JustRunJustLiveJustBe

Okay, so I’m not a pro at the whole relaxation thing.

It’s true. I put too much on my plate and I want to be the best at just about everything and maybe even more so, I want to be everything. Overachieving is no stranger to me. There are rarely paths chosen that don’t have purpose. I like my means to get to an end. This is not bragging, this is admitting a fault.

This is the reason I have to get away sometimes.

It’s sort of like going for a good run or sitting on the patio with a drink, but more of an extreme. When I schedule time away, the only purpose is to not have a purpose. I need to get away and get out of my head for a while. I need to tap into the certain parts of me that are pushed aside to work, work out and get the job done.

I think a lot of people understand this. The part they have trouble with is that I don’t mind doing it all alone. I don’t mind walking down a street alone or reading my own map. I don’t mind having a drink alone or making friends with strangers alone; this is how I’ve met some of the most incredible people I know.

I don’t know what makes me okay with it. I don’t know the point in time when I decided that I didn’t need someone with me in order to experience something. Granted, some things only get better when you can share it with another human being, but it doesn’t mean that you should forego that experience altogether. Imagine what you’d be missing.

Traveling, whether it’s just up the road or across the country, can be freeing. It’s one of the only ways I know to get some perspective. To slow down. I don’t have to deal with any deadlines or expectations. No one’s asking for a presentation at the last minute and there are no “database emergencies.” I don’t have a clock or a schedule, just the rising and setting of the sun. I can be in the moment without having to try. When I can find a little time to get away, I think I am the most natural version of me.

One of my favorite quotes is: “I see my path, but I don’t know where it leads. Not knowing where I’m going is what inspires me to travel it.”*

So when this week is over and all the charity events have wrapped up, the presentation is given, the birthday parties are thrown and the beast-like test has been taken, I will be more than happy leave it all behind for a few days. Not because I don’t like the work and not because I don’t have fun doing it, but rather, because there’s another side to me that is only on when everything else is off.

*For the life of me, I don’t know who this quote belongs to. If someone does, let me know and I’ll give credit where it’s due. UPDATE: Quote is from one Rosalia de Castro. Thank you Ginger Breadman.

How mornings would be if they were perfect:

5:00 - Alarm goes off.
5:01 - Turn off alarm and get out of bed.
5:02 - Do the 100 crunches I am ever so dedicated to.
5:05 - Shower.
5:15 - Comb and dry hair, applying only minimal effort to make each wave and curl cooperate.
5:20 - Get dressed in clothes that are perfectly laid out the night before. They’re not wrinkled and they all fit just as they did the day they were purchased.
5:23 - accessorize appropriately for the chosen outfit.
5:25 - Wake up dog and get her to go outside, take care of business, eat and drink without doing anything that irritates me or leaves a stain.
5:30 - Feed the poor, adopted-because-all-I-really-am-is-one-BIG-sucker parrot would talk quietly and say things like “thank you for my food, beautiful owner.”
5:35 - Pull the lunch I made the night before out of the fridge and pack it in the work bag (which is also immaculately clean because I went through all the paperwork on time instead of last minute and panicking because maybe, just maybe, I didn’t pay that bill. Or did I?)
5:45 - Water the flowers outside and wave to the neighbor out walking her dog.
5:55 - Gather my things and head for the door, remembering my bag for the gym/run/ride I plan to do after work.
6:00 - On the road to work with plenty of time for a Starbucks stop, where someone may or may not flirt with me.

How mornings actually are:

5:00 - Alarm goes off. I’m awake already because the dog started snoring around 4:15 and I could hear it all the way in the next room. But I hit snooze anyway.
5:10 - Alarm goes off again. I say unintelligible words and drag myself out of bed.
5:11 - Lay on the floor to do the crunches that I’m so dedicated to. It is also possible that I fall asleep and just dream of doing them.
5:15 - Shower as quickly as possible and saying “oh, who needs shaved legs, I’m wearing pants today.”
5:22 - Attempt to comb and dry hair, get distracted because, oh my god who loses this much hair everyday and is not bald?!
5:24 - Hair is not cooperating.
5:27 - Hair is retarded.
5:29 - Give up on hair.
5:30 - Go to get dressed in clothes that were laid out hastily the night before but, nonetheless, laid out because my momma taught me that much. They don’t fit like I want them to but whatever.
5:32 - Completely forget accessories and wear the diamond stud earrings that I’ve been wearing since 1997. They really do go with everything.
5:35 - Call the dog.
5:36 - Try to find something for lunch in the fridge. Nothing is made and leftovers are sparse so I throw a bunch of stuff together like yogurt and a muffin top expecting it to last an entire day and wonder why I’m starving by 2:00.
5:38 - Call the dog, again.
5:40 - Feed the poor, adopted-because-all-I-really-am-is-one-BIG-sucker parrot who I don’t talk about much because, heaven help me, the dang thing talks enough for the both of us and, godforbid, can’t stop screaming because IT’S DAWN, IT’S DAWN! Don’t you know? I can’t believe I felt bad for him, even if he can say “I’m a genius” in five languages.
5:43 - Go find the dog, who has apparently decided today is a good day to stop hearing and start hibernating. Drag her up and push her out the door and watch her look back at me as if I’ve just shoved her into the fires of hell.
5:45 - Look for the shoes I need to wear because I insisted on wearing these shoes yesterday and, therefore, can’t stand another day with heels. (They were a gift, of sorts. And seriously, buy guitars designed by famous guitar players. Do not buy shoes designed by famous guitar players.)
5:50 - Call the dog in, who has now found the neighbor and her dog and just sits and watches as the Golden Retriever pees all over our yard. Apparently, she was disturbed from her slumber much too early to protect her territory like any normal canine would.
5:55- Water the flowers and spray pee off my porch for the 800th time this year.
5:59 - Get the dog inside and offer her food to which she turns her nose and goes back to bed.
6:00 - Gaze out the window and think to myself that I should have ridden my bike in today but then realize the effort it would take to top off the tires and find the bike shoes would send me over the edge long before what would be acceptable for a Wednesday.
6:02 - Find the dog sleeping comfortably, in my bed. Chase her out.
6:03 - Find the shoes I’m looking for.
6:05 - Check email and calendar. Realize I have an early meeting that was sent after I left the office yesterday. Thanks, boss.
6:10 - Grab an apple and a banana and throw a couple granola bars in the bag because, who am I kidding, I eat all day.
6:15 - Rush like a mad woman out of the house, realize three blocks from home that my sunglasses are on the counter and squint in the morning sun all the way to work. Get to work on time, because there is a small clause that says you can speed if no one else is on the road and realize I forgot my gym bag and that I’ll have to go home after work first.

What is the Powerball up to?

There are times when things happen that are completely out of your control and yet, you still take it personally. At first, it pisses you off or makes you angry or sad because that’s a natural reaction. Then, you take some time with it and realize that it’s not your fault, it’s not the worst thing in the world and yes, life will go on.

Still, you can’t completely chase away that pissed off feeling.

That’s where I am today. Because when someone lies to you (yes, EVEN by omission) and then doesn’t acknowledge the fact that they did it and expects things to carry on as usual, it’s wrong. Especially when you’ve given them every opportunity to make it right. You’ve been open and honest with them and they can’t return the favor. This is even more difficult when it happens at work and you have to see someone every day.

I know I shouldn’t harbor the anger. I know I ought to let it go because a. it’s not that important, and b. it has little impact on my life. But I don’t care about that. It’s still wrong. And me deciding in the end to not let the anger stick with me should not be an excuse to ignore the fact that you did something wrong. Yet, it is and my good spirit and attitude that you’ve turned into your free pass to be disrespectful and, simultaneously, bring down the morale of an entire group.* What you did was so screwed up and everyone agrees and yet, we have to put up with you.

This is the point where I need help.

Dearest readers, what is your best approach/technique/remedy for getting over anger? How do you let go of something that you know is not your fault, especially when you can get away from the person that angered you? Do you try to talk it out, just to make yourself feel better though you know it won’t really matter? Or do you ignore them and the situation because you know it’s not that important and will soon fade away and give light to even better fodder?**

____________________________________________________________
* I realize this is a little gramatically messy here but I couldn’t get this out without a little attacking of my attacker, who shall remain nameless, faceless and, no doubt, personalityless.

** I realize the issue here is a little vague. Okay, a lot. But I like my job and my life and I’d like to keep them both as they are. Just maybe less a certain moron.

We started weeks ago. We whispered. We planned. We sneaked. So when we showed up at one o’clock for “lunch” and Grandma was all dressed up with candles lit and music playing, it was clear the surprise part of the carefully-planned-but-obviously-something-was-missed surprise party, was on us.

Grandma turns eighty this week and when asked what she wanted, she said a new bathmat would be nice. That’s just how she is. Instead, the family decided to throw a surprise party with about forty of her closest friends. Yes, closest because 80 years is a lot of time to make friends.

Grandma is quite the gal. I don’t think she’s ever met anyone that didn’t become her friend. She can both manage finances and prepare a pot roast to perfection. She can draw very well (a talent I’ve always wished could have been passed on to me). Her sense of humor is remarkable. Spend a few minutes listening to one of her stories and the mystery of where this family’s ability to tell a joke came from will be solved. She will have you in stitches, easily. She was a modern business woman before it was popular. Buddy, you may think you don’t need any Avon now but 60 seconds with her and you will be questioning how you ever lived without it. She is good. Consistently in the top five in sales for the last four decades, thank you very much.

Above all, she genuinely cares about people. She’s the most selfless person I know. She’s intuitive and smart and can effortlessly pick up on your feelings or mood without so much as a glance. Which explains how she knew about the party; you can’t hide much from a quick-witted woman of eighty.

It was such a valuable experience to be there. I listened to stories about bowling leagues and Avon meetings and block parties in the 50’s, 60’s, 70’s, 80’s, 90’s. Sharing a friendship with just one person for fifty years is incredible. Several relationships spanning half a century is incomprehensible. We can all only hope to be so blessed.

I also have to say that one of my favorite things about Grandma is that she’s always excited for me. No matter what I do or where I go, she’s proud. She doesn’t question me, she just believes in me. When my mother told me after the party that I should have “chosen different underwear to wear with those pants” my Grandma asked her why she was looking at my butt. I then told my mother that was impossible because I wasn’t wearing underwear. My Grandma and I giggled together and my mother looked at us like our heads were on fire. Yeah, my grandma pretty much rocks, even at 80.

Feeling all summer and weekend-like, I decided I’d wash my car the old fashioned way today, myself.

I was pretty sure I knew what to do, but just in case, there were instructions on the bottle of car soap:
(They were decent instructions but, in my opinion, lacking some important information.)

1.
Choose a shady spot, preferably away from trees that are dripping sap or dropping leaves. And birds.

2.
Close all doors and windows. Double check. Seriously. Learn from the past.

3.
Put one capful of car soap into a bucket and fill it 3/4 of the way with warm water. Set the bucket aside. Or you will trip over it. Along with the hose. Which will spray up your shorts, guaranteed.

4.
Hose any excess dirt off the car. Start at the top, trust me.

5.
Lather a sponge or terry cloth rag in the bucket of soapy water and sponge the roof of the car. Spray off excess soap when the entire roof has been cleaned. Now you tell me.

6.
Repeat for all four sides of the car, washing one full side including windows, fenders and tires and rinsing completely before going to the next side. Wait, are you saying: lather, rinse and repeat? As needed?

7.
Give the car one final rinse with the hose to get rid of any water spots when all four sides have been washed and rinsed. This is a good way to see all the spots you missed and have to go back over even though your arms are about to fall off because, dear god, washing the car is a lot of work.

8.
Take a chamois leather (”shammy” leather) or towel and dry the car thoroughly by setting the towel flat against the surface of the car and dragging it along the surface to pick up any water spots. Start at the roof and work your way down to the tires. Say “shammy” several times. It’s funny. Shammy. Heh.

9.
Wash the windows with a rag soaked in plain water and dry them with a dry rag, or use window cleaner and pieces of balled-up newspaper on both the inside and the outside of the windows. The “balled-up newspaper” should be new newspaper. Don’t use balled-up newspaper that was previously balled for other purposes. Trust me.

10.
Give any metal or chrome an extra rubdown to get rid of water spots. Obviously. Always opt for the extra rubdown.

11.
Clean the interior if you have time. This should really be the first step because no matter how speedy you think you are, vacuuming dog hair out of your seats takes at least thirty minutes per hair. You will vow to never let the dog on the seats again and then, about ten minutes later, she will want to go to the park and you will be like, “okay, fine. But no shedding this time, please.” She will shed anyway. She will also make it a point to sneeze on all the windows.

(The last instruction was missing altogether but I have no idea why they left it out.)
12. Pull your car onto the front lawn to wash it. This is conservative and environmentally conscious. It also reassures your neighbors that yes, you are in fact a redneck and proud of it. In case they’re in doubt, you can also play some 80’s hair band music from your front porch. Guns N’ Roses or Motley Crue work well.

Happy washing.

Shammy.

In my neighborhood, we have some of those cute little paths that meander between the houses and parks and on any given day you’ll see several walkers, runners, dog walkers, cyclists and the like taking advantage of these urbanized trails. This is my dog’s favorite place to walk and I can tell this by the way she uses her full seventeen pounds to pull my arm out of joint just to get to this path.

Since this is a public path, there are “Walkway Rules” posted about every three feet along the path. Rule #1: all dogs must be on a leash. Fine, makes sense. It’s not a hiking trail, it’s not a huge state park; it’s a little neighborhood walkway with a lot of traffic. Not only is this Rule #1 but those who maintain this trail believe so much in Rule #1 that they have additionally posted a second sign, solely dedicated to Rule #1. They are serious, leash the dogs. I assume this is why I’ve never once encountered a dog off leash. Until today.

As my dog proceeded in her daily inspection of every blade of grass lining the sidewalk, I heard another dog coming up behind us. I turned to look and, to my honest shock, he wasn’t on a leash.

“Charlie! Come here!”

A guy on a bike was coming up behind the dog with a kid on a bike behind him.

“Charlie! Get back here, now,” screamed the owner.

Charlie didn’t listen. Instead, he and my dog sniffed butts and all seemed cool. Charlie was a Lab and his tail never stopped wagging so I really didn’t have a reason to be afraid. Still, I didn’t let my dog linger because even if she is friendly, a dog off leash approaching a dog on leash has potential to be a challenging situation.

The owner continued to scream and his dog finally came to him. I continued walking but the guy screaming “No! No! No!” at his dog made me turn around. I couldn’t believe what I saw. Each time this guy screamed no, he smacked his dog. In the head. The dog’s tail was wagging the entire time. Seeing that possibly broke a piece of my heart right off.

“What! do you think you’re doing?”

He just stared at me.

“I think you heard me, sir. What are you doing?”

I really don’t know where this was coming from. Who made me the patron saint of the walking path?

“Mind your own business!” he snapped.

“Sir, you made this my business.”

“I was just trying to keep my dog away from your dog.”

“It’s not your dog’s fault he’s not on a leash.”

“Whatever, he wasn’t going to hurt you.”

“Apparently your dog is not who I should be afraid of, huh?” (Boy, I have a lot of nerve all the sudden.)

“Whatever, lady. Shut up.”

“Whatever, sir. Put a leash on your dog so you won’t have to beat him in public any more.”

And he grabbed his dog’s collar with one hand, his bike with the other and walked around us up the hill. I was relieved. I don’t like confrontation. Through the entire ordeal, I was quite certain the tremble in my voice was obvious. I don’t get involved in other people’s business, I don’t tell strangers what to do, and I definitely don’t open my mouth and yell at a man I don’t know who could easily beat the crap out of me. I couldn’t avoid it today, though. Because when you’re standing there, leaning over an animal and beating the crap out of it because you are too stupid to use a leash, I have to say something. I have to.

I mean, his tail was wagging the entire time.

While I was in Carolina a few weeks ago, there was one thing I wanted to do other than visit the most wonderful baby ever born.

I wanted to drive to the first beach I ever visited as a kid.

Myrtle Beach.

I left early in the morning. I hadn’t been for probably twenty years, so I was excited to see if it was the same as I remembered it.
The fog was awful but I had faith.

As I finally approached the pavilion, I knew some things hadn’t changed.

Well, some things had changed. There were about three times as many mini-golf courses. But that’s okay, because for every one of those there was also a pancake house. Nothing says family vacation like beach, mini golf and pancakes. Every day.

I could smell the ocean, I knew I wasn’t far.

And finally, I was there. I parked immediately, jumped out of the car, took off my shoes and walked through the sand and looked out into the horizon. This was the first beach I ever visited. This was the same place I stood the first time I ever saw the ocean, the first time I ever heard waves. The buildings were taller and the rent more expensive but it was still the same.

The seagulls, the water, the way the morning sun reflected off the water, all burned into my mind. No, it’s not the most beautiful or the most exotic beach. It’s not the trendiest or the most attractive. But it was the first and that, it will always be.