X-Country

No, I never was in cross country in high school.  One season of track was all I could manage, and enough to know what I didn't want.  I've never crossed the country from front to back, but there was that north-south trip I did a few times down and back... which trips felt like all Iowa, all the time, with the rest being comprised of melting rush hours' worth of cities in Texas. 

I have, however, started in the Midwest and finished in the Far West... done that twice now.  Let's see if I can remember the first trip... Ah, yes.  I must have been starting college, because my brother had just finished up and was marrying his sweetheart. I don't remember much about the drive there, and even less about the drive back, although I assume we did that, too.  So I'll confine my memoir to a few items of note.

Noteworthy:

My sister may have just started driving.  I may have almost run over a large blown-out tire in plain view on the interstate.  My dad may have gone slightly crazy driving sleep-deprived through the mountain passes.  He may have stopped part way through, got out of the car with a glazed look in his eyes, checked out the scenery, and started flapping his wings and, well, hooting, for lack of a better term.  My mom may have bought her dress for the wedding in Missoula, MT. 

We stayed overnight in our old hometown in ND.  Must have seen a few people, but I don't recall who... probably "Grandma Margaret."  One of the Grandma Margarets, anyway.  There was a city one and a country one.  I think it was the country one.  Where they lived on a farm, with real farm animals and lots of "barn kitties."  Where we had helped the neighbors slaughter a semi truck full of... chickens?  Turkeys?  I helped pluck one, at any rate.  Or was it the city one?  She had written a children's story book, and used to try and comb the snarls out of my sister's hair whenever she was over.  We stayed with her anytime we were "snowed in"--when the busses couldn't drive us home after it had snowed.  Once, that I recall.  So yes, it might have been her.

We stayed in a hotel for the first time (at least in my memory).  Somewhere in nowhere, MT.  I don't know that my parents have stayed in one since.  Nasty, expensive, unnecessary inconveniences, especially as they don't travel anywhere they can't stay with family.

It started: Flat, few trees, growing drier as you head west.  Then even drier, but rocky.  Then a bit more green, mostly flat, with the exception of buttes.  Then Coeur d'Alene.  Gorgeous.  Then dry.  Then wet.  With some mountains in between.  Fill in the blanks, and you've got Northwestern American Geography!

Ever done one of these drives?  Try it.  Maybe, if you're lucky, you can stay with Grandma Margaret.  Or the other one.

on the beach

When we were swimming in huge waves, and I couldn't touch the floor, and there were waves breaking over us, and I could see my friends on the beach, I felt bare, open, so visible to the sun above, so visible to the eye of God.  And I waved, to the shore, to my friends, to the lifeguard. 

And they came, he came, slowly, thinking that I was saving my friend on the surfboard, who was also too far out, whose surfboard I had grabbed onto as I was weak.  And they came, he came, the lifeguard came, and saved me, on a beach, in Mexico.  Afterwards, he interviewed my friend who he thought was needing the saving, who perhaps was, and I perhaps did, and did not. 

And I was at peace, being seen by the one who sees me, even as I was afraid, and desperate, and stupid, and young, and oblivious about swimming in currents.  And I didn't go in the water the rest of the weekend.

A blog post for the end of the day

You have done the things you did.  Somehow, somewhere, inside of you, you found yourself or lost yourself in the doing. 

You can mourn.  You can celebrate.  You can remember. 

You will be there tomorrow, doing and saying things.  You can practice restraint and you can practice abandon. 

Holy, holy, holy.

Really, really.

From my window

It's lunch break time, and story time, both!

Alert reader Rob Pierce pitched me a challenge to write over my lunch break about something I can see from my window at work.  Very well, sir, I accept.

1.  The window itself.  I see it. 
2.  I can see things much better from outside of it.
3.  The bottom half of my window has a screen.
4.  I have a bug's eye view of the neighborhood.
5.  I can see the roof of a garage that holds a ballet studio and class space.
6.  There is a lilac bush in front of the garage.
7.  Lilac season is just over.
8.  I see power lines, telephone lines, unidentified sky lines, criss-crossing the lots and alley way.
9.  Clouds: white, gray, a muted cobalt blue.
10.  Sky: clear and bright at the top through the clouds, faint and muted over the edges.
11.  The red maple tree takes up about one quarter of the lower half of my window, when I am seated.
12.  I see seven other distinctive trees from my window.
13.  Plus a wall of pines on the horizon, past the freeeway.
14.  There being also a freeway.
15.  Lots of semi trucks, many cars, clear of congestion, good speed.
16.  There is sun shining somewhere today.
17.  Starting at about three o'clock, the sun shines off a neighboring roof.
18.  The glare pierces me at eye level.
19.  I pull down the blinds.
20.  On days when there is sun.
21.  The maple is bouncing, waving, swaying, breathing.  Lifted.
22.  The lilac bush is fluttering, waving, loose.
23.  The leaves on the tree across the alley are supple, verdant, shimmying and shining.
24.  I am breathing, lifted, pressing and depressing my phalanges.
25.  Meeting and receiving the welcome offered in their stable, fluid, reaching movements.

How to get along...

How to get along with your significant other's friends, continued...

You are already at the park.  Follow me through the evening's events.

1.  Bring something messy to eat.  Like rotisserie chicken.  It's good for bonding, because it's so greasy!

2.  Bring a roll of paper towels.  See above.

3.  Don't expect secondary introductions or overly warm greetings.  These people are already familiar with one another.  You are the anthropologist entering their world.  You are on their turf.  There is no neutral ground.  It's go time.

4.  Pretend you are as comfortable with them as they seem to be with each other.  It's really just you being comfortable with yourself. 

5.  Laugh at their jokes. 

6.  Make a pun that you're pretty sure they'll like.  Wait for their laughter.  If you hear it, you're in.  If not,  know that they may be adverse to punning or witticisms in general, in which case, they may not be the friends for you.  They may just be your shirttail friends.  You gotta be prepared for that. 

7.  Ask questions.  Talk to them about stuff they're knowledgeable about or interested in.  For example, their jobs, their kids, and/or... childbirth. 

8.  Oh, and I forgot to mention, don't be afraid to show up a little bit late!  It shows that you are casual/cool, and/or that you last-minute had to hike to find the park's restroom facilities. 

9.  Be a gift to the family.  Give their kids a little attention.   Help the pre-schooler fold the blanket to the right size.  Hold their baby, even if you're not a baby person, and you freak out a little as you're afraid you'll break the kid's neck.  It'll be okay.

10.  Listen to and request to hear stories of the old times.  The more you know, the more you can joke about with them!

How to get along with your significant other's friends

Do you have a significant other?  Do they have friends?  If the answer to either of those is no, this post may not be particularly helpful to you at the moment.  But then again, it might.

I recently met my best man-friend's best man friend.  It's not that confusing, really. 

First.  Check to see that they actually have friends.  Go to the source.  Meet the peeps.

Second.  Location, location, location.  When you meet, try not to let it first be at a movie.  In a poorly orchestrated fundraiser.  At a church.  Sitting on pews.  In the dark.  You will not get to know them.  You will hardly say words.  It will be awkward.  They will come late and leave early.  As you wish you would have done.  Really.


Third.  When you do finally meet, you meet at a park, for a picnic, because you knew better than to try the movie thing, being so smart and having read about it here, folks.

Um, that's all I have time to write about here and now.  But I'm sure there will be further droppings of wisdom onto your proverbial plates.  Look for it here.

In which I say no to drug use

Let me be completely honest with you: I don't do drugs.  Well, maybe only caffeine occasionally.  So occasionally that I don't write that word, and I actually spelled it wrong.  And sugar.  Because that is definitely a drug.  So I am oblivious when it comes to, oh, say, paraphernalia, which word I also didn't know how to spell.  So oblivious that I didn't know that "bud" was a drug-related term, so when my friend and I were vacationing in northern CA last week and an old man we had seen on the beach drove by and offered us, instead of a ride in his car, "a bud from his garden", which he assured us was organic, I thought he wanted to give us flowers.  Oh my.  We had to google image search the phrase, and sure enough came up with the correct answer.  It was indeed fragrant, but of course I couldn't place the smell, either.  Guess what got flushed down the hotel toilet, unused but highly educational?  Oh yes, you are correct.