Something's Comin'




August 4th, 2008, a Monday

August means back to school for most kids while the lazy summer begins to wind down.  On the East Coast, everyone is still enjoying the warm weather and August is a signal that fall cannot be far away so they want to make the most of the precious remaining days of summer.  Fall means winter is next with its shorter days and cold temperatures and coats and scarves and boots and hot chocolate and snowfall and dreariness.  All of this means the passing of time, the coming and going of the seasons, and the traditions that go along with each of them. 

Of course, here in the desert we look forward to the passing of the extreme heat just the way the East Coast waits for winter to pass.  The plants that survived the summer heat will show off all winter long, grateful for a sun that doesn't try to kill them dead. 

Starting on Friday, there are the Olympic Games in China.  It can be kinda discouraging as we anticipate the fun of watching on tv, to hear all about who tested positive for what performance enhancing drugs and cannot compete.  I guess that's better than watching them win a medal and then find out they took drugs so the one who really gets the medal doesn't get the thrill of that winning moment they worked for their whole life.  Cheating is like that, I guess.  It seems to rob everyone of almost everything.  Why, they just took away a US track relay team's medals from years ago because one of them was doping.  Wow, what a bummer for the other three.  But would they have won if the guy wasn't doping?  No way to know, I guess.  And then there are all those human rights issues we keep hearing about in China.  It is confusing to me as to why they awarded China the games knowing all these things and then bring them up later as if they were a surprise. 

I remember watching women's gymnastics in past Olympics when floor exercise was more about dancing to the music rather than just very difficult tumbling passes and increasingly more dangerous layout double back flips with triple twists and whatever.  Their bodies are getting more muscular and testy and it is hard to think of them as young girls.  I understand that this is natural progress, just like athletes swimming and running faster than they used to and all.  But I keep wondering where it all goes from here.  Will we ever get back the beauty we have sacrificed in the name of raw power?  Does anyone think we should?  Besides me? 

I don't know where I am going with this except to say that the end of the summer always seems to make people ponder things.  They sit on the beach, reading that last summer novel, knowing that pretty soon it is back to work or school and before you know it, the holidays will be here.  We want to think of that period between Thanksgiving and Christmas as magical and warm and full of family memories.  When in reality it can sometimes be unbelievably stressful and exhausting and expensive and a trigger for the worst in family dynamics.  I like to ponder how we might take the parts of the fall and holiday season we love and capture them and let go of the parts that really suck.  Maybe limit the presents to make it cheaper and give more meaning to each precious one.  That only works if you don't have to buy dozens of them, sending you into a crazed frenzy.  Start new traditions.  Imagine all the cool things that you could think of to change the holidays for the better if you dared. 

This morning a tv preacher said that he heard that most people who leave their marriage are 80% satisfied with their spouse and leave for the 20% they don't have.  And the cycle continues because you cannot get 100% from any spouse.  I would imagine that is pretty much true of life as well.  If you have 80%, he said, then stick with it.  Work on the 20% and count yourself lucky.  Just like I said.  Keep the good stuff, and work on changing the not so good.  Who says you have to do things tomorrow the same way you did them today or yesterday?  Shake it up.  Don't think of summer as the end of something you love.  Think of fall as the beginning of something to come.  It's only just out of reach, down the block, on a beach, under a tree.  At least that's what Tony said (sang) in West Side Story.  Only it turned out to be the end of him. 

GR

In Search of Nirvana


August 1st, 2008, a Friday

It is a perfect morning to think about disappointment and trust.  Don't you think? 

Disappointment is a source of "psychological stress".  (I guess I already knew that.)  It is defined as a feeling of dissatisfaction that follows the failure of expectations to manifest.  To me that sounds like a space capsule that failed to lift off after the great anticipation of the countdown.  (OK, yeah, that would be disappointing to everyone who worked on it.)   Trust is a "relationship of reliance".  The rest of what I read about trust seems absolutely silly to repeat.  Actually, this leads me to another subject entirely.

A Harvard brain scientist, at 37 years old, had a massive stroke.  She knew so much about brains, and even how her own worked as she soared through a brilliant career, that she understood everything that was happening to her as each function of her left brain shut down over the first few hours.  She was really scared though but much more aware than any of us would have been.  Her book explains more about how brains work than I ever wanted to know but that is her point.  We all have two sides to our brain, the more disciplined and rational math and science left side as opposed to the creative and intuitive right brain.  In a healthy brain, they work together in balance although we tend to gradually become dominant in one or the other as we grow.  She had been left brain fact and figure dominant but as her left brain failed, she had to rely solely on her right brain which stepped up to take over.  In her new right brain only state, she felt peace and joy and unity with the universe.  Because she had lost the left brain ability to see people and objects as having boundaries, she felt liquid, like she was melting into space, feeling a part of something much bigger than her small earthly life.  She thought it was probably similar to those Buddhist monks who reached a nirvana state through meditation.  From the left brain perspective of meditation, it would mean they had mastered the art of completley shutting down their left brain to enjoy the same right brain euphoria she was experiencing.  She liked this feeling so much that she wasn't sure she wanted to return to the stressful challenges of left brain living.  Me, I'm a right brain dominant bear.  I love to feel and float and write and observe people and think about things.  I guess that is why it drives me crazy for people to use so many left brain words to describe such a right brain concept as trust.  It's like trying to stuff a square peg into a round hole.  It's also why I don't want left brain analysis of why I feel things instead of analyze things.  That takes a lot of joy out of the magic of just feeling.

Anyway, back to disappointment.  How we deal with disappointment seems to say a lot about us.  Depressed people have trouble letting go of disappointment.  Upbeat people take it in stride and move on to the next potential disappointment.  (That sounded kind of depressing, didn't it?)  When your team loses the big game (which happens to us here in Phoenix on a regular basis), some pout over what may have been and can't bear to watch the winner go on to the next round or hold the trophy.  Others just say, well, it's only a game and we'll get 'em next time.  What about bigger disappointments?  I read something about a new study on loss.  Some people can't adjust to the loss of a loved one and stay sad.  Others, called copers, just go about their daily living and move forward.  Some people have faith that the disapointment was meant to be, was part of God's plan, and we should believe that while waiting patiently to figure out why it was better for us to lose our biggest contract, miss making the Olympic team by 1/100th of a second, or get dumped by the guy we thought we were going to spend the rest of our life with.  Actually, it usually does work that way later but when it happens, it is hard to feel good about it.  Besides whatever you say to make yourself feel better right after this huge disappointment occurs is only to make yourself feel better.  And what's wrong with that anyway?  It will all work out. 

Does trust have to be earned?  Can you only feel trust when experience tells you it is well placed?  Or can you choose to trust and hope for the best.  And if you do it that way, is it really trust because it hasn't yet been earned?  In either method, it is really disappointing when trust is betrayed.  And you have to work so hard to trust again, to risk another disappointment. 

I am really disappointed (in advance) that today it will be 112 degrees outside but I trust that it could still be a really good day (just like something bad could happen on a beautiful sunny day of 72 degrees).  Mostly I will choose to trust that I will be aware of the simplest parts of this day.  What 112 humid degrees feels like, how lucky I am to be able to hang out in an air conditioned home, that my team might actually win tonight (although I will be disappointed if they don't), how fun it will be to watch the game and hope and hope, and that today may be the day I meditate to nirvana.  In the meantime, I am perfectly happy to hang out with my feelings of universal peace and happiness, courtesy of my beloved right brain. 

GR

Gina in Washington DC

July 30th, 2008, a Wednesday

I just returned from my trip to Washington DC.  We were up at the crack of dawn to get to the airport in time for our four and a half hour flight back to Phoenix.  But when we got home after all that, it was only 9 in the morning because of the three hour time change.  So this feels like a really long day so far.  It's not even 5 o'clock and it feels like it should be bed time.  Last night, the sun dropped as a huge red ball of fire giving way to a beautiful summer evening with a breathtaking breeze.  This morning the same red ball rose up from the horizon in the East as the City braced for a very hot, humid day with possible thunderstorms.  While we rode the nearly deserted early streets of Washington to the airport, the radio was warning about a heat factor near triple digits.  I laughed, telling the cab driver it was a lot hotter than that where we were going.  He tried that "but its a dry heat" thing.  I was going to go into monsoon moisture and all but for once in my life I decided it just wasn't worth it. 

We asked our friend, who has lived and worked in DC his whole life, if he ever got used to the absolute beauty of the City.  He looked around and said, no, it still looked magnificent to him each day.  He said that every American should come to Washington because really, it was their city.  Our city, he said.  I never looked at it that way but I think we should.  It doesn't have the complex, romantic feel of Paris with its fancy, ornate style or the grand history of Rome.  It has majesty and dignity and the sweeping awe of the ideals that are America.  The foundation of the City of Washington is the same as the foundation of Democracy.  The perfect line between the Lincoln Memorial with the spectactular sculpture of Abraham Lincoln sitting in his big chair looking down to the Reflecting Pool and the towering Washington Monument straight on to the dome of the US Capitol.  You can't stand on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial without envisioning Martin Luther King giving his "I have a dream" speech.  Or look up to see the flicker of the Eternal Flame at Arlington Cemetery without thinking of the dreadful day that John F Kennedy was shot in Dallas, Texas, the day we were robbed of our idealism.  And the columns of the White House beyond the lush, green lawn make you gasp because the building is so much more delicate and lovely in real life than in any photo you have ever seen.  How could you ever get tired of these sights and the way they make us feel. 

All of these symbols, these beautiful marble markers, are permanent and do not change.  They are loaned to politicians for certain time periods to guard the principles they stand for and for safe keeping.  And yet it seems so many of them have such a hard time living up to what they promised when elected.  Unfortunately when we look around the City we also remember Watergate, Monicagate, more Washington sex scandals of all varieties than we can or should recall, Vietnam, and now Iraq.  Each of these things a result of various tenants who let us down.  Only the politicians come and go, the City never changes in its resolute call, its challenge to uphold the promise.  

Being just a bear with a blog, I don't pretend to understand politics and all the issues and the policy complexities and the platforms and that kind of stuff although I try.  And between you and me, I don't think the average American voter gets it that well either.  But what they do get is that we are supposed to be as proud of our politicians as we are of that beautiful City.  And when you are standing there looking at the view that big ole Abe Lincoln looks over every day from his beautiful Memorial, you "get", maybe only for that moment, that this stuff really matters. 

So today I appear in my photo wearing my George Washington University t-shirt and my Barack Obama campaign button because I just saw the view myself.  I know everyone is saying Barack is getting too full of himself, too big for his britches, too confident and too arrogant, and maybe he is.  But for today I am riding on the hope and change express.  I'll take my chances that he may disappoint us as so many have before him.  I am a believer.  I want desperately to believe that the next guy who gets the key, who has his turn, has seen the same view I saw this week.  And gets it. 

GR

A Vacation Hint



July 26th, 2008, a Saturday night

This is a Special Notice to let everyone know that I am taking a little vacation and my blog will return on Wednesday, July 30th but later in the day than usual. 

Talk to you then!

GR

A Snake


July 25th, 2008, a Friday


How many times do we start a sentence or a thought with "I'm afraid...." or "but what if...".  If you're like me, too many times.  It would be hard to imagine all the things we have been afraid of (that we can't even remember now because the fears never amounted to much), that we are currently afraid of, or that we will be afraid of in the future. 

I'm afraid to go on that trip because what if the plane crashes?  What if I don't have a good time and I spent all that money for worse than nothing?  I'm afraid to divorce my husband because then I will be alone.  I'm afraid to stay married because I am so unhappy.  I'm afraid to quit my job because what if I don't find another one and I run out of money?  I'm afraid if I keep working at this job with a boss who doesn't respect or appreciate me I will never be happy.  I'm afraid to go on a diet because the only thing that really gives me pleasure is eating.  I'm afraid I will be fat the rest of my life.  I'm afraid I will be a bad parent.  I'm afraid I will never have children.  I'm afraid if I try new things I won't like them.   I'm afraid I will do the wrong thing so it's best to just do nothing.  What if Barack Obama really wants to rule the world, not just be President of the United States?

I'm afraid I will be afraid for the rest of my life. 

Fear is paralyzing.  And yet we see it as a safety gauge to prevent us from doing something we perceive to be stupid or ill advised.  When actually fear can prevent us from doing anything at all.  It takes courage to overcome our fears.  Lots of it, sometimes. 

Like for me with snakes.  I am terrified of snakes.  It isn't like I think a snake is going to kill me.  Not like a boa constrictor will wrap itself around me until I am smashed and flattened out and unrecognizable as the little purple bear I used to be.  Or that a giant anaconda will open its huge jaws and swallow me up, thinking wrongly that I am flesh and bones when really I am stuffed with those little beads that won't appeal to Mr. Anaconda at all and the whole meal will have been worth nothing to him.  And I will be swallowed up like Jonah in the tummy of the whale.  See what I mean?  So why am I terrified of snakes if I don't fear for my life?  I don't know.  Ask Dr. Freud.  Who cares?  I just am.  I'm afraid there may be one under my bed or even in the bed.  You know how you hear on the news that a snake came up out of someone's toilet or recently that one that showed up in a washing machine and when the lady put her hand in to get the clothes out she grabbed a big snake instead.  Ooooooohhhhhhh.  It grosses me out just writing about it.  The Littlest Dutch Boy has a snake.  She is very pretty, coral colored, and not too big.  Her name is Hera, named after wife and sister of Zeus (don't ask me how she could be wife and sister both but if you did ask me I would say that Zeus was messed up).  The Littlest Dutch Boy keeps asking me if I will come over to his house and get to know Hera, overcome my irrational fear of snakes.  He says I could hold her and sit with her and then I would see that she isn't really slimy and would never hurt me.  But I just can't do it.  Not yet.  I'm afraid and cannot overcome it. 

I think there is this last notch we have, the last holdout, that says you can't get past this final place of resistance to finally dive into your fears.  Sort of like the high dive that you have never been able to bring yourself to jump off.  It takes that final push.  You have experienced it at some time in your life.  Where you just close your eyes, take a deep breath, and take the leap no matter what the consequences.  It's only water down there.  Most of the time you find that it wasn't so bad and you can easily do it again, and again.  Then you are really glad you did.  But does that really translate to repeating that act of courage the next time something scary comes up.  Maybe we only take the plunge on the safe scary things.  Not the really big ones. 

I don't know.  But I do know that I am kinda tired of being afraid and overprotective of myself.  Now don't go getting all crazy and do something stupid.  But maybe today we could try something we have always been afraid of.  Get past that last holdout of fear that stops us.  We may not like it, or regret that we did it, but at least we did.  I'm gonna call the Littlest Dutch Boy and tell him to introduce me to Hera.  Maybe.

GR 

WARNING:  This blog is not suitable for younger audiences.  It is rated S for scary dreams, D for severe disappointment, and C for celebrity crap.  Use discretion and read at your own risk.


July 23rd, 2008, a Wednesday

I'm having a rough time.  It feels like there is something stuck in my tummy, something bad, and since I'm a bear and don't eat, it can't be indigestion.  Unless, of course, it is emotional indigestion.  It bugs me when I feel like that and can't figure out why.  I need answers!  Some are happy to say they're just having an off day.  But I want to know why I'm having an off day, what it means, and what can be done about it.  I want to feel all light and airy in my tummy, not like there's a rock full of crud in there. 

So I consulted a yoga lady.  For an assessment, an evaluation of my chi, my energy, my possibly clogged channels.  She fit the part, being tiny and almost completely non-English speaking.  Honestly, I couldn't understand hardly a word she said.  She was already confounded because of the bear thing, but once we got past that, I tried to explain my "issues" to her when she asked what was causing the stress that had landed in a ball in my tummy.  The problem was that when I tried to explain it to her, poured my little heart out, she didn't understand a word I was saying.  She nodded with this vacant look in her eyes and just wanted to get on to the next part of her sales pitch.  That's right.  The yoga lady, who wasn't that serene or nice, was a saleswoman. I kept asking if her analysis was unique to me or was true of everyone and she kept saying it was true of everyone.  That was hard to swallow considering it is unlikely she has ever evaluated a small purple bear with tummy problems.  Part of the shtick was to put her hands on my tummy and wiggle it like a bowl of jello for a while.  Pretty soon it actually started to work as I felt things loosening up and began to relax and breathe.  Then she stopped and told me I had to learn to turn off my brain and clean house.  She asked how our house would look if we didn't clean it for years.  Just like my tummy.  Dirty, dirty, dirty.  Time to clean out, she said.  I asked how and she said "we gonna take care of you".  Out came the notebook with the page protectors showing class times and all the payment options.  The preferred option was the full year it was absolutely going to take to get my tummy to feel all light and airy again.  Just over $2000.  I said I had to think about it and she said, ok, just go for the 10 class package.  I said I wasn't ready for that and she was really pissed.  She said I needed to buy today.  Not today, I said.  She closed the book and ended our happy session in disgust, which wasn't really that happy anyway.  As I told her with a smile that I would be back, I whispered under my breath, "in your dreams".  My tummy started feeling better right away.

Feeling vulnerable after this yogatic disappointment, I did the bear with a blog equivalent of binging on junk food.  I overdosed on celebrity news.  Here it is in a nutshell.  Christian Batman Bale says he did not assault his mother and sister.  Nicole and Keith's baby is not for sale!  Madonna's pooped out and does not feel she is getting enough support from those around her (what's Kabbalah if it does not kick in during the tough times?).  Matthew McC and his woman listened to Brazilian music during labor and "got tribal on it", as he sat "right between her legs" (I so did not want to know that).  Sherri Shepherd of The View used to be in a physically abusive relationship, sleeping with a lot of guys, and had more abortions than she would like to count.  Amy "they tried to make me go to rehab, I said no, no, no" Winehouse says that when her hubby gets out of prison they want to have at least 5 kids, including a set of twins, because he would be such an amazing dad.  Brooke Hogan, offspring of cool dad Hulk Hogan, is "not that into voting" but if she were, would not vote for a woman because they "deal with a lot of emotions and menopause and PMS and stuff.  Like I'm so moody all the time, I know I could not be able to run a country cause I'd be crying one day and yelling at people the next day, you know?".  She did not know what all the fuss was about when her dad was photographed rubbing suntan lotion on her bottom, saying it was like touching an old car for him.  He used to change her diaper, she said.  Her mom, Bollea, is dating one of her 19 year old friends and Brooke just is not ok with that. 

As is often the case, and Amy Winehouse knows this all too well, when you indulge in your addictions because you feel bad, things only get worse.  Celebrity gossip made the rock in my tummy feel bigger than ever.  I woke up around 4 am feeling miserable and strange.  My head felt like it was going to explode, full of tension, and all my usual methods of settling down were not working.  I tried praying to God, meditating into total mindfulness to be closer to God, and spiritual levitation.  But nothing worked.  It felt like the presence of badness that you could do nothing about but could not give in to.  I finally fell asleep and had a dream you wouldn't believe and couldn't imagine.  A baby in my arms that wasn't really mine so I put it down and it turned into a rodent.  Aliens in the front yard with lots of police trying to nab them before they came to get me.  My mother, Babia the Solar Queen, wandering around.  And me pulling this sticky white stuff up out of my tummy in the bathroom sink.  When I woke up, I was upset and crying a little bit.  The Dutchman said, "Gina, what's wrong...bad dream?".  I said yes and told him about it.  What does it mean, I wailed?  Why did I dream all that terrible stuff?  He said it didn't have to mean anything.  It was a bad dream, a way of working things out.  He then let me know without saying a word that we shouldn't hang on to that dream, even though it was likely to stay with me for a while.  No, we just got up and went through the morning stuff we do, not giving that damned dream any more power. 

The dream has stayed with me but my tummy is feeling a lot better.  These things happen to all of us.  And it's up to you whether you want to figure out what it all means.  It helps to have someone make sure you don't get stuck there.  Whatever you do, don't get stuck there.  It's not good for you.

GR

Kitchen at Nicky's Monastery


July 21st, 2008, a Monday

What is it with Mondays anyway?  They are so "Mondayish", aren't they?  I'm probably not telling you anything you don't already know.  Doesn't everyone feel that way about Mondays?  The obvious answer is, of course, the go back to work after the weekend thing.  Most people have a Monday through Friday work week, making Monday the first of the five days, the longest point from the next weekend.  But is it more than that?  I mean, if you have a vacation day, or something special to do that evening, or even a sick day, does Monday still feel like Monday?  If your birthday falls on a Monday (and at some point they usually do), will that make Monday less bad?  At least for that one time?  What about people who work on weekends and have Monday off?  Is their day off as good as the days everyone else has off?  I actually feel kind of sorry for Monday. 

But consider this.  I have a friend who had a really bad stroke.  He's only in his mid-fifties and it was his second one.  He is adjusting to all the things he can no longer do and having to work very, very hard to accomplish the simplest tasks, as he says, he just took for granted before.  Recently, on a Sunday, he was talking about how difficult and sad Mondays are for him now.  He spent a career working for the Smithsonian in a very high power, high stress job moving really valuable art all around the country, and sometimes the world.  There were never enough people to get the job done and the pressure to meet deadlines was intense.  Sometimes he would actually be kinda scared of an upcoming week and how hard it was going to be and he wouldn't sleep that well on Sunday nights worrying about what was to come.  So on Mondays he would get up very early to be the first one at the office.  He would take the beautiful Metro from his home in suburban Maryland down to the District and always stop at his favorite place for a cup of tea to take with him.  Knowing him, I am sure he would smile and visit with the guy behind the counter and probably knew where he was from and how many kids he had.  Once he arrived at the beautiful Museum of American Art when it was just waking up for the day, a building that he loves dearly, he would prioritize everything and plan out the week so when his staff came in at the usual time, everything would be ready to discuss and everyone could get right to work.  Turns out that was his special time, a ritual that even though cloaked in the heavy responsibility of a huge job, was very much loved by him.  Now when he wakes up on Monday morning, he still has a big job ahead of him only it is getting dressed, trying to figure out which way his shorts go on and how to get the shirt over his head or buttoned with the use of his only one good hand.  He still isn't driving but hopes to soon.  Twice a week he goes to therapy where progress is slow, very slow, but steady.  He doesn't know if he will get the use of his left arm back or if the simple tasks will get easier.  But he does know that he really misses his Monday ritual and is very envious of all the people who get up on Mondays and go to their jobs and get another stab at it.  Right now he would give just about anything to have another stab at it.  If he did, I would guess that he would not feel as stressed about things.  Instead he would throw himself into the work, do the best he could (which in itself would be very, very good),  and enjoy every part of it so much.  What I think he misses most are the people, those he saw every single day whether it be his co-workers or just other art people he saw in the hall or when he had to visit other museums or at lunch around town or for drinks after work at the spot where everyone hangs out.  He can't drink anymore but I think he has discovered that it isn't what you're drinking, it's that you are there with your friends, enjoying their company after a long day of work. 

We have to get better at being present in our own lives, understanding what makes up each moment in our day.  I am lucky because I have my boyfriend, Dominic (Nicky), to help me.  When he was a monk, he would spend hours and hours meditating and not talking (that vow of silence thing).  They had rituals at the monastery but I think they really loved and appreciated them more than we do ours.  They made their meals together, cleaned up together, prayed together, and took walks together.  A real brotherhood dedicated to the art of simple life tasks and a commitment to their faith.  When is the last time you really got inside the act of cleaning up the kitchen?  Seriously, one day you won't be able to because you will be sick or dead or missing somehow.  Then you will wish you could just have one more stab at cleaning up the kitchen.  Your kitchen, where you make your meals, where you visit with loved ones, and where you run your hands (both hands) under the warm water.  Even cleaning up the kitchen can be a joyful act.  If only we knew it while we could still do it.

GR

An Ordinary Life


July 18th, 2008, a Friday

What's goin' on with these athletes of a certain age who are having their moments, long after their heyday has come and gone?  This weekend it's Greg Norman, the golfer, doing well at the British Open.  I remember years ago watching him lose major tournaments in such heartbreaking fashion that you felt nothing but sympathy for the guy.  Now that I think back, its hard to imagine feeling too much sympathy for someone who has so much.  I mean why do you feel bad when he just doesn't get absolutely everything he wants in life?  How many of us really do?  And yet we root for those who seem to have it all to have even more.  (That's worthy of further analysis right there.  Maybe for another blog day.)  Back to Greggie.  So legend has it that he met Chrissie (Evert, of course, the icy tennis queen) and they fell hard for each other.  There were the testy problems of getting out of other marriages, giving away a lot of money and property, and stuff like that so they could be together forever.  Well, you have to admit at their age, there is at least a better chance of forever than if they got married young and faced a longer future.  That's cut in half now.  Sort of like a head start.  But Greggie and Chrissie have both had storied sports careers so they must understand each other.  So why then do celebrities seem to have such a hard time sticking it out?  (I'll bet if they had gotten married when they were young rising stars they wouldn't be together today.)  They had a big, very expensive wedding, more than a mil, so now they are sure to be happy.  (I heard most of the wedding budget was spent on security and you have to ask yourself whether that was really necessary or whether they just like to think it was.)  And I am sure Chrissie is at the British Open quietly cheering on her man who is desperately trying to be cool out there as if it's just another tournament.  If he allowed himself to even imagine winning the British Open at age 53, and having Chrissie by his side, he wouldn't even be able to swing the club.  One thing is for sure, he keeps himself in real good shape.

As does Ms. Dara Torres.  Who doesn't know her story now with the enormous press she is getting for her amazing swimming accomplishments in her goal to make a 5th Olympic team at age 41.  Well, she did make the team in two distances but dropped out of the 100 to concentrate on the 50 meter sprint, one lap hauling ass all out, for which she swam record time in the trials.  How does she do it, they all say?  Well, the answer is available if you look closely.  She supposedly has the perfect swim body using all kinds of technical standards involving wingspan, height, hip rotation and other stuff that God personally gave her.  To hear her significant other (male and father of her 2 year old daughter) tell it, she is the most competitive woman on the planet so she is blessed with extraordinary motivation.  (Some would say that is God given as well.  At least it would be said by those who aren't all that motivated.)  And she has stayed in great competitive shape throughout her long career which spans her entire adult life meaning she has great workout habits and dietary discipline (although I'm not sure she is eating food at all these days to look at her body).  (Oh, on that dietary discipline thing, she did have an eating disorder so I guess you could say that is dietary discipline run amok.)  And she has two "stretchers" and a swim coach and a strength coach and most likely great child care and no worries about income so she has the luxury of training full time.  Being born into a family with lots of money doesn't hurt the cause.  So she has everything going in her favor but she still has to do it.  Now her naysayers scream that she must be doping even though she has voluntarily submitted to sophisticated drug testing to quiet those inevitable rumors.  You go, Dara.  Make all us old broads proud.  Teddy bears included.

I think I will pass on the natural inclination to add Brett Favre to the mix here in today's blog.  He is the aging quarterback who tearfully retired last season but realizes now that he didn't really mean it.  How feminine of him.  Cry and then say never mind.  Can you believe it?  His old team wasn't all that happy to hear of his change of heart.  Now everything is a big mess and all played out in public.  Maybe Brett should just cry some more, throw a snit fit, and then change his mind again.  That would make him back to retired and we would all be put out of our misery.    

So how does all this affect us baby boomers who see our own going out there and moving the goal posts to older is better with seemingly no end to what we can accomplish in our special years.  Is older really better?  Is 50 the new 30?  Well, here's how I look at it.  When you are young, the body looks and works a lot better but you have absolutely no concept of how it isn't going to work and look like that forever.  I mean you've never been in your body when it didn't work like that.  How could you really know?  It's that having no concept thing that exemplifies youth.  Clueless for the most part.  You don't always want to get up and work that hard, you want to go to McDonald's instead of eat the lean chicken and cottage cheese that's on your training regimen, and you want to go out with your friends at night and drink a little too much but because you're young you can still bounce back early the next morning for practice.  (Sadly, that is probably how a lot of young people realize they're not young anymore.  When the hangovers take longer to evaporate.)   When you're older, you have to take much better care of your body but you like the results so much that you are willing to make the sacrifice because it is literally the only way to have that flat stomach (excluding the plastic surgeon, of course, but that is also another blog).  You go to your workout because you can and you have a great appreciation for the things your body can still do.  So everything has so much more meaning.  It might even be just great to be there, even if you don't win.  Just to make the team.  And that enjoyment and lack of pressure can translate to great performance.

The upcoming Olympics will be watched by hundreds of millions of people over the course of the games.  Some will drink beer and say "I could do that, it doesn't look that hard".  Others will wistfully remember that they were good athletes in their youth but not quite good enough and it will make them sad and maybe even depressed at their life passing them by without ever having had the opportunity to grab the golden ring.  Lots of us will ask "what makes a person take up a sport like that, I mean how do they get into it".  We will feel that patriotic pride and yell, "yeah, go USA".  But deep inside we will know that the individual sacrifice and commitment it takes to get to that moment is beyond the comprehension of most of us.  And if pressed, we would say it probably isn't worth it.  I mean, it steals your youth and then your future becomes a memory of your past.  And that's best case scenario.  Don't forget those athletes who finished third at the swimming trials by one one hundredth of a second and dont make the team, nameless to most of us.  (Not to mention that the reason we only take two swimmers now is because the US was winning all three medals so often, they wanted to give others a chance.  So our third finsiher who now doesn't make the team, is likely to swim faster than the Olympic Bronze Medalist from another country.  That could be hard to take.)  It's cool to say you've done it, made the effort, but its ok that you didn't.  There are many ways to create a rich, rewarding life and down the road, the less flashy ways might turn out to be the very best of all. 

GR

July 16th, 2008,  a Wednesday

Today is a big day in our house.  It's a family birthday.  The Little Dutch Boy was born on a hot July 16th, in the middle of the night (of course), determined to do it his way, alarmingly quiet when he first arrived and then screaming his lungs out, fists clenched.  He almost seemed pissed when he was forced to come out, even though he made it very clear that he was cramped and ready to greet the world for quite a while before that.  I think it was because he wanted to determine his exact moment of arrival, not the damned doctor, thereby exhibiting his first absolute rejection of authority.  Certainly a sign of things to come.  No hugs and cooing from this one.  People were always chasing after him or gasping when he tried things that no child his age should have been trying (another sign of things to come).  Daring and opinionated, never satisfied, nap hating and adventurous, life was never the same in the Dutch house after that July 16th.  It's funny how he is a grown version of exactly the same thing now.  That makes a good case for nature rather than nurture.  How could his parents and their loving, warm environment have had much to do with it when he was just like that the moment he took his first breath.  It's ok, Mom and Dad.  There was absolutely nothing you could do.  The Little Dutch Boy is a force of nature. 

Speaking of life changed forever, it is hard to even remember life before the internet.  It still amazes me that I can write my blog, choose my image for the day, click twice with the mouse, and it appears for anyone with a computer and an internet connection to see.  Having that kind of access to so many people is scary and wonderful at the same time.  You still have to get them to look at it but then that part hasn't really changed.  You have always had to get people to go to your movie if you are a filmmaker, read your book if you are an author, try your food if you are a restauranteur, or buy your car if you are an auto maker.  (Seems not enough people are buying those General Motors cars and in cutting back, retirees over 65 are losing their health insurance coverage.  At least when I fail at the "choose me" game and no one reads my blog, nothing really bad happens.  I just get up the next day and try again.  When people don't choose GM cars, old folks can't afford to go to the doctor.)  It is really cool to be able to find anything about anything on the internet but it seems sad that students are missing out on the ritual of opening an encyclopedia when preparing a report about a far away country to smell the stale pages so infrequently turned.  Who before you looked up Burma to see a map, photos of the countryside, and to learn about what Burmese people do for a living.  Of course, it wasn't updated until a new version of the encyclopedia came out but there was always that salesman at the door to remind you it was time to make the purchase.  To make sure the world didn't pass you by.  Today the world could pass you by if you don't check the internet for a few hours!  

How do we protect kids from the parts of the internet that would be best unseen by a child, or anyone for that matter?  You probably can't but you can offset the damage done by exposing them to other things that are wholesome and inspiring.  One of those ways would be to take your pre-teen child to see "Kitt Kitredge, American Girl".  Good for Julia Roberts for taking an interest in this series and producing this movie.  Now that she is a Mom, she knows how important it is for old fashioned family values to be portrayed.  Now some would say that the "rose colored glasses" view of the world portrayed in this movie has nothing to do with the difficult challenges that so many modern kids face today.  But it takes place during the Great Depression when trouble was a way of life.  The plucky heroine, Kitt Kitredge, is a model of optimism, never give up spirit, and faith in people to do the right thing.  And her hair always looks darling.  No harm can come to those who see this movie.  You can't really say that about the same two hours a kid may spend on the internet.

The Dutchman is in Iowa visiting his 96 year old Mom.  I can always tell the change that comes over him once he arrives home, the beautiful place she calls the breadbasket of civilization.  His voice becomes calmer, sweeter and he is flooded by memories of a kinder time when he was a boy and life was simple.  He may even open one of the encyclopedias still lined up on the bookshelf in the dorm room upstairs he shared with his two brothers just to smell the past.  He will spend a lot of time reading quietly just as his Mom will, just as she has probably done every day since she learned how to read.  They both get their books from the library.  (I saw the Dutchman taping a corner of his library book's cover before he left.  He performed this gesture with an enormous amount of care.)  It makes me emotional to think of how much these things mean to both of them, to their family.  And it makes me very, very sad to think that the lifestyle they still embrace and respect will pass on when they do.  After all, today's Iowa kids have computers, too.  They play video games.  They go to the chlorinated community swimming pool instead of spending long summer days at the pit where the Dutchman used to lifeguard.  I'm pretty sure they still ride bikes and play Little League (hopefully).  So all is not lost. 

As for the Little Dutch (birthday) Boy, he is a reader like his Dad.  He used to read himself to sleep at night when he was a boy, preferring Mad Magazine to the classics.  But his reading these days is done on-line, the internet a feast of morning news and every silly and outrageous story he could ever imagine, every worthless fact he longs to know just because....well, just because.  He feels at home with the never ending possibilities of the internet, knows how to use it, and doesn't seem to miss the smudge of newspaper print on his fingers or the joy of simply turning the page. 

I hope the Dutchman really enjoys his visit to the past, his past.  And I hope he brings just a little bit of it back to me.  

GR

   

Jilly the Coyote Dog

July 14th, 2008, a Monday

Each of us has our own personal style.  The way we not only like to handle things, but the way we somehow must handle things, the way we naturally respond to things.  I wonder if we are more influenced by genetics, family environment, personal preference, or force of habit.  Or maybe some of each.  For example, I am really curious about this subject, always interested in the differences and similarities between us, while some people don't care one bit about how they got to be how they are.  (I was going to say the vast majority of those people are of the male gender, but thought better of it.)

Take Jilly, the coyote dog.  She is just shy of 14 years old which makes her 98 years old in people age, so they say.  Looking at Jilly, I think they may be right.  Because she is mostly wild animal due to her coyote lineage, I would say she definitely falls into the category of having absolutely no choice as to the way she responds to things.  She is totally instinct driven.  Proceed at your own risk if you plan to take food away from her whether it be food she has already gotten her paws on or food she is stalking such as in a trash can.  Once she has claimed it, she will fight to the death to keep it, gnarling her lip to show her teeth and growling in a seriously threatening manner.  If that doesn't make you back off, she will go for your ankles and trap you in a corner until you literally climb up on the counter to save yourself.  The Dutchman and the Littlest Dutch Boy (her real owner but doesn't live at home anymore) say it has something to do with pack mentality and alpha males and so forth.  They are the only ones who can dominate her in that they share the alpha male role.  It is unclear to me as to whether a female can be the alpha male in our new liberated society but in this household, I promise you we are never going to know.  She can sense a storm coming hours before the rest of us.  She makes wild animal trilling noises that no domesticated dog has ever made.  I loved watching her after her surgery to repair a bum back leg.  She was all shaved on her tummy and bandaged up and medicated on pain pills.  She retreated to her special corner of the Dragonfly Room and there she stayed quietly for days on end until she healed herself.  She knew exactly how to do it and in her usual personal style, she committed to it and didn't waiver.  One day she decided she was done with the wooden stairs on the inside of the house and insisted on using the outside stairs and outside doors instead.  Not one time has she even thought about coming down those indoor stairs since that day, even when she knows there is food downstairs which is the most important thing in the world to a little scavenger like Jilly.  She took it very hard when her housemate of 12 years, our beloved Rusty, died earlier this year even though she would never admit how much he meant to her.  Her physical condition deteriorated and she has taken to endless pacing and panting.  The vet says there is no physical cause.  It seems to be the way she grieves.  She has become very hard of hearing, her sense of smell has diminshed and her back legs are no longer dependable.  It has been so hard to see her try to get along without her best resources but she is such a stubborn old broad, she just keeps on going making the best of what she has. 

Some of us go about things slowly and methodically, using reason and logic (think Dutch).  Others of us rely mainly on intuition and our ability to just "know" how to solve a problem or when the exact time to act may be (think teddy bear).  The Dutchman wants to talk about things later, put them off and maybe even hope they go away.  He is a creature of habit, loving his routine and rituals, taking great comfort in predictability.  As for me, the moment something interesting pops into my head, I want to discuss it and share it and move on to the next thing and most likely I will want to talk about that, too.  I don't like to know in advance what the day may bring and although I find comfort in family rituals, sometimes they make me feel stale and I long for an experience out of the usual routine.

When you think about it, this personal style we all have determines a lot of things.  Obviously it plays a part in career choices, personal relationships and habits.  Do we like to travel or stay home, are we interested in having children or do we like our freedom, does money mean a lot to us or are we just happy with a simple life, do we like to spend time with other people or do we prefer time alone, and does a rainstorm thrill us or make us fret over whether the roof may leak? 

I have a friend who has such a big heart that people assume she will one day put it to use as the kind of mother that we all want to have.  She is just at that age when you would expect she and her husband would start a family and everyone seems to be waiting for them to do it.  That then turns into people asking her if she is going to do it and when.  Everyone assumes, maybe including her, that the huge space she has inside reserved for love and warmth and compassion and kindness can only be put to best use with a child.  And I would imagine that one day a lucky child or two will grow up in the comfort and joy of her special space.  But in the meantime, we are all just so drawn to her.  Her personal style is taking care of everyone, arms wide open, always ready with a hug when you need it, and the coolest thing is she always knows when you need one, even sometimes before you do.   

Differences in our personal styles make the world go round.  Some are better at giving hugs and others at receving them.  If we could just accept that, it would be something to celebrate.  Not something we are always trying to change.  That's not to say that all of us don't have at least a few personal habits that really need changing.  But for the most part, shouldn't we be just a little more satisfied with who we are?  And who the other guy is, too?

GR