track trying to count of all the different kinds of flowers growing on a hill that is usually brown and dry. Seriously. Red, pink, purple, yellow… not the 8-color crayola box.. but the coveted 128 box so difficult to find. I now see what ‘cornflower’ looks like in real life.

The realization that today I am in a slice of time. In two weeks, all these flowers will be starved for water and disappear. I stop at each flower and admire. (okay, I’m also asphyxiating a litte cuz it is a steep climb.) I try to absorb it all. Distracted. Sobbing a little.

I see a patch of purple off the patch. I brave poison oak and hold on to the steep climb to find the most perfect purple irises. I sit in the middle of them .. okay, I fall asleep in the middle of them. For a time.

I’m not supposed to be here. I have work to do. The list of things. And yet today, on a Monday, I needed to venture UP. I am thinking of a little boy born a few days ago who I am praying for. I’m not good at praying, I’m not sure I know how to do it. All I know is he came in the world the scary way Sebastian did… and sadly, he is in the NICU. I am praying for him to keep his bloom a little longer.. to stay with us.

I’m not sure why the post today. I have nothing pithy or meditative to share.. just a wish.. put out in the universe that his little 8 mighty pounds can stay and  come visit our mountain and the tree we planted for him. Perhaps an exhale on this page will act like a wish dandelion and .. well… LOVE to you little man

Red eye. Red eyes. No sleep. Bleary. A full day with no breaks. Not one. Pooped.  I’m facing a hard week, don’t want to be there, want to be home.   Whining about it to myself.  I’m waiting for the pilot to turn off the seat belt sign (timing is everything) and I see that I had a voice mail overnight.  THAT is weird… 2am?   I check it….

It starts with a deep growling.. “DUH.. DUH DUH DUH.. DUH DUH”  I recognize the tune.. not the voice….then

Sung to the tune of “Eye of the Tiger”

Rising up

Once in the gate

Neck a mess

Back in trou-ble

She’s gone the distance

Now she’s back on her feet

Just a girl and her love for endive.

She’s a chick who can jet set

With little/no sleep

Facing mean cor-a-porate giants

(indiscernible phrase here)

And I’m watching her go.. there she goes!…

Oh.  Hi, Christina.  Not sure where that came from…

Wanted to leave you a message …get some coffee, splash your face.. ask that guy next to you (I’m hoping he is cute since you slept with him last night) to carry your bags…..

Have a great day!

The indiscernible part is forever unknown cuz that little ditty came out of his head impromptu when he heard the beep…..  It is a great way to leave a message.  In these days of e-mail, texting and facebook.. actually hearing a voice is nice! 

Beware:  you don’t want me to call you the next few weeks as I try out this new way of leaving a message.  If you see my name in your voice mail.. just delete it and move on.

(name graciously withheld until he gets an agent or a spouse)

Rushing. To Utah. Tired. A little slow from an evening liver symposium. Forgot my phone, my right shoe and left my coffee cup on the top of my car.  Off a little.  Spinning on some unusual behavior of mine the day before - how I am acting like I am not.  A little freaked out by something I did.   Pointing my finger at myself in my head .. chastising.     My self-critic alive and well.

That kind of morning.

I stop at the coffee shop AGAIN to get another cup of coffee and somehow (don’t judge me) I slammed my SHIN in my car door. Now, you gotta think about that one for a while. Really? Is this actually possible that a person would get out of their car, step to the side just enough, but not enough, and slam their shin in the car door?

Um. Yes. It is true and it was embarrassing. The smokers outside the coffee shop looked at me like I was driving a 1917 Traub or something. And not in a good way if you get my drift. I imagine I let out a cry or something, not really sure because it HURT SO BAD I wanted to pass out.

I hobble into the coffee shop and I notice I am bleeding profusely… two giant egg size welts have perked up to say hello.. oh, and I am in 4-inch heels and OF COURSE a skirt. F.

The coffee helps. I limp to my car. The airport. No time to change clothes to hide the welts. Then I think, EH PIFFLE! I’m a woman over the age of 40 - no one is going to notice my legs anyway. It is totally fine.. just keep moving… …I am speaking in front of a room for of humans in Utah yes, and they won’t even notice the eggplants on my gams.

Security guy. As I walk up, well, limp up yells out, “OH MY GOD, WHAT HAPPENED TO YOUR LEG?!?!?!??”

My face is red.  Everyone in the line is looking at me like I’m Pamela Anderson in a 3D scanner post surgery after the surgery…. it wasn’t good.   I realize I am not going to tell ANYONE about the car slamming thing. It is just too ridiculous and dumb.  He waits for an answer.   I’m red…. and.. um… er….

I say:  “That isn’t my real weight on my driver’s license.”   He laughs- hard.   I walk away.  Thank god I always have humor to distract….that is acting like me. 

After my presentation in Utah.. I’m RACING to get the 5:07 flight. I have 20 minutes to get to the gate. I take my heels off and start running… limp running.. I’m in pain.  I don’t care.  The next flight is at 9pm…. SLT airport is long.   My gate (of course) at the end. I run alongside the moving walk way FAST and a wonderful soul pushing an empty wheelchair. He runs along side me and yells “GET ON … I”ll get you there!!!”

He runs along side me for a minute and I hesitate. “Ha ha… you couldn’t push me faster than I can run…”

“HEY.. I medaled in UT Track baby… GET ON!”

“Oh, nah,  (pant pant hypervenilate run) that (Wheeze)  is okay(pant)…”

“LADY GET ON !!!”

I do.

It is absolutely side splitting. We are racing around to my gate.. he’s making all these crazy emergency announcements and swerving … I keep looking up at him and he is laughing so hard as he runs.  Me too.  Total bliss.

He dumps me at the gate. I make it. We high five. And then we just stand there for a minute.. looking at each other and laughing out loud.  The man is sweating profusely and can barely breathe… I can’t breathe.  The entire lobby is looking at us like we are insane.  We realize what a spectacle we are and laugh some more.

It is just one of those precious moments that make me believe our world is a beautiful place.

Did I have that fabulous moment that I will remember my entire life because I hit my shin?  Was it my limp that made him ask if he could help?  Did I hit my shin because I was out of my body thinking about the thing I did that wasn’t like me that freaks me out?    I dunno.  I’d like to believe that it all is beautiful once we know the whole story.  All these moments knit loosely around to make a life.  Even the ones where we feel bad, ashamed or hurt.   When we make a mistake or do something in a moment that isn’t fair or right.  If we just give it a minute, forgive and be who we are……

and, here is the thing.  I almost didn’t get in that chair.   I almost let that chair roll on by and stayed running and limping and NOT being me.   Another example of me not being me.   I like to play.  I gotta play more often. I have gotten WAY too serious….

Yes.  I have been acting in ways that are just not me.  Why?   I do not know.   What I do know is play and fun and being unapologetic for the strange ways I need to be in the world to feel safe and happy don’t work for everyone.

The real person is far more interesting than anything we can fabricate.  When we can all lighten up on all the ways we are supposed to be… be who we are..  and be kind to ourselves when we mess up… and just get on a moving chair once in a while….

I arrived home at 7pm to my cat and an empty house.  Alone, something I rarely ever am in my own home.  Had a magical evening of a quarter moon, painting,  and a midnight walk. .. the limp gone completely.

Thanks running chair man,  (he asked me not to use his real name) you gave me more than a lift.

Tears have happened a lot around me of late. Not sure what is up. I’ve been a walking snot bubble increasing the stock price of Kleenex I’m sure.

In class rooms, I’m watching people talk about what they really care about, and tear up. My son recently had to give blood and he cried like I have never seen. A dear friend teared up talking about the loss of his childhood dog. My best friend teared up when I teared up when I talked about how much I hated all the social conditioning I am still fall prey to even though I really would like to think I’m unique.

My son had to give blood to do some tests. His doctor warned me before the tests that a lot of parents shush their children for fear of the annoyance of others. She mentioned that there was a medicinal benefit from crying and to let and encourage Sebastian to cry.

So, I did some research.

It seems there are 3 types of tears. The stuff that keeps are eyes wet. (98% saline) The stuff that is reflexive from onions or dust. (98% saline) And THEN there is the emotional kind. The contents of emotional tears have more of the protein-based hormones like prolactin, adrenocorticotropic hormone, and leucine enkephalin (a natural painkiller).  (When I was a kid, a trip to the library and 7 reference books… today, 5 minutes and an ergonomic keyboard)

In my son’s case, his tears made the tests not hurt as much. Prolactin stimulates breast milk and is often high after sex. I’m not really sure how to tie that into my rampant desire to undo my social programming… but I’ll go with it.  Just keep reading, it didn’t make sense to me either I just like the idea of the word ‘breast’ in my blog.  Might hit some sensors though.

Adrenocorticotropic hormone releases Cortisol can increase blood sugar, certainly something that feels good.  Where am I going with this?

I like people more who can tear up.    There is something going on in the world where we are seeing it more often.  Real tears.  Real emotion.  Feeling stuff.  Is it the chemical high?  Are we realizing just how great it feels to let out some salt once in a while?

I’m on a new rant in my business world about labeling.  Humans take in a lot of information and to save time, we label things.  For years, crying was labeled as ’something’ and it wasn’t always pretty.  Cry Baby, Vulnerable, Girl, Emotional etc etc.

Now, crying is absolutely, um, well,  sexy.

So… blubber you.   If you need some you tube clips that’ll onion you all up, just let me know.

I don’t have a television. I am so grateful when people send me things that I absolutely need to know exist.

I nearly turned this one off at about 1-minute. Talk shows annoy me…

THEN… wow. Darn funny.

It makes me think about communication. How levity helps deliver even the most challenging message.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eSfoF6MhgLA&playnext_from=TL&videos=ie2qmsjjkGc