What I wanted to say...

I want to help you, but I’m not sure I’m the right person to do what you want to do. I develop very good relationships, but I don’t want to persuade everyone I meet. I’m not wired like that. And I don’t really like to be around people who are wired like that.

You’ve known me for a long time now. You pretty much know what I am made of. At some point you are going to have to decide if you are satisfied with what you’ve got. You are going to have to accept me as I am or move on. There may be things I want to work on, for myself, but the days of my responding to your every whim are over. I know you will say this is good, but the first time I turn a blind eye to your frustration, you will realize you didn’t mean it.

You’ve known there are those you can’t change, but I’ve been putty in your hands. Was that the right decision? I allowed you to have that power over me. And I don’t think I am any worse off for it, but I’ve grown tired. We’ve all grown tired.

Maybe this is where it gets good. Maybe this is where the rubber meets the road. Will I stand strong? Yes I think so. I think I will. It’s something about having turned 40.

Born in the Wrong Decade

I was born in 1966 which means I was just a little girl throughout the 70s. Somehow I've always felt I was born 10 years too late - that I was meant to come of age in the late 60s and early 70s. Well, I got my chance this past weekend as Missouri Bank celebrated the holidays with its' "Lost in the 70s" party. Sam and I found our inner hippies and spent the evening being especially mellow. I've posted more photos from the party here.

(By the way, Sam won 1st place for best hair. )

Snow Fox

Unbelievably, the weather folks got this one right. The snow is coming down hard and fast and it’s accumulating quickly. It’s the perfect kind of snow - light and fluffy – the kind of snow you normally only see in the movies.


I saw another fox tonight on my way home from work. I had never seen a fox in my life until 6 weeks ago, and now I’ve seen two. This little guy was bounding through the snow crossing the very wide median of Ward Parkway. I was stopped at the light and so got to watch him for quite awhile. It was dark already, but the street lights illuminated his bobbing tail, and he left a line of tracks in the snow to mark his path. Beautiful!

A lot of living to do before I die

Visiting with my 82 year old neighbor Charlana yesterday…

Me:
How’s Bob?

Charlana:
Not well. He’s not coming home – he’s going to die in that nursing home. (tears up) I’m sorry. I get emotional about it.

Me:
Oh Charlana - don't apologize. I would be emotional too if I were in your shoes. It’s ok.

Charlana:
They think I am a mean old woman down there at the nursing home.

Me:
Why?

Charlana:
They asked me if I wanted to move in with him, live there with him in that death row place, you know? I told them No I Did Not Want To Move There. I told them I needed my space. I told them I had a lot of living to do before I died. I do! I have a lot of things I plan to do before I die – a lot of living still to do.

Me:
I think that is cool Charlana. You have to take care of yourself too.

Charlana:
I love Bob. He is my husband. I mean – it’s not like wild, hot passionate love or anything like that. It used to be, but that went out the window a long time ago. I wish I could still have that, but we’re old now.

(note – Charlana is without a doubt the spunkiest and sexiest 82 year old I have EVER seen)

Charlana:
But he is my husband, the father of my children. I married Bob because he had all the qualities I wanted to pass on to my children. I knew I needed someone to balance out my headstrong nature. He is a good man. (she tears up again)

Me:
Why did Bob have to go back to the nursing home? I thought he was better?

Charlana:
He fell and broke his other hip. He didn’t even tell me about it at first, and when he did tell me he fell, I just said “oh – inside or out?”. I didn’t realize. But later, it got worse, and he couldn’t walk and I couldn’t lift him, so he just laid down on the floor.

Me:
Did you call an ambulance? I didn’t see it come. Sam and I could have come over and helped.

Charlana:
I didn’t call the ambulance for a couple of days.

Me:
A couple of days?

Charlana:
I know. They were really upset with me at the hospital. Bob knew. He knew that once he went he wasn’t coming back home. He knew, and I knew. We weren’t in any hurry. He just slept on the floor for a couple of days. They made a big deal about it at the hospital. They thought I was so mean. I wanted to tell them it was nothing - just like camping.

Me:
Is he upset about being there? In the nursing home?

Charlana:
He wants to come home. Every time I visit he thinks I am there to take him home. It’s pretty hard. And then one of the nurses will suggest I just move in with him. She doesn’t understand. I’ve got a lot of living to do before I die. A lot of living to do.

Two Muses

What a day. I’ve spent the last 8 hours in my pajamas with my computer on my lap running numbers, playing with projections and writing a proposal for the redevelopment plan for the building Sam and I are buying. And I’m still not done. I love this kind of work, it doesn’t really even feel like work, but man does it take a chunk of time. I’ve worked with real estate developers (as a lender) for years and thought I had a fair understanding of how the world of real estate development worked, but instead I find myself feeling as if I am drinking from a fire hose of knowledge and trying to fit it all together feels like playing a 1000 piece puzzle.

I finally took a break to see “Shut Up & Sing” – the new documentary about the Dixie Chicks and their slam at President Bush on the eve of the Iraq war. It was a great film, and I for one will be buying the new “Taking the Long Way” CD in support of the band’s courage and willingness to stand their ground in the face of strong opposition from their country music fan base. Natalie is one very strong woman and damn I admire her fiestiness.

I am sitting in the Westport Coffee Shop now, waiting for movie #2 to begin, and thinking about how my two muses have both been whispering in my ear today. One is soothing me with numbers and spreadsheets as I work through the puzzle of our building. I know that must seem weird, but I really can so easily lose myself in numbers. The other is urging me to hit the road. Sam and Katherine are out of town for the next two days and I am overcome with the desire to move to India, study in an Ashram and grow my own food. Of course I would want to be back home before they return tomorrow night, so I guess it’s out of the question for now. How shall I reconcile these two halves?

The Church of David Stringer

Friday night I went for the third time to see David Stringer perform Kirtan at Maya Yoga Studio in the Crossroads. The first time I saw Stringer perform, several years ago, I didn’t know what to expect. I’d seen a flyer advertising the performance and was intrigued enough to attend. I couldn’t find anyone to go with me who didn’t think it sounded weird, so I went alone.

The dark room was filled with people sitting cross-legged on blankets and pillows. Twinkling Christmas lights dotted the exposed beams of the old warehouse space giving it a magical feeling. The performers, 4 or 5 of them, sat on blankets at the front of the room with various instruments – guitars, a tamboura, hand drums, finger cymbals, shakers and David’s harmonium – arranged around them.

The next hour and a half was spent chanting Sanskrit mantras to beautiful melodies in a form of call and response. David Stringer and his musicians called out the melodies (the mantras were projected overhead) and we, the audience, responded in kind.

I had expected to watch the performance, and was instead pleasantly surprised to find myself a part of the performance. The distinction between the performers and the audience quickly dissolved and instead we all became musicians, offering up the most beautiful music together.

I only vaguely understood the meaning of the mantras we chanted, but the intensity and purity of the energy in the room was palpable and I found myself deeply moved by the experience. Spontaneously I found myself lifting my face and palms upward in deference to the great mystery and wonder of life. My palms tingled with electricity. I felt intoxicatingly joyful and at the same time, profoundly at peace.

Incidentally, I get the creeps when I see people do this “lifting their hands to the Lord” thing at church. (I’ve often imagined the pandemonium that would ensue if I could drop a small mouse in someone’s outstretched palm - but I digress.) Yet here I was doing essentially the same thing – and feeling good about it. I remember thinking this was as close to the feeling of what I thought “church” should feel like for me as anything I had experienced.

So, on Friday, I attended the “Church of David Stringer” again, for the 3rd time in as many years. I’ve gotten to know a few other faithfuls and even know a few “hymns” by heart now. I also made an offering this time, but it turns out I got a CD in return, so it didn’t really count.

If I could go every Sunday, I would.

Warmer Days

I found this photo taken this summer when we cleaned our garage. All this stuff actually fit back inside AND there was room left over to park both cars. Winter is not even officially here and I am already tired of the cold - and longing for the days of garage cleaning weather. I remember when my friend Vicki left Kansas City in search of warmer climates. She landed first in Phoenix and then in Laguna Beach, CA and hasn't had to bundle up since. Lucky girl.

I'm Weird - A Meme...

Ok, I was tagged by Jenne' and even though Dan says this is such a junior high girl thing - I once was a junior high girl and have never forgotten the feeling. (Do you want to be my friend? cirle one: yes no) See what I mean?

Anyway, here are the rules:

List 5 weird things about yourself or your pets. Tag 5 friends and list them. Then, those people need to write on their blogs about 5 weird things, and state the rules, and tag 5 more people. Don't forget to let the people you tag know by posting a comment on their blog!

• I am addicted to lip balm. I own close to a hundred different lip balms (my favorite is Burt’s Bees) which I keep strategically placed through out my house and office and tucked into the pockets of all my clothes and purses. I can’t go more than about 10 minutes with out a fresh coat and I wake up during the night to re-apply.

• I become obsessed with certain foods and will eat them over and over again, sometimes several times a day for months. My more notable food obsessions have included tomato soup, cheerios, cream of wheat, cream of rice, blueberries & granola, tater tots, Dairy Queen Dilly Bars, red beans & rice, edamame, banana Laffy Taffy, banana Power Bars, strawberry smoothies, mango smoothies, Granny Smith apples and granola bars. I am currently really into wild rice cakes topped with sunflower butter.

• Overhead lights in parking garages and street lights in parking lots seem to turn on or off frequently when I pass beneath them. It’s almost like I put off some sort of energy field that trips the electronic eye for these sort of light sensitive lamps.

• I don’t watch TV and haven’t had cable since I was 18 years old and still living at home.

• I am afraid of wind. A strong, whistling wind sends my anxiety level sky high.

Ok - I am tagging Rita, PlazaJen, Scotti, Vicki & Katherine.

I Dream of Miko

I dreamed of Miko the other night. I was so surprised to see him and knew instantly that I was dreaming because I knew he had died. I was standing at the side of my bed and I looked down to see that he had walked up between me and the bed to rub against my legs. I reached down with both hands to give him a good squeeze. His fur felt wonderful and he gave me a good purr. That’s all I remember.

I really miss that little guy.

It's All Fun and Games Until Someone Loses an Eye

It’s been awhile since I’ve posted, but tonight seems the perfect night to catch up. It’s incredibly cold and rainy and gusty outside, but here I lie, all bundled up with my comforter and my heating pad feeling as toasty as can be. I love this kind of weather because it makes me feel so happy to be inside. The only thing that could make this better were if the fake fireplace in our bedroom actually worked and I could lie here listening to the snap – crackle- pop of a real wood fire.

Well, I guess there might be one other thing that would make this evening better – it might be nice if I could move my torso more than a few inches in any direction with out suffering the incredible aching pain that is the result of crashing my go-kart into another go-kart earlier today.

A small group of us played hooky from work this afternoon and went to a go-kart race track. It was loads of fun and I laughed so hard that I was nearly in tears on the ride out there. Once at the race track we chose our helmets, reviewed the safety rules, and then took to the tracks. We were on the oval track which meant it was all about speed. I gunned it on the straight aways, braked slightly going into the curves and then gunned it again coming out of the curve. It was a little scary, but since I like to drive fast anyway, it was perfect.

I’d taken about 15 laps around the course and was laser focused on speed when a kart in front of me spun out and ended in a dead stop just on the other side of the curve. I didn’t see the kart until it was too late and I crashed right into it.

The impact threw me up and over to my right and I came down HARD against my right ribs on the engine which sat just to the side of the drivers seat (just like in the picture). It hurt like hell – felt like someone had thrown a bowling ball at my side ribs – and it completely knocked the wind out of me. I had that terribly feeling where for several seconds I couldn’t breath at all. The last time I had the wind knocked out of me was when I was a Freshman in high school and my brother socked me in the stomach because I called him stupid. (I think that was the last time I said that!)

I tried to sit up, to pull my self back behind the wheel of the kart, but I literally couldn’t move. There was no breath left in me and my entire right side was throbbing in pain. I felt tears begin to well up in my eyes, but I wanted to be ok! I was having too much fun to let it end this way.

The guy who worked at the track was perfect. As soon as he established that I was more or less ok, he told me I was tough and to get back out there. That was all I needed. I gave my coworkers who were watching from the side a big thumbs up and then took off again, albeit a bit more cautiously. All went well until a kart in front of me again spun out and I had to hit my brakes to keep from hitting him. Unfortunately, my braking caused another kart to ram me hard from behind – this time wrenching my back. I thought to myself as I finished my final few laps that this was a contact sport not for the faint of heart.

Now, several hours later, my ribs and back are in serious pain. It hurts to stand up and sit down, it hurts to get in and out of the car, it hurts to get in and out of bed, and it hurts to twist in any direction. Luckily, it doesn't hurt to breath, though a deep breath is uncomfortable.



Later….

And with those last words I fell promptly asleep. I woke up later to find my lap top sleeping peacefully on my lap. Kind of funny.

Well, it’s morning now and its safe to say it was a rather long night. Steve & Jenne’ reminded me to ice it rather than use the heating pad (which was what I wanted to do) and so I got up several times during the night and went down to the freezer to retrieve or return the ice pack Steve made for me. I spooked myself going downstairs because all the security lights had come on around the outside of the house and I was sure someone was lurking outside the windows watching me. That is the first time I have ever felt afraid in this house, and because I generally never worry about intruders, think it must have been the result of the pain and the heavy doses of ibuprofen I was taking.

Anyway, I laid on my back with the ice pack against my side and back ribs and hugged the heating pad to my stomach to keep from getting too cold. It was hard to sleep when I wasn’t icing because I just couldn’t find a comfortable position.

This morning I checked the internet again to see if I might have broken ribs, but my symptoms seem to clearly indicate bruised ribs and perhaps strained oblique muscles. Either way, there is nothing to do other than take it easy and wait several weeks for the pain to pass. Good grief!

Well, it seems there should be a moral to this story and I guess I have two take-aways.

(1) Kenny – one of the guys I was racing with - did not drive his kart aggressively the way the rest of us did. He took some “ribbing” about it (nice – huh?) and simply explained that he was having fun but didn’t want to hurt himself. In hindsight, his attitude seems especially wise.

(2) I think this proves my point about needing to focus more on strengthening my core muscles with less focus on my arms, shoulders, etc. After nearly 9 months with my trainer, my upper body is in great shape, but I think I would have sustained less of an injury if my core muscles were stronger. I know this was an extreme blow, I probably would have gotten hurt no matter what, but I don’t think it would have been this bad if I were stronger.

Well – I am going to use this as an excuse to spend some extra time in bed this morning. Sam has been in New York City all week and comes home tonight. Hooray!

Firefox

Tonight after work, I decided to run by Wild Oats on my way home. The sun was just setting as I drove west on Shawnee Mission Parkway and the sky was rich with pinks and purples and blues. Traffic was surprisingly light and I was in no hurry. It was the perfect moment for something magical to happen – and it did.

About 20 feet ahead of me I saw a red fox trot out into the road. I tapped my brakes along with the white car to my right. We were the only cars on the road and we both slowed to a crawl to watch this beautiful creature cross in front of us. The fox saw us shortly after we saw her, and she froze for just an instant, her face turned toward us and her body in perfect profile. She was stunningly striking. She picked up her pace and dashed across our lanes and into an empty wooded lot on the north side of the road. I watched her fluffy tail bob as she disappeared into the woods. I felt so lucky to have seen her.

As I rolled to a stop at the next light, I noticed the white car had slowed down to wait for me. As I pulled along side, I found the driver, a slight balding man in his mid-forties, grinning at me in happy wonder and amazement. “Wow!” he mouthed to me, his eyes sparkling. I gave him a thumbs up and shook my head, my own smile stretching from ear to ear.

I am not sure which made me happier – seeing that beautiful red fox or being able to share the experience with a complete stranger who was just as tickled by it as I was. Either way it was a strawberry moment. And I thank God for those.

Missing Miko

I’ve wanted to write about Miko, my sweet, loving and loyal feline friend, but I haven’t had the words to do it. Miko died on August 23rd. We put him to sleep after learning he was having kidney failure. It happened very quickly, the way these things often do. One day he was his normal, happy self and the next (or so it seemed), he was gone.

I’ve lost many pets in my lifetime and I understand what the loss feels like. This time though, I’ve been surprised at how much I miss that fat cat. He was such a wonderful companion to me.

I remember the day I first brought Miko home. He was just 6 weeks old, a tiny puff of black fur, with clear blue eyes. I chose him from a litter of 6 because his eyes were so bright. He was a momma’s boy from the very beginning. So sweet, so anxious to please, so committed to being good.

I had another cat at the time – Sammi – who was a feline derelict if there ever was one. Sammi had enough confidence (but not arrogance) for 10 cats and she was bratty on top of that. If she were human, I would have had to send her to a home for troubled girls. She would have worn dark mascara and leather and a studded choker and she would have smoked unfiltered cigarettes. And if cats could do such a thing, I would have come home one day just after her 14th birthday to find that she had tattooed the name of her dumb ass boyfriend on her beautiful, perfect shoulder.

In fact Sammi did have a boyfriend, but he wasn’t a dumb ass. Using the little bit of brains she had, Sammi wisely fell in love with Miko just as soon as he was old enough to return her affection. And who could blame her? Miko was a very nice young male cat. Sammi threw herself at Miko (hussy that she was), but he respected her and never did take advantage of her. Actually, the fact that Miko had been neutered and Sammi had not yet been spade might have had something to do with it, but I prefer to think that Miko was just being a gentleman.

Sammi did everything she could to corrupt Miko. Once, while dashing through my legs and out the open door (even though she knew outdoors was off limits), I swear I heard her call out to Miko, “Come on Miko, all the cool cats are doing this. We won’t get caught. Come ONNNNN.” But Miko stood dutifully at the door – looking wistfully after his friend. He just didn’t have it in him to break the rules. He never did. Sammi tried hard to turn him to the dark side, but Miko remained perfectly behaved, and grew sweeter every day.

When I met Sam and Katherine, Miko adopted them immediately. He took to Sam like he had taken to no one else, allowing Sam to rock him and hold him like a baby. (By that time he was nearly as big as one!) And he developed a very special affection for Katherine. I remember telling Katherine when she was 10 that Miko had always wanted his “very own little girl.” And I believe it was true. He followed her everywhere and allowed her to play with him however she wanted.

In the evenings, Miko would sit on the arm of Sam’s chair as he worked on his computer. He would join me in bed once Sam was finished and slept next to my head most of the night, his front paw resting on my shoulder. And each morning he would go in to wake up Katherine just as her alarm went off. He would spend the rest of the morning following her about as she got ready for school and would be waiting patiently for her when she returned from school.




















Miko loved a party and was thrilled when we had company. He would have been a terrible ‘watch cat” because he never met a stranger and quickly perched himself upon the leg of anyone who dared to take a seat in our house. He was at the top of his game when we had a large gathering of friends at our house. He would go from person to person acknowledging them and giving them a nuzzle and a rub.

And Miko loved to play! We had toys all around the house for him and we frequently marveled at how he never seemed to lose his kitten like curiosity.

As Miko grew older he developed a bit of a weight problem. Well, actually quite a bit of a weight problem. Miko turned into one fat cat! He had a waddle that hung practically to the floor and we had a good time teasing him about it. We tried putting him on a diet, but he got so stressed out about not having his dish full of food that we eventually gave up and decided to let him be fat and happy.

Miko was a lover, one of the most affectionate cats I’ve ever known. He didn’t have a mean or arrogant bone in his body and he loved us with an intensity that I wish everyone could have the opportunity to experience.

Katherine and I stayed with Miko as the vet put him to sleep. We wanted to be the last ones he saw as he went to sleep. It was hard, so very sad, but felt the very right thing to do.

Since then, all three of us have spied him walking through the house. I guess we are just so used to him being there that any shadow makes us think of him. I am sitting in my meditation room right now, alone in the house as Sam and Katherine are at a movie. If Miko were still alive, he would be curled up right next to me. And if I got up to go to the bathroom, I would find that he had taken the warm spot of my seat in the short time I was gone.

I miss Miko terribly. I miss his sweetness, his purity, his loyalty, his funny ways, the warmth of his paw on my arm as I slept, and yes, maybe even the fur that constantly had to be vacuumed from the carpet and furniture. But I am grateful for the 10 years we spent together. I wouldn’t trade it for the world.

I love you Miko. I hope there are lots of catnip, yarn and dripping water wherever you are. You are a good kitty - a very good kitty.

When Time Stands Still

Everything is moving so fast right now. My days are jam packed from the moment I wake up till the moment I fall, exhausted, into bed. I wish I could turn my phone, my e-mail and my calendar – OFF!

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about that old question “When you’re lying on your death bed, will you be glad you spent all that time ________ (fill in the blank “at work”, “answering e-mail”, etc.) It’s an easy “no” of course, and so I am trying to make better decisions about how I spend my time.

Time spent with Sam and Katherine, time with friends, time spent encouraging and helping others, time spent reading and writing (no arithmetic, thank you), time spent sleeping and snuggling – that’s all the good stuff.

The bad stuff? It’s not even worth listing, but it’s the stuff that fills most my day. I have the best intentions. I’ll slow down, breathe deeply, savor the moment. But then my e-mail inbox count climbs steadily and I can see I have 12 voicemails waiting to be picked up, and my favorite customer calls and needs a favor, quick, or more likely, my least favorite customer calls and insists I drop everything, quick. And before I know it, I’m caught up in a whirlwind of multi-tasking and moving at the speed of light and everything around me becomes a blur.

It’s during those times that I’m most likely to miss the little or big things that people around me do to help make my life easier. Or if I do notice, I don’t take time to allow the full impact of their care and kindness to sink in.

Two completely unexpected things happened this week that nearly brought me to me knees in gratitude in the midst of my rushing about. And I want to share it here, not only to say thank you, but also so that I can savor the full impact of their kindness by writing about it.

First – I taught a workshop yesterday and arrived at work from an out of town trip only a few hours before the workshop was to begin. I was frantically gathering all handouts and notes and props I needed when Tanya showed up to offer me three wildly colored markers. She remembered that I had used them and had had fun with them in a previous workshop and had taken it upon herself to remind me that I might want to use them again this time. In addition, she wasn’t sure if I had the poster size financial statements I teach from, so she took it upon herself to order an extra set for me – JUST IN CASE.

Then, today, Linda, my trusted assistant who makes ALL things possible and keeps me on the straight and narrow, snuck into my office while I was in a meeting and totally cleaned and organized my desk. I returned to find that the explosion of paper and files that had littered my workspace had been neatly arranged into ordered and prioritized stacks. Just seeing those neat little piles added an extra year to my life.

I was so touched by these acts generosity.
Thank you Linda. Thank you Tanya.
In that moment, your kindness made time stand still.

Piss & Vinegar (or Giving a Black Mood its Due)

I reached way down low and pulled myself up out of the funk I was in on Sunday. Whew. I am feeling much better now, thank you.

I came perilously close to “snapping out of it” prematurely on Sunday morning. The three of us were sitting at the table eating a late breakfast when Sam turned his laptop around so Katherine could read my post.

As she began, Sam, being ornery, leaned down so he was staring at her over the top of the computer. He fixed his eyes on her and began to hum a tune.

“Dad, please be quiet!” she scolded.

Sam changed tactics and began whistling. Katherine looked up in exasperation.

“Dad! This is a deep, dark, depressing post. I would appreciate it if you would neither hum nor whistle. Now please be QUIET!”

(Now that’s my girl! Giving a black mood its due!) Sam went silent but continued to stare.

Katherine finished, looked at me and said “That’s good”, then without missing a beat looked at Sam and zinged him with “and what IS your PROBLEM?”

Maybe you had to be there, but she said it with such piss and vinegar that I nearly fell off my chair from laughing so hard. It was all I could do to regain my “black mood” composure.

That girl – she’s a pistol alright. Woe to anyone who gets in her way. And that makes me mighty proud!

Sometimes I get this way.

Hiroshima.
Dresden.
World Trade Center Towers.
Everything melting.

Child soldiers. Stolen from their families.
Forced to murder their parents so they have nothing to return to.

I’ve never understood why people watch horror films.
Watch the news. Read the papers. The horror of real life is enough.

I listened to the Blue Angels practicing over downtown.
I heard the sounds of war.

The phone rang and rang and rang, and I could not pick up.
Too much that could not be spoken. The silence was more true.
Let’s not fill what little time we have left with lies.

Yes. No.

Little girls playing princess. Am I pretty? Yes - you are.
Little boys sneak down stairs, carrying guns.
Pow! Pow! Pow! Ha! Ha! You’re dead.

Breathe in… Breathe out…

Your right shoulder, my left shoulder.
We’ll lie side by side, bare skin touching.
Our shoulders will heal. Or they won’t.
Either way, we’ll be together.

Don’t go away.

Revelations

Katherine and I saw the Alvin Ailey Dance Company perform Revelations last week. I've seen it a half dozen times and can't imagine ever growing tired of it. It was expecially wonderful to take Katherine to see it for her first time. It's nourishment for the spirit.

Remembering...

I couldn’t help noticing how vivid and blue the sky was as I drove down Ward Parkway this morning. “Just like it was in New York 5 years ago,” I thought. Five years ago. Such a long time, and yet in so many ways it feels like just yesterday.

That morning, 5 years ago, was ordinary in every way. I drove Katherine’s car pool and dropped the girls off at their school just before 8am. I normally listened to NPR in the car, but that morning, for some reason I did not. I arrived at work and was checking e-mail before our 8:30 loan committee meeting when a message from Julie Ladage flashed across my screen. “There is a report that an airplane has flown into the World Trade Center.” I immediately thought of a small 2-4 passenger plane bouncing off the side of the tower and crashing at its feet. It was news for sure, and tragic, but I wondered why Julie had bothered to send the message.

A few moments later I turned around to see most of the loan committee huddled around the TV set in the board room. Knowing they must be following the report of the ill-fated plane, I went to see what had happened.

The room was deathly silent as I walked in, and the look on their faces told me in an instant what the television did not. Something very terrible, something much worse than what I had first imagined, had happened.

I sat with my co-workers, our eyes riveted to the television screen. After many minutes, we turned it off and tried to hold our meeting. We were distracted, antsy. Someone rushed in and told us that one of the towers had just collapsed. I still remember how Grant flew for the television set to turn it on. I’ve replayed that scene in my mind so many times. The look on his face – the disbelief, the incredulousness.

Reports that numerous attacks were taking place across the country began to filter in. I believed them and realized that my life was changing, had already changed, forever. I had no idea what to expect, but my brain switched into automatic and I began planning for the worst.

I called my Mom and we made a plan for our families to meet at our house at the lake. It was remote, away from any military targets. “We can fish there if we need to,” I remember Mom saying. I asked my Mom to go pick up my Grandma and I called my closest friends and urged them to make similar plans to escape with their families in the event things got much worse.

I called Sam and we called Katherine’s school to find out what was happening there.
“The students are watching the news on tv,” we were told, “Their teachers are with them.”
“Do you have a bomb shelter?” I asked. “We do,” the woman answered.

I called my brother’s wife Krista and learned Kelly was in Canada. I told Krista about the plan to meet at the lake if things got worse. I told her to bring her parents. I wondered how many people we should invite to the lake house.

I called the body shop where my car was being worked on and told them I was coming to pick it up. I didn’t care if the work was complete. My car was the most reliable of our vehicles and I wanted reliable transportation in case we had to flee the city. Sam and I both filled our cars with gas.

Next I drove to the grocery store and bought 20 jugs of water, 100 power bars and a dozen cans of beans. I remember the clerk giving me a strange look as she rang up my order. Surely she knew what I was doing, but we didn’t discuss it.

By the time I was finished it was nearly 11am and I decided to go back to the bank. I was too afraid to listen to the news in the car by myself, afraid of what I might hear. As I pulled into the parking garage, I felt something give way inside my chest and I put my head on the steering and for the first time began to cry. I remember thinking that as bad as what was happening was, it was only the beginning. I remember thinking that things could only get worse, much worse, before they got better. I remember trying to imagine what would come in the ensuing weeks and months. I hoped I was strong enough and smart enough to endure it.

I went back into the bank, took out a bunch of cash from our account and then sat at my desk. I took off my glasses and decided to never hide behind them again. I put them in my top desk drawer. They’ve been there ever since.

I stared at my computer screen and waited, combing the internet for news. Sam closed his office and sent everyone home. Scotti called from Australia. I was so relieved to hear her voice.

That night, Sam, Katherine and I sat in the living room and watched President Bush as he addressed the nation. I remember taking some comfort in his remarks, something I never felt again after that night.

We’d hung a new painting over our fireplace mantle the night before, a painting Sam and I bought each other as an anniversary gift. I’d admired that painting of two wolves with mysterious eyes for years. But as I looked up at it after the events of the morning, I saw scary eyes, evil eyes. I wanted to take it down, or at least cover it up, but Sam encouraged me to wait, to see how I felt the next day. (It took me over a year to love that painting again)

September 11th turned into September 12th and 13th and that Friday we had a party out on our deck. I asked every one to bring a candle and we lit them and someone said a prayer. We were all grieving, but if felt so good to have that many people together on my deck. If I could have convinced them to spend the night, I would have. The next week we had a Chiefs party. More than half the people who came didn’t even care about the game. We were all just hungry for companionship, and to get away from the news and from our own thoughts for a few moments.

A lot happened over the next 6 months. Joel Book moved in with us. We began the war in Afghanistan. There was the anthrax scare. “Let’s Roll” became our battle cry.

I spent many, many nights sitting at the kitchen table talking with Sam, trying to make sense of it all. I read everything I could about the people who died that day. I cried nearly every night. I imagined myself trapped in flames. I imagined myself jumping from a window. I imagined myself determining to overtake hijackers. I imagined my death. I felt split open and shattered into a million pieces. I felt more alive than I’d ever felt before.

Six months later, on the 6 month anniversary of the attacks, I flew to New York City to spend 2 nights and 3 days volunteering at St. Paul’s Chapel, which stood at the foot of the World Trade Centers and served as a place of respite for the thousands of people who were working to clean up the rubble.

It was a healing experience for me. It was a turning point. This next post is what I wrote about it.

Six Months After 9/11

Many of you know I spent several days last week (March 8-11) volunteering at St. Paul’s Chapel near Ground Zero. Thanks to each of you who called or e-mailed before I left or since I’ve been home. I thought it would be easiest to share my experience with you in this way.

I became inspired to go to New York to volunteer at Ground Zero after reading the web journal of another woman who had volunteered for several months at St. Paul’s. (www.hopeinthewilderness.com) After many phone calls and e-mails – I was accepted on the volunteer list. There is no shortage of volunteers – I called at the beginning of February and the first open shifts were the nights of March 8th & 9th.

St. Paul’s Chapel has been around since 1736, and is a NYC historical landmark. George Washington prayed his inaugural prayer there in 1789. Miraculously, the chapel sustained no damage on September 11th and has since become a respite center for fireman, police, EMS, construction and other relief workers. It's been in operation twenty-four hours a day since September 11th serving hot meals and providing a place to rest your head, spend quiet time, or connect with one of the many volunteers and counselors on hand.

I was anxious about flying into New York and about going to Ground Zero. Like many, I’ve had a difficult time dealing with the horror and sadness of September 11th and wasn't sure how I would feel about being there. On the other hand, I’ve had so many positive experiences as the result of that terrible day. Now I look at things differently. I thank God for my many blessings. My eyes are wider. My vision feels clearer.

I went to pay tribute to the city of New York, to the 2,700+ victims of the attack and to the hundreds of workers who have participated in the clean up of the site. I was also hoping to find some closure with regard to my own emotional experience of September 11th.

I arrived at Ground Zero Friday evening to begin the first of two 12-hour night shifts at St. Paul’s. The Ground Zero pit was intensely lit with stadium lighting. After 6 months of clean up, it looked only like a huge construction site. I did see the cross formed by the steel girders. It was lit from below and stood at one side of the site. The buildings all around the pit were badly damaged. One in particular looked as if its skin had simply melted off and slid down the side of the building.

St. Paul’s is directly adjacent to the pit. The iron fence in front of the chapel was covered with memorials. Photos, letters, condolences, and expressions of regret covered every square foot of the 8 ft. high fence. It was absolutely impossible to absorb all that was in front of you. My initial impression was of deep sadness that so many of the memorials were faded. I wanted them to be just as bright and vivid as the lives they memorialized.

Inside the chapel I felt an immediate sense of calm. It was dimly lit and peaceful. Cards and banners from school children around the country and the world covered the walls. I saw cards from children in Prairie Village and a large banner from Xavier School in Leavenworth. Tables were set up around the perimeter of the chapel providing clothing, gear, medical supplies, toiletries, candy & snacks. Hot meals, coffee, tea, bottled water and sodas were always available. Cots and mattresses were laid out upstairs in the balcony so that workers could nap during their breaks. Volunteer chiropractors, podiatrists and massage therapists were there to provide healing and relief. Volunteers (20 per 12 hour shift) sort and stock the supply tables, prepare and serve the food and provide a supportive ear to the workers who come there.

During our orientation, Dennis, our volunteer coordinator, told us that our mission was to provide comfort and respite to the workers. I quickly saw that the greatest need was to simply sit, talk and listen with the workers as they came in during their breaks. I sometimes felt awkward approaching them, but in every instance, found someone who was anxious to talk – and seemed to welcome an attentive listener.

Through my conversation I learned of many losses. Close family, friends, and associates were lost that day. Others lost their homes and their belongings. Many talked of dealing with nightmares or of still feeling afraid at the sound of an airplane overhead. Most said they still startled easily.

It is an honor for these firemen, police, and construction workers to participate in the recovery. Their workday lasts fourteen to sixteen hours, but to them, it's nothing. Nothing compared to the lives lost. Doing this is a catharsis for their pain.

In those few days, I saw many with hollowness in their eyes. Many of the workers have been at Ground Zero nearly every day since Sept 11th. They said it seemed like years rather than months they'd been working there. What affect will this have on them emotionally or physically? It did not seem to matter. The job has to be done. And they want to be the ones to do it.

This disaster produced millions of tons of debris. In the early days after the incident, many wondered how it would be cleared? One of the firemen said the debris had towered as high as eighty feet in the air and now six months later there laid a hole eighty feet deep.

Over 2700 are missing or dead. The recovery of these victims is painstakingly slow. The construction equipment scoops up the debris and places it gently at the feet of waiting firemen and EMS workers who sift through it searching for anything recognizable. The pile is loaded on a truck and barged across the harbor to be sifted again at the local landfill. This process is tedious, but highly efficient. Its purpose is simple. Find anything that can be identified for those loved ones who are waiting for answers. Body parts are still being found. Just this week, several whole bodies were recovered. It is gruesome work, but the identification of a body can provide much needed closure to the mourning families.

As morning came, everyone’s spirits seemed to lift a little. Even though my shift ended at 8 am – I stayed much later on both days. I didn’t want to leave. The morning sunlight – and the fresh shift of workers and volunteers left me feeling happy and hopeful. I can’t really say enough about the way that morning sunlight felt as it streamed through the stained glass of the chapel. It gave the whole place a magical feeling. When we finally left, there were hugs all around and I felt very sad that I would likely never see any of these amazing people again.

In hindsight – I must say that even though I went to New York prepared to do whatever was necessary to support the workers; it felt as though the workers were still there to support us! They greeted us with smiles, hugs and words of wisdom. It was a great honor to meet the men and women who are representing the true spirit of our country!

On Monday, March 11th, I returned home. Monday was the 6-month anniversary. I decided not to go to any of the ceremonies that morning, and my flight left before the beams of light commemorating the towers were lit. Still, I am glad I was in New York on that day.

Since I've been home, I've felt again much of the pain and sadness I experienced after September 11th. I'm quick to tears when someone asks me about my experience. I guess this is just the result of seeing first hand the enormity of what happened. This time however, my sadness is mixed with a sense of awe and respect for the incredible people I met and for the underlying goodness and resiliency of the human spirit.

I experienced the full-scale aspect of this catastrophe in a very small way. My involvement in this event is tiny. Yet it is the small acts of each individual that add up. This microcosm of volunteers and workers along with each individual’s act of kindness proves that Good is greater than Evil.

Just today I learned that St. Paul’s 24-hour relief effort will end after Easter. I feel so honored to have had this opportunity. I saw a quote while I was at St. Paul’s that I think does justice to my experience.

“History laid its arms around me and in response God has graced me with an opportunity to serve.”

A Knot on my Noggin

Today was a hard day. It started hard and it’s ending hard – and there were lots of hard parts in between. I spent my day juggling relationships with difficult people, trying not to react to ridiculous over the top e-mail, searching for the right words to soothe the frayed nerves of one coworker, and attempting to tame the ego of another. By the time I made it home I was exhausted, and more than a little cranky.

Sam, Katherine and I sat in the den and shared stories of our day. My stories, as it turned out, were really pretty funny. Thank God my travails could be served up for a good laugh

And then I got carried away. In an effort to ramp up dramatic effect and thereby improve the funny quotient of my story, I began banging my forehead against our wooden drafting table to demonstrate my frustration. It smarted a bit at the time, but not nearly as bad as it smarts now. I now have a self inflicted lump on my forehead and a pounding headache to go with it.

What in the world could I have been thinking? Or was I?

Happy Anniversary

Today is the day Sam and I celebrate our 6th wedding anniversary. Although I know I had a life before I met Sam, it is becoming harder and harder to remember what it was like. It seems I’ve always lived this way.

I am ridiculously happy with this man. I feel guilty sometimes for being so happy with Sam. Does one person deserve this bounty of happiness, this depth of connection, this certainty of love? I don’t know. But I’ll drink from the fire hose for as long as it's flowing.

Sam and I have yet to run out of things to talk about. He continues to charm and disarm me with his silly songs and rhymes. I still feel giddy when I see his name flash on my cell phone, or catch sight of his car ahead of me on the traffic way on the way home from work at the end of the day.

There is no one on the face of this earth with whom I would rather spend time, wake up to or fall asleep with. Sam is wisest person I know, and on top of that, he has the kindest, gentlest spirit I know. It’s a captivating combination.

I am crazy in love with this guy. Who wouldn’t be? I consider myself pretty darn lucky to have been in the right place at the right time that fateful day in October 1998 when we first spent time together.

So here’s to you sweetie! Thank you for this wonderful life we are making together.

Happy Anniversary!
I love you.

Everybody Knows

I went to see the Leonard Cohen movie this evening, by myself, at the Tivoli. I left work right at 5:00 (something I never do and did tonight only with a dose of guilt) and made it to the theater in time for the 5:15 showing. The previews were already rolling as I made my way to my seat. I sat down in the anonymity of darkness and prepared to lose myself in the music and poetry of this singer/song writer.

And lose myself I did. I’d always liked Leonard Cohen, but admittedly knew very little about him or his career. I wasn’t sure what to expect from the movie, but had been intrigued enough by the feedback I’d heard at Sundance to make a point of seeing it. I wasn’t disappointed.

The movie is based around a 2005 musical tribute to the 76 year old Cohen by talents including U2, Rufus Wainwright, Linda Thompson, Nick Cave, Beth Orton and Antony. The movie alternates between brilliant guest performances of Cohen’s hauntingly worded songs, and stories, told by Cohen, that provide the backdrop against which the songs were originally written and recorded.

I was completely captivated by the quirky genius of the musicians who performed in tribute to Leonard Cohen. And with the opportunity to really listen to and absorb the poetry of Cohen’s lyrics, I felt as if my chest had been cracked open and my heart laid bare. The emotion of the music created an ache in me that was at once bone crushing and exhilarating. At several points during the film I realized I’d been holding my breath for what was surely several minutes. I completely gave myself over to the experience, and as the final credits began to roll, I found myself in stunned and silent awe.

As I left the theater, I locked eyes with a woman 15 years older than me. “Oh my God.” she breathed in amazement. “I know,” I answered. And there was nothing more for either of us to say.

Hump Day is Cornflower Blue

Do your months have colors? Just curious. I realized today that every time I think of a month of the year, I see that month in its associated color. I've always thought of months in this way. Days of the week have colors too.

January is Burgundy
February is Orange
March is Rust
April is Soft Petal Pink
May is Hot Pink
June is Rich Plum
July is Deep, Dark Purple or Navy Blue
August is Ocean Green
September is Clear Sky Blue or Pine Green
October is Black
November is Rich Brown
December is White or Silver


Monday is Dark Crimson Red
Tuesday is Yellow
Wednesday is Cornflower Blue
Thursday is Straw
Friday is Deep Royal Blue
Saturday is Golden Maple
Sunday is Black Red

(with credit to the Crayola Crayon Company)

Heard While Meditating

Breath in… Breath out…. Breath in… Breath out…

How am I going to respond to H.’s e-mail? That’s going to be a mess. He’s not going to be very happy with me.

Don’t think about that stuff. You are worrying!

Oh yeah….

Breath in… Breath out… Breath in... Breath out...

My back hurts, I would love to slump over, but then the energy won’t flow smoothly through my chakras.

Chakras, Smockras, my back is sore!

Breath in… Breath out…. Breath in… Breath out…

I am not sure how this could be helping me…

I am bored.

Breath in… Breath out…. Breath in… Breath out…

I can’t forget to send those invoices for the PIEA.

I need to find out when Jennifer’s birthday is, I know it is close.

Breath in… Breath out…. Breath in… Breath out…

I should be outside working in the yard. Here we build this beautiful deck and then we let the yard go to hell!

Breath in… Breath out…. Breath in… Breath out…

I’m anxious to go over and visit Val & Vern, see how they are doing, I miss them.

We need to stop eating out so much. It’s too expensive.

Breath in… Breath out…. Breath in… Breath out…

I want to go to a yoga retreat.

It’s been nearly two weeks since I’ve been to yoga.

I wish I had more time.

I wonder how long I’ve got left. Should I sneak a peak at the clock?

Breath in… Breath out…. Breath in… Breath out…

I need to figure out how to bring in more new deposits at work.

We really should have Miko’s teeth cleaned.

Breath in… Breath out…. Breath in… Breath out…

I wished my ipod worked better in my car.

I hope we have enough money to make this building work.

Breath in… Breath out…. Breath in… Breath out…

What if we don’t have enough money to make the building work?

Breath in…

What if we struggle every month to make the payment?

Breath out…

I hope Sam doesn’t die young of a heart attack or something.

Breath…

What would I do?

Breath…

God, please, please, please don’t let this happen.

Breath…

I hope Jenne’ likes the earrings I picked out for her.

Are we doing enough to help Jenne’ and Steve.

Breath in… Breath out…. Breath in… Breath out…


I wish I could decide on the artwork for my tattoo. There are two or three I love.

Can I pet Miko while I am meditating? Is that ok?

Breath in… Breath out…. Breath in… Breath out…

This is harder than you would think. It’s not very relaxing.

All I am doing is pushing thoughts away, how do you ever get past that part of it?

I need to write to Scotti.

Breath in… Breath out…. Breath in… Breath out…

I want to spend a weekend at Shantivanam.

I want to go visit Lynn in Salt Lake City, maybe I can also go to that spa while I am there. Do I have time? Do we have enough money?

Breath in… Breath out…. Breath in… Breath out…

I wish I didn’t have to go to work today.

I can’t believe Katherine is a senior! How can that be?

Breath in… Breath out… Breath in… Breath out…

I’m going to have blueberries for breakfast once I’m done here. Yummy!

That was a great episode of West Wing last night.

Breath in… Breath out…

Whew, times up!

Life Happens Between the Pictures

Sam and I were inspired last night after looking through the many, many photo albums Steve and Jenne' have filled. They take pictures of everything, everywhere, all the time. It's incredible, and it's fun.

It got us to thinking. We're so used to photographing the special days in our life, the birthdays, the holidays, the school events. What if instead we photographed the mundane, the routine, the ordinary, the very things that make up the majority of the moments we experience day to day?

So we decided to document our day today, Saturday, August 12th, as a day in our life in pictures. It's probably not surprising that what started as an ordinary Saturday, ended up feeling extraordinary once we turned the attention of our camera lens on it.

Thank God for weekends, we love to sleep in.














I get up a little before Sam so I can spend a few minutes meditating.















Sam sleeps till the last possible moment.














Miko complains that his bowl is nearly empty.















We work out every Saturday morning at Fitness Together.























































Back home to shower and get ready for the rest of the day.
















Sam checks his e-mail while he waits for me to get ready.

















I'm ready, but make Sam wait while I make a post to this blog.















We're off!






























First stop, Rose Nails in Corinth so I can use the Pedicure Gift Certificate I received as a birthday gift. Ran into Jennifer Mann and Molly Proffer while I was there.



















We decide to go to lunch at the new Harvey House Diner in Union Station.















Mmmmmm. Banana Cream Pie. It was good!




























We decide to spend a couple of hours exploring Union Station. We see Fighter Pilots on the Imax Extreme Screen. Sam is in heaven!

































Next stop Costco. Ughh! We spy a cool entertainment center that hides a flat screen tv, but we maintain discpline and leave with only the things we went in to buy. Whew!









































Time to wash my new car. It's a bit of an adventure since the guys at the car wash don't know how to drive it.














It's been a great afternoon, but as we return home we are reminded that we probably should have spent some time trimming the yard. Oh well.















We're home just in time for Sam to watch the Chiefs game!














Checking the mail. It's a good day -no bills!














Getting ready for bed.



















My favorite part of the day, reading in bed before I go to sleep.

Casa Bonita - Just As I'd Remembered

A couple of weeks ago, Sam came to Colorado to visit me while I was teaching at Bank School. I took a shuttle from Boulder to Denver to meet him at the airport so we could spend more time together. He arrived just in time for lunch and since Sam is generally game for about anything, I suggested we visit a place I’d not been to in 30+ years – Casa Bonita.

It’s amazing how many people know about this restaurant. In fact, I am not sure I’ve met many folks from Kansas City who haven’t at least heard of it. I have such fantastical memories of my visits there, I wasn’t sure if they were real or imagined, and I wanted to find out.



I think I was 8 years old the first time my parents took me. I remember a pink palace with a giant fountain in front. It is impressive enough from the outside, but once you walk in, that’s where the real magic begins.

Pass through the front doors and you've walked into an old Mexican village through which roped lines snake toward the point where you will place your order. There are only two real choices on the menu, an all-you-can-eat Mexican platter or Fried Chicken. I remember having both as a kid, but wanting an authentic "Mexican Village" experience, Sam and I opted for the all-you-can-eat Mexican platter.

The food line is suspiciously efficient, but you don’t go to Casa Bonita for the food. Sam and I took our trays and followed our server down a path, through a cave to a table near the waterfall. I was thrilled because I knew we would have front row seats to watch the cliff divers. Cliff divers? Yes indeed! And this is the very thing most people seem to remember about Casa Bonita. When I ask if they’ve ever heard of the place, the near unanimous reply is “You mean the place with the cliff divers”? Yep. That very place.

The food was ok, about the same quality as a frozen Mexican food dinner, (I actually happen to like frozen Mexican dinners) with one exception -the sopaipillas. My entire adult life I've been frustrated by the fact that most Mexican restaurants serve their sopaipillas fried crispy and suffocating in cinnamon and powdered sugar. I remember as a child eating soft, puffy sopaipillas, sans sugar or cinnamon, but with a light drizzle of honey. I didn’t realize until our server brought a basket of these heavenly delights that Casa Bonita was the place where those memories were born.

Sam and I ate our lunch while we watched “The Sheriff”, “Bad Guy Black Bart” and “Chiquita the Angry Gorilla” joust about on top of the cliffs, threatening to throw each other into the water. Finally the real cliff diver came out and performed a couple of neat dives.

After lunch, we explored the rest of the “village”, including Black Bart’s Hideout, the Gold & Silver Mines, the Governer’s Mansion, the Old Jail and the numerous nooks, crannies and caverns. Along the way we saw flame jugglers, strolling Mariachis, and Mexican dancers. There was a puppet show for kids, a fortune teller, magicians and an old fashioned skeet ball arcade.

Even for a 40 year old, this place was pretty cool. But I was beside myself with excitement for the fun I remembered having here as an 8 year old. Casa Bonita was every bit as magical as I'd remembered. And judging from the decor, not much had changed since 1974. Thank God.