Dirty Lttle Secret

We all have (at least) one – right?

Last week, one of my daughters, while packing her place up, found that she had collected a mass of magazines.  She confessed that she was a bit of a glossy print hoarder.   

With her tongue thoroughly imbedded in her cheek, she wondered aloud where she got this trait.

We both knew the truth.

This sent me on a journey throughout my house this morning, hunting and gathering anything that had a subscription label on it, and at least two dog-eared pages. It wasn’t hard.  Nooks and crannies, corners and cabinets were scoured as periodicals were rounded up.

There were plenty of stacks.  I toyed with the idea of adding another leaf to the table so it could support the collections.  If my daughter had a mass – I had a critical mass. 

As I sorted through the varieties of design, improvement and enrichment – I wondered where I, myself, had gotten that trait. 

 It was my mother.   

She did not have the opportunity to grow up with many books, so as an adult, she collected them as treasures.  Piles of them neatly on shelves and end tables abounded.   

A gift of a coffee table book resulted in her having a look of wonder and awe.   

She cherished them. 

I have already shared my love of books with you, and to be honest – I don’t love the magazines.  But I do cherish what they represent…just as my mom did...and perhaps my daughters:

There’s always room for improvement.

Beauty is everywhere.

Possibilities are endless.

So are subscriptions.

Mischief in the Making

I was wrong.

There are lots of adventures you can experience in life
- if you are lucky.

Living in different places, careers made from dreams,
finding children in your life,
holding onto love - whether for a moment, or more than a long exhalation of time...
these are the types of adventures that buoy one through one life stage to another.

Then there are the experiences which jettison you through your short stay on this planet
- for an even shorter moment of time:
the hike through the alps,
careening down rapids whose category you do not want to know,
the climb up an oxygen-absorbing peak,
or the tedium of one pedal stroke after another to cross a country,
or continent.

I thought that once we did one of those "super experiences" we'd be good -
no - I'd be good  - for life.
The scary, exhausting expeditions would be behind me.
I would have satisfied a need.

Nope.

Little did I know that a restlessness would sink in.

Need changes to crave - and the search for another adventure needs to begin.

I was wrong.

Begin Again

My sister taught me a song when we were little:

There was an old man named Michael Finnegan.

He had whiskers on his chin-agin.

The wind blew them off,

and he grew them in again.

Poor old Michael Finnegan,

begin again.

As you may suppose, you repeat it again, and again.

That's how I feel each January 1st.

I never make resolutions for the new year.

I've always thought they were a recipe for failure.

But I do make plans and lists, 

and search for

inspiration.

My inspiration this year was the number 13.

It's my sister's favorite number.

My plan is to try 13 new things in 2013.

I've started,

#1  Acupuncture - weird, not my fave, but would try again

#2  Swimming - including it in my cross training - brr.

#3  Diet - concentrated effort to eat fully "clean" - tricky, I like chips.

#4 Bike daily - already failed - that's what happens to unrealistic expectations.

And then I realized I had done three things already...
and the first month wasn't over.

Clearly, I need a plan and a list - so here goes:

January - Change 

February - Change your roots

March - Change your focus

April - Change your attitude

June - Change your expectations

July - Change your balance

August - Change your routine

September - Change your hairstyle

October - Change your missions

November - Change your aspirations

December - Change your outlook

I don't like change, but "change is hard, change is good."

The nice thing is that once this 13/'13 is over...

I begin again.

Paradise Lost

I've been in Paradise Penitentiary...in other words a fancy spa.  
For years, Jeff has given this to me as either an 
act of love, or a resuscitation of his sanity...
I'm never sure which.  
I didn't go last year, due to our little bike ride, 
so this year it's been an extended stay. 
This is a place that serves the needs of a variety of folks.  
This isn't just for the I-Want-To-Be-Beautiful crowd, 
it's also for the 
I've-had-a-loss/illness/scare/breakdown/dysfunction crowd.  
People watching could be fun...but I don't, out of respect.  
I'm part of the 
Could-We-Work-This-Kink-Out-Of-My-Neck-And-Backbend group.

Besides the compulsory laying of hands on your body and face with lotions and potions, 
you also have the ability to workout like a crazy person, 
or connect with the outdoors.  
I chose the former. 

It's a joy to be a participant, 
and not the person with the microphone, 
memorized routine, and prayers to the sound system.  
I get to choose whether or not I'm going to listen to the instructor, 
or develop a blank stare on my face as I do my own thing - 
half tempo.   
I have danced, folded, planked and plunked for days.  
But the best class has always been the spinning class.   
The room is amazingly filled with state of the art bikes, stereo, 
and lighting effects.  

I taught SPIN classes for a few years.  
I would choose rhythms and music, develop catchy phrases, 
and design "routines" all with the goal of inspiring and motivating.  
I was never a "yeller".
I'm more of a catch flies with honey, 
instead of vinegar, kind of instructor.  
Other than Coach Troy training DVD’s for our XC ride, 
I haven’t been in a SPIN class in years.

I was so excited to take the serious SPIN class 
offered here each early morning.  
This was going to be a part of my "13 new things in '13"...
to see if I could return to cycling every day, something 
my body and mind came to count on, without fail. 
I failed.  

I was fully embracing the variety of instructor’s music, 
routines, and teaching styles...until I got to The Yeller.
This instructor screeched, whooped, 
and threw out canned phrases of "encouragement"
which would have served me very well,
if I had chosen to train to be a Navy Seal.  
I'm not.  
That was it.  
I couldn't go today in fear that - 
that instructor – that prison matron,
would be returning (they rotate).  
I yell at myself enough, 
I don't need someone else doing it for me...
at an ear piercing volume. 
(If I think the music was loud, then...)  

And then I realized that I allowed one person's negative edge
impact all of my positive juju.  
I forgot that 
I could ignore her, 
do what I believed was better for my head, heart and health, 
and return to my purpose of this 13/'13 goal...
the joy of the bike, the music, 
and ultimately the ride.
I could be true to myself.
 
So, when I finally bust of this joint, 
I will continue with another new 13/'13...
just to be myself, 
act and react as necessary,
at all times…good juju and all.