Wisdom

Most of life is pretty average. We take out the dogs, go to work, exercise and eat. Early to bed and do it again. On weekends, there may be more sleeping and eating, or some time with friends and such thrown in there.

But this week, somehow, is less than average. It has, in a word, sucked. I don't know if I'm crabby - the first one to suggest PMS will have his head ripped off immediately before I explain that I got that one 'taken care of' - or if I'm just sick of the drama, but I have written something like 6 IRs this week. I HATE writing IRs. I think that mistakes can be made and learned from without being punished, but the lying and manipulation and blatant disregard for the rules have me entirely fed up. It's not that hard to NOT break the law - millions of people do it every day. Somehow, several of the 25 men in my charge don't quite get that.

To add to the misery, my trainer was fired from the Y this week. I think it was mostly a personality conflict - she is 110% over the top, on the go, wild. And it works. Her workouts are awesome and her motivation is irreplacable. I understand it might intimidate some people but for others its just what is needed. I can run a full minute at 5 miles an hour, and that is possible only because Gera kicked my ass twice a week for two months.

So after the establishment so unfairly fired her, I agreed to try someone else. There is no other Gera, but this lady is VA-NIL-LA. She gave me a good core work out but had me doing stuff I consider 'beginner,' what I learned during Activate America. Let's get something straight - I may be fat but I'm also damn strong. I'm going to give her one more chance, then do something else. Basically, I want the training manager to train me. And if she won't, refund my money so I can go to Anytime Fitness. Which I will likely do at the beginning of the year anyway.

But I did learn something important this week, as a result of last week. I didnt go to the gym at all bc I was working crazy hours. So when I got back there on Monday, it was NOT fun. In fact, that week 'off' was SOOO not worth it. Because the truth is, I like my body most when I'm feeling strong, and capable, and it doesn't matter so much then that my butt is big or my arms flabby. Because I am a woman who is, in general, more than average.

Grama

I got to spend a whole day with my grama, not easy considering both our jobs, busy schedules (hers, mostly) and the 300 miles between us. But as the first grandchild in our family, our bond generally cuts through all that and our closeness is one of the greatest gifts in my life.

Grama's getting old, never more evident than her decreased ability to 'shop til we drop'. Rather, her drop comes quicker than before. She is shorter than I remember, and she can't hear unless I talk in a playground voice. But she is also my favorite woman, one whose life is among the greatest stories I've ever heard.

Grama and I have always been close. My first 8 years of life were spent within two miles of her house, and most of my childhood days were spent with her. I remember checking the rising bread, reading Little Bear and Big Max, staying the night and getting hugs whenever I wanted. When I was little - she remembers it as 2 or 3 - I woke up early one morning before mom was awake. I was bored (requiring stimulation at even that young age) so put my jelly shoes on and started walking down the road in my Rainbow Brite nightgown. It was late fall or early summer, and the school bus came down the road behind me. The driver was a friend of grampa's and said he'd give me ride to the house. So I showed up at grama's, 7 a.m., before my parents knew I was gone. Apparently I couldn't wait to hang out with her.

Because I grew up in the country, there were no kids my age to play with. So I played with grama. She has figured into many of my decisions - to study Norwegian and travel to the country, to return to MT. I could never learn all her wisdom, but I got a lesson in making dumplings - my favorite - tonight. She even measured out the flour so I'd have a recipe to follow. She probly hasn't had to do that since she was a teenager.

Grama grew up without a dad, and her mom was gone a lot. She lived in Portland for part of the war, and was one of the first telephone operators in the county. She lived with her inlaws, and hated it. She cooked and raised children and loved her husband. Her adventures of youth make my sheltered existence pale as boring, and her fantastic ability to form and keep relationships is one I hope to emulate my entire life.

Every story I write is the best she's read. I am beautiful to her, and even my terrible houskeeping and cooking skills are forgiven. She doesn't mind that I'm not Lutheran (or Craig's not) and is realistic about just how irritating our family members can be. She continues to work at a cafe and I spent many afternoons after school helping her clean up the bakery she worked out until I was in college. She's been a widow for most of the time I've known her, so I know her as my grama more than her roles of wife, mother, sister, daughter, friend. Well that's not true I guess. She's my friend.

Grama turns 80 next year and I know she won't be in my life forever. That terrifies me, because who will I call for directions to make jello or tell a funny story? Two years ago I made Craig call her to tell me I had to take off the blankets in spite of my high fever and terrible chills because I wouldn't believe it otherwise. She will always be part of me and I will love her forever. I can't wait to tell my grandkids how great a grama I had, and hope she'll think I'm good at it too.

Happy Birthday, friend

Today is the 28th birthday of the first boy I ever loved. Today, he is one of the few men I currently love. Through it all, he's been a friend, distant, my partner in crime, and a total stranger. I'm so thankful for every moment.

Mike currently lives in California, but every Christmas for most of our adult lives we've gathered at the Hotel Albert in Fairview to escape family and drink and smoke. Cigarettes have been eliminated, and partners added to the equation. No matter how long since we've talked, Mike and I can reconnect somehow. We're lucky like that.

In high school, he was my confidante, a duty he didn't always like having. I stayed the night at his house, and it was his basement where I retreated to after basketball games. His mother remains one of my heroes, and his home one where I still forget to knock.

Mike has welcomed Craig into the dynamic of our relationship and I hope to someday extend his partner the same. We've evolved as people and friends, and grown closer in ways we couldn't have fathomed as children - politically, spiritually, artistically.

Mike plays a major part in my history, and remembering him always makes me smile. It's a joy to talk to him on the phone, and has been amazing to see him 'grow up' (a later bloomer, eh ;) ). No one besides my husband has ever been able to make me so furious and so ecstatic at the same time. I'd do pretty much anything for him, even not tease him about being older than me.

Happy Birthday Mike. I love you.

Never Give Up

It is Nov. 7, and the election of my lifetime was decided three days ago. I thought it would never come. And it couldn't get over soon enough.

My entire adult life has featured the fear and oppression of the Bush administration. I read Obama's "Audacity of Hope" nearly two years ago, just before (or maybe after) he declared his candidacy. His words shook something in me that I didn't know existed.

Our country is broken. And Obama will not fix it. Not on his own. It will take the work of Democrats, Liberals, anarcharists, Republicans and members of each political party. It will take the believers and atheists, Muslims and Jews, all Americans regardless of sex, orientation, language, education or color to stand together for something we believe in: a country where dreams are nourished, where everyone gets an equal say (whether they feel that way or not) and where we get back up after every fall.

We said "Yes We Can" to get the man elected. Now, with the economy, war, and climate, we have an even bigger job in front of us.

Yes, We Can.

A Finely Woven Mat of dog hair

According to dachshund experts, the breed is blessed with a lack of shedding. This is mostly true, I've always thought, because altough Zu sheds a bit, her black hair stands out and it's not a lot.

Well, Bodie proves me, and those damn experts, wrong.

My sweet, sweet boy is a Piebald doxie. I think the 'bald' part is because he sheds so fucking much it's a miracle he has any hair left. His soft, white hair is on EVERYTHING. Our rugs and floors look like we haven't vacuumed in years, not the seven days it's really been. My brown comforter appears to have flecks of white splattered on it. And the couches and recliner feature a thin coating of his silky as snow hair. When he rides along to take me to work, I have to de-fur with the sticky roller before going inside. I tend to wear dark colors, and they nearly always feature a little extra white somethin'-somethin'.

My only wish is that his dog hair were worth about $10 a metric ton. Because we'd be MILLIONAIRES tomorrow. He is so soft and sweet, I mentioned I'd like a Bodie blanket. A friend laughed and said we could skin him but really, it would just be a matter of weaving together all his leftovers covering my house. Gross.

As I've vacuumed, swept and washed all the linens and clothes today, I've become ever more aware of just what a problem we have on our hands. He doesn't have a thick coat, so how the hell can he spare so much hair? Craig says our only options are to shave him, spray him down with a fine mist of lacquer, or deal. I guess I'll deal, but don't expect me to like it. White just doesn't look that good on me.

PS I bitch, but Bo is the greatest little boy. I love him and his damn fur a whole lot.

When Hubbie's Away ....

Wooo! Bachelorette weekend!

That's right. Craig was away for the weekend, joining the North Richland Hills Class of 88 to celebrate that they haven't seen each other for 20 years. Par-tay! He got to see his family, too. I'm nearly certain his mom wanted to hold him on her lap the whole time.

So, since back in the day I was quite the wild child, I reinstated the tradition for my weekend of singledom. I got home around 430 on Friday and ... stripped! And right into bed I went. About 10 minutes into my reading session, old friend AnnDee called me. And we talked for two hours, updating each other about our lives. Since by then the dogs were done with sleep and wanted to pee, I got dressed for the occasion and began planning out the night ahead.

Clad in my 07 MT Womens Run shirt and the running pants I've had on for three days now, the dogs and I rebelled against The Man and sat in his chair. ALL NIGHT. I couldn't find anyone to go have sushi with me, and Wendy's doesn't deliver. We were out of milk so cereal couldn't be my dinner. So with a bowl of popcorn (preceded by WW frozen lasagna) the dogs and I switched back and forth between chick flicks on our too-many-channels-to-choose-from cable. ESPN? Not tonight, baby!

Saturday I slept in. Til 8. Got all spruced up and took my pancake griddle to the Obama HQ for a breakfast. At which I was the youngest eligible voter there. I sat with some old people, and left quietly since I didn't know a soul and no one was actually talking about Obama. I can wax poetic about Biden's Planned Parenthood rating and Obama's vet policy. But gumbo and PTA? Clueless.

I figured since Craig was out caurosing, shelling out $22 for three drinks (why, back in Montaana, that'd just cost 8 bucks!), I should throw around a little dough too. I went down the street to the Academy of Skin, Hair and Nails (white trash beauty school) and had my eyelashes and eyebrows colored. Since my face looks featureless without brow crayon and mascara, I thought this would be a quick fix. Well, it wasn't quick. An hour after my arrival, I was finally finished and flourished my checkbook to assess the damage - All Ten Dollars of it. Quite the wild weekend, eh?

I bailed out on registering voters at the park (rain. icky) and grabbed a latte to head out to Miles City. Mom, Dad and I were meeting for lunch (four hours of driving for a BBQ pork sandwich. I recognize the foolishness) at 2 and I was ready to hit the road. So I did exactly what I wanted to the whole way and alternated between listening to NPR and singing Dolly and Cher at the top of my lungs. No Joe Pernice on this trip, no sir! Plus, I even went to WalMart in Miles City, where I saw the most amazing mullet since 1982. Cowboy hats and mullets go hand in hand apparently. Who knew?

When I got back to town, I got the ok from Pops to keep the pups while I went out with the girls. I meet RaeLeigh and Marlene at the pottery shop and went to town! I painted a plate for a friend and picked out a project for my next visit. Girls gone wild, I tell you!

We followed up the session at Chameleon with a trip to Barnes and Noble, where I had my first pumpkin spice latte of the season. Full sugar even! No stopping me now!

Either I've transitioned to the point where I sweat while reading or it was really hot in there, so I just stayed a little more than an hour. I bought lots of books, mostly on the clearance table. All sorts of supposed gems, including "Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance". See? I haven't read that yet and its supposedly required reading for the Liberal Set. Talk about rule breaker!

Hefting my sack of books outside, I had to pat myself on the back. I was ready for several weekends to come of reading, armed with 60-dollars worth of books. Girls gotta party, y'know?! I came home, took the dogs out, and popped my nightly bag of popcorn (94% fat free is key, although I will admit to gleefully pouring butter and salt on). The dogs and I watched Instant Beauty Pageant (trash) and Legally Blonde (classic) before hitting the hay with four of the new books. After three whole minutes of reading, I was conked.

This morning I woke up at 630 or so. Yuck. I started the day's chores, since Craig will be home around midnight tonite. Our relationship features a healthy dose of fear. Mine, mostly regarding his lectures about cleaning, so I started the day with making a bigger mess. Pumpkin bread was on the morning menu, but I didn't have baking soda or spices, so I went to the store and then back to City Brew for ANOTHER pumpkin pie latte. I'm a lush, what can I say?

After feeding Pops and starting laundry and doing dishes, I decided to take a break and nap for a couple hours. I woke up to the bang of a BB gun and checked my messages. I had one from old friend Mike, and we gossiped and commiserated like the old biddies we are. I love that man and even admitted to him that - gasp! - I have a scent. So if Craig asks, yes, I did spend a considerable amount of time with another man. It just so happened we were separated by 1800 miles. God Bless the Towers of Verizon.

I'm currently almost caught up on laundry, the kitchen is acceptable, the bathroom mostly sanitary. I figure if I can sweep and vacuum, I'll have more than met my responsibilities. Because you know I'm a rebel, but even a rebel's gotta have clean digs.

Whiny Week

I've had sort of a rough week. I interviewed for a job that I didn't get (I should be used to it, right?), and pretty tired, and have not felt good a single day (cold/cough, headache, stuffy). So I gave myself a pass from the gym and haven't graced its elliptical machines all week.

So now there's something else to feel guilty about.

I continue to search for the balance between work and life. It's one that I've never mastered very well. So while it's not a surprise that this is something I'm struggling with, I am disappointed with myself that my personal health is the first thing to go.

Here's to next week.