Before I had kids I would spend a Friday night doing things I thought were really fun. We'd go to the 16th Street Mall in Denver and have oysters at the Paramount. We'd barbeque with friends or go to concerts. It was, seriously, a really good time in my life.
Now that I have kids, when I'm not working what I do usually revolves around the kids. Everyone with kids can relate.
I think my kids have been really fortunate to grow up with the same kids since they were little. New ones move in -- great new ones, in fact, but a lot of people we know now have been here the whole time we've been here. We've known some of these kids through 8 seasons of baseball. And I'm getting to know their parents.
It sounds weird to think about it, but it is true that I am just getting to know some of the people that have been here and in and around my existence for eight years. We don't spend lots of time together or even in the same proximity. We're not what you would call "friends." But two hours at a time 15 times a year, we are united as a baseball family. Now we haven't always had kids on the same teams, but the same people have been in the league and we've watched each others' kids. Over eight years, that becomes ...a lot of time.
On any given Friday night (or Tuesday or Thursday), and during that two hours I might actually talk for a few seconds, maybe a minute to most people. But now that I've been around these people awhile, we talk for longer. Four, ten, 15 minutes. I chatted with one trio of moms throughout a 2 inning blow-out last weekend. Particularly brutal - beat by 12 in two innings, game over. Our kids got creamed.
Last night was a different story. We won by a lot and so we have a game again at noon today. I had to get up early to launder the uniform and coach's shirt so my guys are ready. I realized too that I should go get drinks and ice for the kids for the game. And coffee for the base coach and his wife, cuz we're out.
All this got me thinking about the kids...they are all my kids. I've known some of these kids "baseball-wise" for eight years. And since it is a small town, the kids also go to school together, play in the same band, played soccer with each other, are in the same science fairs...the moms and dads are all at the same activities we are, and its been that way for years. We really sort of know everybody. I kind of like that. There is strength in numbers.
As parents, we feel the pressure when our kids get up to bat. We can share in their glory when they hit the ball. It is somehow my fault when they strike out, or drop a fly ball, or get caught spacing out at first. But after all these years, I feel that way for 13 different kids. I think the other parents do too. Watching all this can be very painful as a parent. Or exhilarating. Or both!
We all live and breathe by the kids' glories and defeats. At least for 15 or 20 evenings and 2 to 2-1/2 hours each time, which is a lot of time. For that time, we are united together as a family. A baseball family. One for all and all for one. It's far more painful because we feel for each other's kids strike-outs or errors, but it's even more glorious when any one of them drives some runners home. Win or lose there's lots of love and respect and comraderie and good will going round. It's a pretty cool thing.
Saturday, June 30, 2007
Monday, June 25, 2007
The Smells of Summer
This weekend I officially began the war (or at least a major frontal assault) on an evil force that has taken a stronghold in my home. It is one I've been aware of for some time. It has appeared in various forms through the years, and periodically I have taken major offensives toward it. But this time it's no holds barred. I am ready to fight.
I am at war with stink.
Now stink is a word with a lot of definitions, and its usage has become quite diverse. So in the interest of clarity, let's make sure we're clear what this war is about.
"Stink" can be used to describe things we don't like, as in "I can't have a second Dove bar, that stinks." Stink can be used effectively, albeit a bit awkwardly and redundantly, in a sentence like, "They are filthy rich and literally stink with money."
In my case, in my life, the stink I am waging war agaist is the dictionary definition as in "stink (stingk): 1. To emit a strong foul odor."
"Strong" and "foul" are two words that add up to "enemy" in my book. And in the case of my enemy, it is persistent, and fairly aggressive, particularly when it's got hot, humid weather on its side.
So as June 21 marked the start of summer and the longest day of the year came and went, I decided it was time to attack, or at least get serious about this battle I need to wage. The worst part is that I'm fighting this alone. The enemy has allies. And they deny their alliance. They also are prone to taunting and mimic. They wage psychological warfare, telling me "it's all in your head," and "your nose is way too sensitive."
But I know it's not me. There is stink among us. I've tried to hide it. I've covered it up. I've used "Powder Fresh" sprays that smell like old people, and even specially formulated sprays for killing bacteria and odor. But it seems the more I try to cover it up, the more it stinks.
A major warlord for the opposition took up residence in "my space" a year ago. I'm not talking about the internet "my space." This is the real world. MY SPACE, which is a 30 foot long, 15 fooot wide breezeway/sunroom where my laundry room and office reside. (Now any work at home person with a family understands the ingenuity of the office/laundry combo...and you can obviously understand my desire to protect it.)
The enemy moved in over a year ago. I didn't give it much thought. But through the months it has become ever-present and based on epirical evidence, it's not going anywhere.
So this weekend on a 90 degree day when the air conditioner in the breezeway had been off all day, with the enemy lounging comfortably on the floor, I walked in and was nearly knocked back with a direct attack. Unable to even scream because of the air quality, I called an immediate summit.
My demands were clear, and to my surprise, the "evil" alliance agreed to my demands quickly and without complaint.
I've reclaimed my space. The first steps are done. The enemy is lying empty a few yards away and I can't smell it. It's contents -- all six jerseys and six sweater socks and under armor and under garments, all clean and fresh, folded and fluffed on the laundry table. The equipment -- padded shorts, shoulder pads, elbow pads, knee pads, gloves and skates are lying somewhat dejected in a pile. They are prisoners of war, in need of some rehab before I'll release them and call this battle done.
Yes, this weekend I started and won a battle against stink. I'm not naive enough to think the war is over or that we'll always have peace. That equipment will go back in that bag, as will the folded fluffy jerseys and socks. The bag will go to the rink and the kid will wear the contents, and when he's done he will put it all back in the bag to comingle and consort, and the battle will begin again. Yes, I know, this enemy is not going away. It will be back. Soon.
But at least for a few days -- maybe even a few weeks here between camps and practices and seasons, I'm taking back My Space. For a few short days, I'm going to enjoy the smells of summer. A little. I still have to figure out how to get the smell out of my car...
I am at war with stink.
Now stink is a word with a lot of definitions, and its usage has become quite diverse. So in the interest of clarity, let's make sure we're clear what this war is about.
"Stink" can be used to describe things we don't like, as in "I can't have a second Dove bar, that stinks." Stink can be used effectively, albeit a bit awkwardly and redundantly, in a sentence like, "They are filthy rich and literally stink with money."
In my case, in my life, the stink I am waging war agaist is the dictionary definition as in "stink (stingk): 1. To emit a strong foul odor."
"Strong" and "foul" are two words that add up to "enemy" in my book. And in the case of my enemy, it is persistent, and fairly aggressive, particularly when it's got hot, humid weather on its side.
So as June 21 marked the start of summer and the longest day of the year came and went, I decided it was time to attack, or at least get serious about this battle I need to wage. The worst part is that I'm fighting this alone. The enemy has allies. And they deny their alliance. They also are prone to taunting and mimic. They wage psychological warfare, telling me "it's all in your head," and "your nose is way too sensitive."
But I know it's not me. There is stink among us. I've tried to hide it. I've covered it up. I've used "Powder Fresh" sprays that smell like old people, and even specially formulated sprays for killing bacteria and odor. But it seems the more I try to cover it up, the more it stinks.
A major warlord for the opposition took up residence in "my space" a year ago. I'm not talking about the internet "my space." This is the real world. MY SPACE, which is a 30 foot long, 15 fooot wide breezeway/sunroom where my laundry room and office reside. (Now any work at home person with a family understands the ingenuity of the office/laundry combo...and you can obviously understand my desire to protect it.)
The enemy moved in over a year ago. I didn't give it much thought. But through the months it has become ever-present and based on epirical evidence, it's not going anywhere.
So this weekend on a 90 degree day when the air conditioner in the breezeway had been off all day, with the enemy lounging comfortably on the floor, I walked in and was nearly knocked back with a direct attack. Unable to even scream because of the air quality, I called an immediate summit.
My demands were clear, and to my surprise, the "evil" alliance agreed to my demands quickly and without complaint.
I've reclaimed my space. The first steps are done. The enemy is lying empty a few yards away and I can't smell it. It's contents -- all six jerseys and six sweater socks and under armor and under garments, all clean and fresh, folded and fluffed on the laundry table. The equipment -- padded shorts, shoulder pads, elbow pads, knee pads, gloves and skates are lying somewhat dejected in a pile. They are prisoners of war, in need of some rehab before I'll release them and call this battle done.
Yes, this weekend I started and won a battle against stink. I'm not naive enough to think the war is over or that we'll always have peace. That equipment will go back in that bag, as will the folded fluffy jerseys and socks. The bag will go to the rink and the kid will wear the contents, and when he's done he will put it all back in the bag to comingle and consort, and the battle will begin again. Yes, I know, this enemy is not going away. It will be back. Soon.
But at least for a few days -- maybe even a few weeks here between camps and practices and seasons, I'm taking back My Space. For a few short days, I'm going to enjoy the smells of summer. A little. I still have to figure out how to get the smell out of my car...
Wednesday, June 20, 2007
Remembering Dad
Father's Day came and went again this year with that hurtful stab I have felt every year for the last eight years since my dad passed away. Even after all that time, just thinking about my dad, even just writing these words, brings tears to my eyes.
I was one of those lucky kids who had a fairly idylic childhood. My parents were married for 40 years and seemed to get along just fine. We lived in a nice house in a nice town. We kids played sports and were cheerleaders, and Dad never missed a game or event. It was a great time in my life.
As a kid I was definitely a Daddy's Girl. I remember crawling up in his lap to snuggle whenever he played "Ramblin' Rose" by Nat King Cole. That was "our song." I also remember when he brought home a kitten when I was five. It had been born at the factory he managed, and he brought it home under his suit jacket. I remember him bending down in the living room trying to get it to come out of his coat. We squealed and giggled in delight, and we loved that kitten for the next 17 years. I think Scamper finally died about the time I graduated from college. Dad was the one who told me -- long distance on the phone. I think we even cried together over it.
My dad was really good looking. He had jet black hair and soft blue eyes. He was tall and handsome with a deep voice. He was serious in his younger years while he was building his career and raising kids. I remember my friends, particularly boy friends, being afraid of him. I'd always tell them, "He's really nice," and he was, but he could definitely be intimidating.
When I was in junior high and started to date, I gave my dad a lot of heartburn. I remember one boy I met at the community swimming pool one afternoon who was brave enough to come to my house and ring the bell that night. He brought a friend, but when my dad answered the door and asked them gruffly what they wanted, they both ran away. They came back, eventually, but they were not the last boys to be scared of my dad.
In high school I started hanging around with a pretty wild crowd. It was, after all, the 1970s, before Nancy Reagan's "Just Say No," and we were living in Iowa where there wasn't much to do but hang out with friends and party a little. My dad and mom always gave us pretty strict curfews, and since I was younger than most of my friends and was just about the last one to get my driver's license, I often couldn't get home on time. I got grounded a lot, but I usually was able to sweet talk my way out of it when the next "outing" came along. In hindsight, my dad was strict, but soft at the same time.
I remember learning not to talk to my dad when he was balancing the checkbook, but I also learned that if I asked for $10, he'd give me $15. He was generous that way. I always had new outfits for the school dances from the best stores, and we played golf as a family at the country club on Sunday afternoons. Dad didn't like that I flirted with the grounds keepers at the Club. I think he would have preferred if I dated the members, not the lawn crew. But, you know how teenagers can be.
When the time came for me to go away to college, my parent's fairly insisted that I join a sorority. Dad had been a fraternity man at Purdue and all his sisters and sister-in-laws had been in sororities. I obliged and became a Zeta. I have many fond memories of Dad coming to Mizzou for Father's Weekends and going to football games with me. I even remember him playing quarters with my friends and I. By then he had softened a lot, and he liked to tease my friends. I remember one time during my senior year of college when Dad came up to visit during a football weekend. We went out and partied pretty hard at the Deja Vu Disco with my friends. My girlfriends were telling me, "Your dad is really handsome." I remember being a little creeped out by that, but also very proud.
After I graduated from college I moved to Colorado -- 1000 miles away from my parents. I'd see Mom and Dad a couple times a year. We'd visit them in Texas and take houseboat vacations with the whole family at Lake Powell in Utah. When I gave birth to their first grandchild, Mom and Dad were there within a week. Dad always had a warm place in his heart for that first grandson, but he made room for the rest of the grandkids that followed shortly on his heels.
By the time my dad was diagnosed with cancer, he had seven grandkids and he was called both Grandpa by mine and "Daddy Bob" by others. When we'd all gather at the lake it was quite a brood, and I remember Dad working up the energy even when he didn't feel well to play with all the kids.
During the 18 months of his illness I managed to spend a lot of time with him. I'd fly to Texas as often as I could, and we spent a wonderful week together in Taos learning how to paint. My dad and I watched my beloved Broncos win their first superbowl together, and although he was very weak by then, I remember the tear he got in his eye when John Elway won the MVP. A couple weeks later, he passed away, and every day since then I've missed him dearly.
For those who read this who still are blessed enough to have their dads, I hope you know how very lucky you are. I've learned over the last eight years that no one -- not your husband, not your kids, not your mom -- no one can love you like your dad. And on the flip side, there's no one a little girl loves more than her daddy. That relationship can never be replaced.
I was one of those lucky kids who had a fairly idylic childhood. My parents were married for 40 years and seemed to get along just fine. We lived in a nice house in a nice town. We kids played sports and were cheerleaders, and Dad never missed a game or event. It was a great time in my life.
As a kid I was definitely a Daddy's Girl. I remember crawling up in his lap to snuggle whenever he played "Ramblin' Rose" by Nat King Cole. That was "our song." I also remember when he brought home a kitten when I was five. It had been born at the factory he managed, and he brought it home under his suit jacket. I remember him bending down in the living room trying to get it to come out of his coat. We squealed and giggled in delight, and we loved that kitten for the next 17 years. I think Scamper finally died about the time I graduated from college. Dad was the one who told me -- long distance on the phone. I think we even cried together over it.
My dad was really good looking. He had jet black hair and soft blue eyes. He was tall and handsome with a deep voice. He was serious in his younger years while he was building his career and raising kids. I remember my friends, particularly boy friends, being afraid of him. I'd always tell them, "He's really nice," and he was, but he could definitely be intimidating.
When I was in junior high and started to date, I gave my dad a lot of heartburn. I remember one boy I met at the community swimming pool one afternoon who was brave enough to come to my house and ring the bell that night. He brought a friend, but when my dad answered the door and asked them gruffly what they wanted, they both ran away. They came back, eventually, but they were not the last boys to be scared of my dad.
In high school I started hanging around with a pretty wild crowd. It was, after all, the 1970s, before Nancy Reagan's "Just Say No," and we were living in Iowa where there wasn't much to do but hang out with friends and party a little. My dad and mom always gave us pretty strict curfews, and since I was younger than most of my friends and was just about the last one to get my driver's license, I often couldn't get home on time. I got grounded a lot, but I usually was able to sweet talk my way out of it when the next "outing" came along. In hindsight, my dad was strict, but soft at the same time.
I remember learning not to talk to my dad when he was balancing the checkbook, but I also learned that if I asked for $10, he'd give me $15. He was generous that way. I always had new outfits for the school dances from the best stores, and we played golf as a family at the country club on Sunday afternoons. Dad didn't like that I flirted with the grounds keepers at the Club. I think he would have preferred if I dated the members, not the lawn crew. But, you know how teenagers can be.
When the time came for me to go away to college, my parent's fairly insisted that I join a sorority. Dad had been a fraternity man at Purdue and all his sisters and sister-in-laws had been in sororities. I obliged and became a Zeta. I have many fond memories of Dad coming to Mizzou for Father's Weekends and going to football games with me. I even remember him playing quarters with my friends and I. By then he had softened a lot, and he liked to tease my friends. I remember one time during my senior year of college when Dad came up to visit during a football weekend. We went out and partied pretty hard at the Deja Vu Disco with my friends. My girlfriends were telling me, "Your dad is really handsome." I remember being a little creeped out by that, but also very proud.
After I graduated from college I moved to Colorado -- 1000 miles away from my parents. I'd see Mom and Dad a couple times a year. We'd visit them in Texas and take houseboat vacations with the whole family at Lake Powell in Utah. When I gave birth to their first grandchild, Mom and Dad were there within a week. Dad always had a warm place in his heart for that first grandson, but he made room for the rest of the grandkids that followed shortly on his heels.
By the time my dad was diagnosed with cancer, he had seven grandkids and he was called both Grandpa by mine and "Daddy Bob" by others. When we'd all gather at the lake it was quite a brood, and I remember Dad working up the energy even when he didn't feel well to play with all the kids.
During the 18 months of his illness I managed to spend a lot of time with him. I'd fly to Texas as often as I could, and we spent a wonderful week together in Taos learning how to paint. My dad and I watched my beloved Broncos win their first superbowl together, and although he was very weak by then, I remember the tear he got in his eye when John Elway won the MVP. A couple weeks later, he passed away, and every day since then I've missed him dearly.
For those who read this who still are blessed enough to have their dads, I hope you know how very lucky you are. I've learned over the last eight years that no one -- not your husband, not your kids, not your mom -- no one can love you like your dad. And on the flip side, there's no one a little girl loves more than her daddy. That relationship can never be replaced.
Tuesday, June 12, 2007
Moving On
Perhaps the biggest regret I have working as a consultant is it often means saying goodbye to people I like before I'm really ready.
The nature of my work is that I accept projects, work on short-term contracts, and always work with budgets that eventually -- sometimes sooner rather than later -- come to an end. What that means is that oftentimes, just as I start to enjoy working on a particular project or with a particular person, it's time to move along.
The good news is that I am fortunate enough to have a guardian angel that watches over me. I know this is the case because nearly every time I begin the final phase of a project or a relationship -- sometimes even before I know that is the case, something new and thankfully even more exciting, more interesting, or more aligned with my particular skill set comes along.
It happened again last week. A contract looked to be coming to an end, or at least not growing as I'd hoped. Sometimes I can't wait to see clients go away. And sometimes, like this time, it was work I really enjoyed for a client I really like.
But my guardian angel was watching out for me. He/she always seems to come through. Before I even had a chance to worry about what would fill the hole in my schedule next month, or to languish too much in that "nobody loves me" place, I got a call from a new company that needed my help. At the risk of jinxing my good fortune, I really have to marvel at how this works. And the fact is, it always has.
As an adult who lived through adolescence without the "benefit" of medication, I will freely admit that if I were growing up today, I would probably be diagnosed as having ADD. The fact that people come and go in my work life, and that my projects change daily, and that I have a variety of different types of things to work on, are all really good things for me.
Now I will admit that in a way, the uncertainty of my career is a bit unsettling. In fact, the constant change or worry would be enough to drive some people insane -- or at least push them toward a more stable career. But for me, what I do and how it all works is a huge blessing in my life. I know I get bored easily, and sometimes the people I like the best this week annoy the heck out of me next. It's really good that as one door closes, even if not all the way, another --or two or three-- always opens up. I know it's my guardian angel, the answer to my daily prayers, and a true gift from God.
My husband has always said that he worries twice as much about everything because I don't worry at all. It's not true. I have a regular worry schedule that wakes me up often around 3 a.m. But, in my business, even when you do your best, the job ends. That's sort of the goal. And even though the timing isn't always on my schedule and sometimes it hurts or I feel for a moment unwanted or unloved or unappreciated, I know that doing something new and moving on is for the best for someone. And it's not about me.
So once again, for the umpteenth time this year, and the bajillionth time in my career, I'm preparing to move on to new things -- exciting new projects, interesting new clients, and thanks to my guardian angel, some as yet unseen adventures that someday sooner or later I'll be really sad to let go.
The nature of my work is that I accept projects, work on short-term contracts, and always work with budgets that eventually -- sometimes sooner rather than later -- come to an end. What that means is that oftentimes, just as I start to enjoy working on a particular project or with a particular person, it's time to move along.
The good news is that I am fortunate enough to have a guardian angel that watches over me. I know this is the case because nearly every time I begin the final phase of a project or a relationship -- sometimes even before I know that is the case, something new and thankfully even more exciting, more interesting, or more aligned with my particular skill set comes along.
It happened again last week. A contract looked to be coming to an end, or at least not growing as I'd hoped. Sometimes I can't wait to see clients go away. And sometimes, like this time, it was work I really enjoyed for a client I really like.
But my guardian angel was watching out for me. He/she always seems to come through. Before I even had a chance to worry about what would fill the hole in my schedule next month, or to languish too much in that "nobody loves me" place, I got a call from a new company that needed my help. At the risk of jinxing my good fortune, I really have to marvel at how this works. And the fact is, it always has.
As an adult who lived through adolescence without the "benefit" of medication, I will freely admit that if I were growing up today, I would probably be diagnosed as having ADD. The fact that people come and go in my work life, and that my projects change daily, and that I have a variety of different types of things to work on, are all really good things for me.
Now I will admit that in a way, the uncertainty of my career is a bit unsettling. In fact, the constant change or worry would be enough to drive some people insane -- or at least push them toward a more stable career. But for me, what I do and how it all works is a huge blessing in my life. I know I get bored easily, and sometimes the people I like the best this week annoy the heck out of me next. It's really good that as one door closes, even if not all the way, another --or two or three-- always opens up. I know it's my guardian angel, the answer to my daily prayers, and a true gift from God.
My husband has always said that he worries twice as much about everything because I don't worry at all. It's not true. I have a regular worry schedule that wakes me up often around 3 a.m. But, in my business, even when you do your best, the job ends. That's sort of the goal. And even though the timing isn't always on my schedule and sometimes it hurts or I feel for a moment unwanted or unloved or unappreciated, I know that doing something new and moving on is for the best for someone. And it's not about me.
So once again, for the umpteenth time this year, and the bajillionth time in my career, I'm preparing to move on to new things -- exciting new projects, interesting new clients, and thanks to my guardian angel, some as yet unseen adventures that someday sooner or later I'll be really sad to let go.
Thursday, June 7, 2007
Aging Gracefully
We live in a world where a whole lot of attention is focused on how we look. That never bothered me much when I was young. Probably because I looked okay. But now that I'm officially mid 40s, and my friends are mid 40s (and older!), looking good is starting to require work. Lots of work.
It starts as soon as I get to work, which for me is pretty early, so it's an early reminder of my daily aging process. First reminder: I can't read anything without glasses. My eyesight went downhill about the time I turned 40. Sometime between then and now it fell off the hill into a deep, dark well. Now I'm having to face the fact that a more permanent solution might be a good idea. Maybe Lasik. But I hate doctors, I don't do elective surgery like most people seem to do. But I probably have at least a dozen pair of "readers," and I can never find a pair when I need them.
As we get older, our conversations with our friends shift too. We still talk about kids, but now some of my friends have kids who are graduating college or getting married. That is making all of us feel old. And of course if your friends are getting old, your conversations with them change. We talk about the health issues of our parents. We talk about losing weight and working out.
I live in Texas -- where you can't spit without hitting a plastic surgeon, and it seems like my friends are all getting "work" done. Botox. Face Lifts. Eye Lifts. Permanent Make-up. I knew about college funds, but I had no idea I'd get to this age and have to worry about coming up with thousands of dollars for these types of things. At least, that is, if I want to "keep up."
The one I'm most intrigued with now is the permanent make-up. It's pretty interesting. And considering I've never been very good with make-up, it seems like a good idea. I know it's not new, but they weren't doing it in my universe until last month. It's wild. Two of my closest friends have the permanent eyeliner top and bottom. It's really cool. I never thought aboout the fact that it's a tatoo. Who would have thought you'd ever come to a point where you could get your eyelids tatooed at a nail salon in a small town in Texas. I'm amazed.
But I've decided that for now at least I'm going to just try to age naturally and gracefully. My best friend is there with me too. She's very au naturale, and we'll get through this aging thing together.
My uncle, who is probably the coolest person in the world -- a product of the 1960s and my dad's youngest brother, is turning 60 this year. He writes books and reads philosophy and consults with government and industry. He's really, really smart. This week he sent me a one line e-mail. It simply said, "Every step we take is toward perfection."
"Every step I take is toward pefection."
Wow. What a great way to think about life, and for me it fits with all this thinking about aging. I'm going to do what I can to age gracefully. I'm trying to exercise more and eat less. I'm on my way to being perfect, and although it's still going to be a lot of work, being perfect is not going to be based on how I look.
It starts as soon as I get to work, which for me is pretty early, so it's an early reminder of my daily aging process. First reminder: I can't read anything without glasses. My eyesight went downhill about the time I turned 40. Sometime between then and now it fell off the hill into a deep, dark well. Now I'm having to face the fact that a more permanent solution might be a good idea. Maybe Lasik. But I hate doctors, I don't do elective surgery like most people seem to do. But I probably have at least a dozen pair of "readers," and I can never find a pair when I need them.
As we get older, our conversations with our friends shift too. We still talk about kids, but now some of my friends have kids who are graduating college or getting married. That is making all of us feel old. And of course if your friends are getting old, your conversations with them change. We talk about the health issues of our parents. We talk about losing weight and working out.
I live in Texas -- where you can't spit without hitting a plastic surgeon, and it seems like my friends are all getting "work" done. Botox. Face Lifts. Eye Lifts. Permanent Make-up. I knew about college funds, but I had no idea I'd get to this age and have to worry about coming up with thousands of dollars for these types of things. At least, that is, if I want to "keep up."
The one I'm most intrigued with now is the permanent make-up. It's pretty interesting. And considering I've never been very good with make-up, it seems like a good idea. I know it's not new, but they weren't doing it in my universe until last month. It's wild. Two of my closest friends have the permanent eyeliner top and bottom. It's really cool. I never thought aboout the fact that it's a tatoo. Who would have thought you'd ever come to a point where you could get your eyelids tatooed at a nail salon in a small town in Texas. I'm amazed.
But I've decided that for now at least I'm going to just try to age naturally and gracefully. My best friend is there with me too. She's very au naturale, and we'll get through this aging thing together.
My uncle, who is probably the coolest person in the world -- a product of the 1960s and my dad's youngest brother, is turning 60 this year. He writes books and reads philosophy and consults with government and industry. He's really, really smart. This week he sent me a one line e-mail. It simply said, "Every step we take is toward perfection."
"Every step I take is toward pefection."
Wow. What a great way to think about life, and for me it fits with all this thinking about aging. I'm going to do what I can to age gracefully. I'm trying to exercise more and eat less. I'm on my way to being perfect, and although it's still going to be a lot of work, being perfect is not going to be based on how I look.
Tuesday, June 5, 2007
The Value of Air
A good friend of mine from Boulder called last night, and she mentioned at one point in the conversation that Texas had been in the news a lot in a "bad way." "Something to do with really bad air quality and environmental performance," she said.
It was refreshing talking to Carol and having the topic of environmentalism come up in conversation. It's a subject I'm passionate about. But it is easy to ignore it living here in Texas. After all, this is the land that brother oil built.
I live and work out in the country an hour from the city partly because, since moving to Texas, I've developed both allergies and asthma. When you can't breathe, it's a problem. A few years ago I worked at an ad agency three days a week in the heart of Dallas -- trendy uptown, right on McKinney. The cable car went by all day long full of mostly tourists going to the Hard Rock. Anyway, once in a while, we would walk to lunch somewhere more than a few blocks away. On 100 degree days, that usually triggered an afternoon asthma attack.
My doctor told me that going back and forth between the smog-filled air of Dallas and the intense forests and lushness of east Texas was troubling my lungs, which, she said, had become a tighter mesh from living at altitude for more than 15 years. Basically in east Texas you have three seasons, she had said, "Fall, Winter, and Allergy Season." Couple that with Dallas' putrid air quality, and you have a recipe for disaster.
So for the last several years I have mostly avoided Dallas on high pollution days, working from home more. At really bad allergy times, like the last four days for me, I either try to travel out of town (Vegas is always a good escape from blooming things) or stay pretty doped up on over-the-counter allergy meds. This means I'm only able to work in brief spurts of clarity, and I have to surrounder to the couch (on Sunday I did for the entire day).
More than once this week my kids has asked, "Mom, are you going to be okay?" "I'm fine," I tell them in my whispy, nasally voice, even though I do not feel fine. I'm on medication, and I feel like I'm walking around in a fuzzy bubble.
Yesterday I had been walking all over the Fort Worth Club trying to find an elevator that would take me to my car, and just as I found my car my phone rang. "Hello," I had answered. "Are you okay? You're breathing heavy!" My friend said, alarmed. "I'm fine," I had wheezed.
But I'm not fine. A few weeks out of the year I suffer a lot with breathing troubles. It really puts my focus on air quality. What if everyone in the world had the trouble I have, not just a few weeks a year, but all the time? Could it get that bad? Are we heading in that direction?
I have to listen to what my friend said about "bad news on the environmental front" in Texas. Our air quality everywhere is really important, because air doesn't stop at state boundaries. If we're screwing up our air here in Texas, we're screwing up the air in Oklahoma and Arkansas, and New Mexico, and Mexico...we're screwing it up for everyone. It doesn't matter if Coloradans do what they can do if we're going to send our stinky Texas air up toward the Rockies. If I lived in Colorado, I'd be pissed.
On an individual front, we have to do what we can do. This summer I'm not going to drive un-necessarily. My next car will be a hybrid. And I'm going to raise my kids to respect the environment and conserve. I know there's lots more that I can do and I'm going to give this a lot more thought... I hope that you will too.
It was refreshing talking to Carol and having the topic of environmentalism come up in conversation. It's a subject I'm passionate about. But it is easy to ignore it living here in Texas. After all, this is the land that brother oil built.
I live and work out in the country an hour from the city partly because, since moving to Texas, I've developed both allergies and asthma. When you can't breathe, it's a problem. A few years ago I worked at an ad agency three days a week in the heart of Dallas -- trendy uptown, right on McKinney. The cable car went by all day long full of mostly tourists going to the Hard Rock. Anyway, once in a while, we would walk to lunch somewhere more than a few blocks away. On 100 degree days, that usually triggered an afternoon asthma attack.
My doctor told me that going back and forth between the smog-filled air of Dallas and the intense forests and lushness of east Texas was troubling my lungs, which, she said, had become a tighter mesh from living at altitude for more than 15 years. Basically in east Texas you have three seasons, she had said, "Fall, Winter, and Allergy Season." Couple that with Dallas' putrid air quality, and you have a recipe for disaster.
So for the last several years I have mostly avoided Dallas on high pollution days, working from home more. At really bad allergy times, like the last four days for me, I either try to travel out of town (Vegas is always a good escape from blooming things) or stay pretty doped up on over-the-counter allergy meds. This means I'm only able to work in brief spurts of clarity, and I have to surrounder to the couch (on Sunday I did for the entire day).
More than once this week my kids has asked, "Mom, are you going to be okay?" "I'm fine," I tell them in my whispy, nasally voice, even though I do not feel fine. I'm on medication, and I feel like I'm walking around in a fuzzy bubble.
Yesterday I had been walking all over the Fort Worth Club trying to find an elevator that would take me to my car, and just as I found my car my phone rang. "Hello," I had answered. "Are you okay? You're breathing heavy!" My friend said, alarmed. "I'm fine," I had wheezed.
But I'm not fine. A few weeks out of the year I suffer a lot with breathing troubles. It really puts my focus on air quality. What if everyone in the world had the trouble I have, not just a few weeks a year, but all the time? Could it get that bad? Are we heading in that direction?
I have to listen to what my friend said about "bad news on the environmental front" in Texas. Our air quality everywhere is really important, because air doesn't stop at state boundaries. If we're screwing up our air here in Texas, we're screwing up the air in Oklahoma and Arkansas, and New Mexico, and Mexico...we're screwing it up for everyone. It doesn't matter if Coloradans do what they can do if we're going to send our stinky Texas air up toward the Rockies. If I lived in Colorado, I'd be pissed.
On an individual front, we have to do what we can do. This summer I'm not going to drive un-necessarily. My next car will be a hybrid. And I'm going to raise my kids to respect the environment and conserve. I know there's lots more that I can do and I'm going to give this a lot more thought... I hope that you will too.
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