Fly

When I was between six and ten, I was positive I could fly. I would have dreams where I would be walking on air. I could lie on my back and drift along air currents like I did ocean currents at the beach. I'd soar till the mountain tops where eye level. I buzz past them just to nick the ice off the edges. Between ten and twelve, I knew that I had flown and could fly again occasionally. My dreams, so vivid, would be walking down stairs and never touching the concrete of them. I would walk the earth and not touch the ground. Sometimes, I'd fall, but I never gave up trying to have those dreams. Somewhere in those last two years, I began to grow up. I still remember the moment my feet left the earth. I remember the exhilaration of the wind in my face and being lifted higher. Sometimes, I recreate those dreams when a plane takes off. I remember in a dozen different ways; whenever the breeze caresses my face, whenever I am entrenched in a moment of a smile, when I laugh... I fly.

Handshakes

I recently ran into some coworkers in the square of my town. They had a friend that I did not know. I was introduced and promptly held out my hand as way of greeting. The friend took my fingers with the edge of her fingers and thumb. Ick. The grip was limp, and thank god, quick. I was left with the feeling of complete non-interest, in not only me but her surroundings.

I had heard that one could tell a lot about a person from their handshake. I've been told that many women will apply a power grip when meeting a powerful man. Then there are men and women whose grip is barely there. Of course my favorite is the cordial handshake; not strong but not limp; firm and relaxed.

I often ignore handshakes in making a judgment about a person. They are indicators of who the person may be, but not the most reliable. However, a limp grip, though not great, is still preferred to the one I received the other day.

I talked with my coworkers, laughed with them, and then went on my way. I am left with the impression of complete distaste from the woman I was introduced to. I take it as a lesson that a handshake conveys more than I perhaps realized.

Fear

Fear affects us all. It's as powerful a motivator as anything else. Yet, fear can also stop us in our tracks.

I have always tried not let fear control my behavior. Too often, however, I am driven underground ignoring what needs my detailed attention. This behavior last too long. Before long I get bored; slowly taking on the process of giving my attention to vanquish the fear.

Setbacks are just that until the setbacks take a back seat. I overcome them by ignoring the fear and jump in with both feet without looking. I swim through the mess until it is conquered.

My fear is not gone; it is temporarily ignored.

The Electric Beach

As a person who has never tanned before, has so little melatonin that I glare whiteness, I decided to go to the electric beach and find out once and for all if I could tan. People I've met have always said that everyone can tan and maybe they are saying this cause they've never seen others use shades to stop the glare of their bare white legs. Or they've never seen others stand by them in order to catch rays that are bouncing off them.

I've been to the tanning booth eight times now. I've burned twice. I've watched my arms, my back, and even my stomach get darker, more freckled. My legs however remain glaring white. They won't tan. Not to say I'm tan I now. I am dark enough to look like other normal looking white people who have not been in the sun.

I asked the guy who owns the place if there was anything I could do to get my legs less white. I have dreams of wearing skirts and shorts in the summertime. He said to stop shaving and then gave me a sunless tanning cream.

I have never been able to use sunless tanners because I can't apply them well. I always end up looking like I have permanent muddy legs. I have to wear socks and slacks in the middle of summer.

I'm at the point where I am going to try the spray on tanning booths. There at least I know my legs will be covered.

Dancing in Other's Domesticity

Much needed vacation came last Thursday on a flight to New Orleans. One of my best friends, a soul sister really, came to pick me up with her kids. We jetted into the city, sampled some Cajun cooking, and walked through and around the French Quarter. We then headed back to her home in Mobile.

I found the time to relax walking in my friends' lives. Even the errands we did and cleaning up baby puke took me so far out of myself that I could enjoy life from a fresher perspective. We went dancing, gambling, took in a yoga class, spoiled kids, and sat on a brand new couch reading. I found myself remembering what I liked about the South. Enjoyed the Spring of it all.

There is a paradox that takes place on vacation. I am not in my life anymore, but am more completely myself than the faces I put on day to day. My break brings more realness and grounding that breathes life back into who I am. The love that I find from those dearest to me, I find coming from me to them.

I am relaxed again.

Dancing in San Diego

I am on a plane, again, with only three hours of sleep. My brain is functioning but I am not sure how. Kisses maybe. Ego possibly. Probably both.

I was in California for the umpteenth time for business. I flew in for a 3 hour meeting. Stupid I know. This time, however, a friend of mine was also in San Diego on business. I took a half day off work and went to go meet her.

The afternoon started peacefully enough. We sat in the hot tub over looking the Pacific talking about boys. She had received some mixed male attention the night before. We did the girl thing and analyzed the hell out of his behavior. As the sun started to sink into the horizon, we went inside to get ready for dinner and dancing. We were both feeling in the need of some decidedly male attention and dressed for it.

After dinner we went to a bar which had a live band. The band was playing a bluesy rock. I got male attention there, but not the kind I was seeking. An older man, old enough to be my father, had his friends ask me seven ways from Sunday to dance. Now I have heard both guys and girls say that attention for the most part can't be bad. I am inclined to agree. I found it flattering, but there comes a point when unwanted attention becomes annoying. (I also had the feeling that if I went dancing with the guy my friend would be the next target of this trio and I also knew she was definitely not into them.) I was forcibly taken out on the dance floor by the third member of the trio. After I was let alone for a minute, the first of the trio asked what it took for a nice guy to get a pretty girl to dance. My reply is succinct; how many times does a girl have to say no before she is taken seriously. The question worked wonders.

My friend and I moved on to a bar that was playing 80's music. My friend and I are children of the 80's so we had found a dancing home. My friend got asked to dance right away. We both were dancing giddily to beats of our favorite songs.

Before long our world was crashed, not unhappily, by my friend's friend and his cousins. The boys were younger than us but a lot of fun. Handsome hot guys and wanting to party like only those in their twenties can. Two of the guys are most likely major players. I watched as one or the other hit on almost every girl we passed.

The guys hated the eighties music and insisted we go find another place; a club that was playing hip hop. Three clubs later and one side trip back to the eighties club, we finally found the club we were looking for. Here we danced until 1:00, club closing time.

In all, we let loose and had fun. I received some of the much gratifying male attention that I needed. One of the boys received some dedicated female attention. One spent his time looking for female interest. The other guy spent half the time guarding our purses and the other half hunting down girls.

I learned that players on the hunt are entertaining at least from the sidelines. I realized that kissing a wickedly hot guy can banish some ghosts and sometimes women just need to have a little faith in themselves to remember they've got game too.

Choices

I 've been re-reading some letters I have. They are beautiful letters, full of choices. I haven't picked up these letters for a long time. I did only so recently because of the massive reflective state I am in. I read the letter's sentences and wonder why something so beautiful was not right and did not endure. The person who wrote these ideas mirrored my feelings if not my reasons.

Many people think that love is that something that just happens. I did, once upon a time. The word 'just' degrades it. For something so magic too come apart and unravel, I wonder why the friends and family I have now (also full of magic); still hold water. Why do these interactions work. It's always a choice that is mutally agreed upon.

These people, who are precious to me, are always moving forward in life as we all are. Yet to keep the relationship and build it over time, we constantly decide to reconnect. We continually try. I make a choice everytime I think of the people in my life to keep them there. They do the same.

There are lulls, especially with those people who are geographically distant to me. (Silence freaks me out even though I know the lulls are natural. Silence is most likely to be a deal-breaker for me when it is not a lull.) When I realize that I am in a lull, I probably try too hard to reconnect. However, it is still a decision to connect each and every time. Mostly, I am lucky with these relationships because they still exist.

I make the same choice with those who are no longer in my life. It's, again, a mutually agreed upon choice. For the most part, I stress over these decisions. The not talking breaks my heart each and everytime it is made. Some I hope are mendable. Some I know are forever lost.

Love never dies even if it remains trapped in time. I make the choice to keep loving though a part of me will remain trapted as well.

Those I love now are people who have helped me grow and stand. I hope I have given back to them the same.

I reflect on my letters and am reminded that the world has these choices as well. I think the knowledge is important. Life is a choice that is made every second of every day. The connection to others, happiness, sadness, and love.

Snow

Freshly fallen snow. I woke up to a world covered in white. Immediately I threw on a pair of jeans and sweatshirt and walked to my new coffee place for a French toast bagel and, of course, coffee.

As I walked down the sidewalk, I stepped in those footprints left by someone who had arisen before myself. It's easier to walk in someone's else prints. Snow drifts don't catch you by surprise. You can't disturb the sugar that's still so crisp and angelic surrounding the markings left by another soul.

After I picked up the coffee and bagel, I turned off the main street and ventured on the side streets. Here no-one had been. Snow undisturbed. I walked along the street admiring the smoothness and reflected light of the whiteness.

I remembered Frost's words, "the road not taken". I was on that road and yet no-one would know that I had been here. I left no marks. With that haunting my head, I hopped onto the sidewalk and the fresh snow.

My footprints came out of nowhere. Pure snow and then snowboot prints. I left my trail. The snow keeps the memory of my path. The prints are also there in case someone needs a place to walk.

An American in Paris

That's a bit of an understatement. Paris is littered with Americans in February. I am just one of the many now in love with this beautiful place and the people. All day people have had a ready smile and have helped me when I have butchered the language.

Paris fills itself with life; the opulent and smoky. Life that balances and make one appreciate all it's aspects. Maybe I just appreciate a place with as much love of coffee as I have. But where else can you sit back sipping a double coffee with creme enjoying the Seine or a park in the middle of winter? I have a feeling that Paris must get really cold for cafes to close their outdoor patios.

Here the taxi drivers yell at drivers who zig zag through traffic in front of them laughing immediately afterwards. Parisans enjoy the insaneness that is driving here. All the cars even the Mercedes have nicks on them.

I went to the Musee d'Orsay to embrace the Impressionists. (Van Gogh's Le Nuit, et Toile brought tears to my eyes.) The art is roped off but so closely to the walls that you can stick your nose close to them. No guard comes running and yells at you for being too close. Students sit on the floor and try to copy the masters on these walls. Many visitors to the museum are young.

The Champs Elysees is crowded. People cover every square inch of space on cool Saturday afternoon. Men and women in equal numbers walk the perfumery as any shop on this street where it is an easy distance from the L'Ouvre to the Triumph d'Arch.

Yes life here is good. My theory is: if you can see the Eiffel Tower, life cannot be bad.

Realizations from 30 + inches of snow

1) Maybe watching the playoffs is a good idea
2) Your house is your home.. for at least two days
3) Tea and hot chocolate are your best friends
4) It's not the best time to realize that your snow boots and shovel are in the car
5) Wearing your Falcons' sweatshirt is a great way to show support... oh wait ..they lost in the playoffs?..... anyhow it is a great way to stay warm. GO PATS!
6) Thermals really do work
7) Coffee and asthma really do go together
8) Coffee and 5 degrees really do go together
9) Snow drifts that are taller than you, natural or from a snow plow, are impressive if not a little scary
10) Funny stupid hats are no longer funny... they are ingenious devices that really keep your head warm
11) You develop an appreciation for ski masks
12) When walking in the cold, bring tissues. You'll know what I mean when you go inside somewhere
13) When your car finally gets plowed out, remember to bring your license and money
14) People are cooler when you shovel out together

Death

Our nation has been involved in a war for about 3 years now. Our media continues to cover our war; however, they do it almost casually. The media makes the deaths of our soldiers seem as if it is something the public should expect; that life is no more than a duty performed by someone unnamed and unseen.

Our media's attitude is a horror. Life should have more respect. Respect for someone's death should be a reverence for that person's life. When did callousness become acceptable?

This observation was not made by me. It was made by a friend. As I watch the snowcapped moutains, majestic and awe inspiring even as the snow slowly disappears in the recent warmth, the observation concerns me.

I am thinking about death more as I mourn the loss of someone close to me. Nobody likes death, but most of us accept it as a natural process of life. When someone we love dies, it affects each of us in various ways. Death, to me, means that someone is now out of my life; a soul I can no longer connect with; a presence missing; a void. I try not to think about it and am discontent when I have to deal with death. I cannot calmly discuss someone's death or death in general. It provokes and saddens me.

Every person has worth. When thinking about people who willingly put their lives at stake, their life is honored by the highest orders. Death is a loss to every link in the human chain that they have touched.

Star Coffee Wars

DARTH VADER VS SKYWALKER
Starbucks vs local coffee houses


Today I visited what has been called the Evil Empire or more exactly that "blood sucking corporation" I'm still not sure why it is called it that. OK, I sorta get it. Anyhow, it was busy as it usually is on days like today. I looked for Darth Vader, but he was nowhere in sight. I didn't want to stand in line; so I went up the street to the local coffee shop.

The locals usually get to the Empire earlier or they start at the local shop. Actually there are five places here where you can get a caffeine fix like the one I needed today. I prefer the cappuccinos from the Evil Empire. Their coffee though sucks. That goes for their tea as well.

At the local, I saw Darth Vader sipping on chamomile and jasmine tea. He had his mask off so he looked human. I had to laugh. He was just lounging.

There is an economic philosophy, economies of agglomeration, that says business increases by opening stores that sell the same products within a certain radius. All five coffee shops do a great business. I think the evil empire really hasn't harmed business for anyone. Actually it kinda dumbs it down for the tourists and locals alike. They go into the store name they remember and, overwhelmed by the line, move to one of the other four caffeine shops, all locally owned. They may even get a better cup of joe or discover the world outside of coffee.

Hmmm... Soothing tea, hot chocolate, root beer floats; remember them? I think I fall in love with floats every year. It's like remembering what it's like to be child again.

So is Darth Vader the father of Skywalker? I guess it's kinda how you look at it; the chicken or egg argument. Do you believe Darth kicked off the trend of coffee shops? If so, then the local ones wouldn't exist? Is Vader helping young Skywalker by increasing business in local or small towns like mine? Or does Vader really try to ruin the young Jedi by taking all the business away? Is Vader corrupting the Jedi's allies or Skywalker himself by tempting him to sell out?

The bad news is the Empire has a plan to triple the numbers of stores they have and add some stores with drive-thrus. Yes, I said triple, encouraging an already lazy nation to become even lazier. The Empire grows more dominant.

Here's what's good about the Empire: consumers can buy Fair Trade and shade grown, read less bitter, coffee in the same, if not better, percentages that they can buy it at their local grocery. Local coffee houses don't know shade grown and fair trade coffee from a hamburger.

Does this mean Skywalker has no chance? Have faith young Jedi. The coffee house is an institution that goes back to the 1500s where ideas, arts; enlightenment have been exchanged. That will not stop.

The battle will be long, fierce and silent, where consumers hold all the power over the outcome.


11/3/2004

FCC and Saving Private Ryan

I am settling down to watch a good movie that seems appropriate to the times we live in. It's Veterans Day, and I'm a little worn out. Watching a movie seems like a good idea. I turn the TV on and get a message that the FCC has deemed, what is one of the better war movies, 'too harsh to be shown in primetime while children might be watching'.

Should children see it? No. Children need their own world. The best world. A child's world of imagination and possibility. I thought that is what parents were for. Aren't parents responsible for their children? When did TV networks or the Federal government become responsible for our children and our lives? Maybe Howard Stern is right (may I be forgiven, 'cause I don't agree with the man's methods much). Satellite and cable are becoming the options in which people will retreat to in order to numb out or experience art. (when did I start calling TV art? Doesn't matter movies can be art.)

Now I'm fundamentally against war. Not a real good idea if you like the idea of living. But, humans have been at it, war, for far too long to have the radical idea of 'live and let live' become a part of the genetic make-up just yet.

For those of us who will never go to war, movies sometimes give us a glimpse, a sliver, of what it is we are not experiencing. Saving Private Ryan is such a movie. A better adaptation than many other movies to show war and how humans interact in one.

Maybe the FCC is practicing yoga because it somehow gained the flexibility to effectively screw itself with this new position.