I came down with a cold early this week. At first it was all in my head, or more accurately, in my sinuses. I spent a couple of days feeling as if my head was going to explode. Then last night, my head began clearing and the cold moved downwards. So now I’ve got a lovely cough.

Michael is the newest member of our department. He’s always the first one to arrive each day. I’m always the second one in. It’s quiet before the rest of the crew arrives.

This morning, I came to work. I got settled at my desk. I coughed. I logged into my computer. I coughed some more. Michael appeared in the doorway of my cubicle, looking hesitant.

“Miss Terri,” he asked? (He calls me Miss Terri. I’m not sure why. I think he’s just uber-polite.)

“Hi Michael,” I said.

“I’m sorry, but I couldn’t help noticing you’re coughing.”

“Yep, I’ve got a little cold going on. My turn I guess,” I said. Michael had endured a nasty cold for a couple of weeks recently, and so had Belinda.

Michael had a worried look on his face. “Well,” he said, “I just wanted to say that I’m sincerely sorry if you caught my cold germs. I really tried to keep my distance from everyone, and I went to the doctor and he said it was nothing more than the average cold. I know I sounded really bad, but there were a couple of days when I just couldn’t stay home and I had to come to work.”

“Michael,” I said, waving my hands as if brushing off his concerns. “It’s not your fault. It’s just that time of year. I get one of these every winter and my daughter just had it last week. Don’t worry!”

“Well, okay then,” he said. “But if there’s anything I can do to help you feel more comfortable, please let me know. If you want some juice or anything, I can run downstairs and get some for you. Just let me know.”

I was damn near speechless. Who does things like that? I mean, most people I know are nice enough, but not many would go so far a s to offer to go buy some orange juice for a sick coworker.

All I could do was mutter a very shocked “Thank you!”

And then I went and told all of my office buddies about Michael’s kindness. Most of them did that thing where they put a hand over their heart and cooed, “Oh my gosh! He is SO sweet!” (Michael is engaged. The consensus is that he is going to be a great husband!)

His kindness made me feel so good today that I decided to pay it forward. We have a couple of external auditors working in our office this week. One of them was looking for a Mountain Dew yesterday at lunch time and was disappointed to find there was only the diet variety in the pop machine on our floor. While I was down on our other floor today, I noticed the pop machine there had Mountain Dew. I bought one for the auditor and brought it back upstairs, leaving it on his desk with a note saying, “I grabbed a Mountain Dew for you while I was downstairs today. Enjoy.”

I hope maybe it made him feel as good as Michael’s kindness made me feel. He did come and thank me. He seemed a little surprised. Maybe he thought I was weird. But maybe he thought, “Hey, not many people surprise me anymore…”

I laughed at my best friend and said, “I’ve bowled a handful of times in my life, mostly under those disco lights at Moonlight Bowling. I don’t think you want me bowling on your team.”

“You don’t have to be good at it,” she said. “I mean, you pretty much know how it works, right?”

“Um. Yeah. You throw the ball down the lane and try to knock the pins over.”

“That’s all you need to know. I’ll take care of the other details.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was three years or so ago when that conversation took place. And being a sub on the bowling team quickly turned into being a regular in the second half of that season. I used one of my son’s bowling balls that he had used in his junior bowling league. I rented shoes. I did okay too. I held my own. And I had fun.

I think I was surprised that I had fun. I was surprised that I wanted to do it again when that first season ended. Prior to joining the team, I had a stereotype image of the sport of bowling. I pictured bowling as something that middle-aged, lower-class men did to get away from demanding wives and the pressures of home life. I pictured Ed Bundy look-a-likes, with beer-bellies swelling under their button-down bowling shirts. I pictured a place filled with the haze of cigarette smoke and pitchers of beer on every table.

courtesy Google images

“Listen Jerry, bowling is a man’s sport. If God had wanted women to bowl, he would have put their breasts on their backs so we would have something to watch while waiting our turn.” … Al Bundy

My mental image was a little bit off.There’s no smoking allowed anymore. Oh, there are definitely some beer-bellied men in the sport. There are some beer-bellied women too. There are men and women of all ages, from all kinds of backgrounds. And maybe some of them are there to escape having to be somewhere else, but for the most part we all have one thing in common. We love to bowl.

It took a while to convince myself that it was okay to like bowling and to want to get better at it. Up to that time in my life, I hadn’t really invested myself in anything that I didn’t have to do. Growing up, I learned to believe that most hobbies were a waste of time and money because I’d never had the opportunity to explore any interest to the point where it might require a time or financial commitment. In my adult life to that point, I had done the things I was supposed to do. I earned a living. I took care of my family. I invested time and money in activities and sports that my kids enjoyed, because I wanted to nurture their abilities as much as possible. I had a few hobbies of my own, but for the most part, they didn’t take me outside of the house. And somehow it escaped me that it might be good for me to nurture other interests of my own and that it wasn’t too late to do so.

I turned a corner when I bought my own bowling ball and shoes and made a (maybe subconscious) commitment to the sport. I began to make friends at the bowling alley, with people besides just the girls on my bowling team. I learned more about the sport, like  how to score a game and how to make the ball go where I wanted it to go so it would knock down the most pins. (That’s a skill I will forever be trying to perfect!) I watched others bowl, especially the ones who were good at it. I tried to learn by watching them so I could improve my own game.

Many, many times over these past few years since I started bowling, it has occurred to me that I’ve never really learned how to bowl. I did only what I knew to do and improved some by trial and error. But sometimes I’d be talking with others who really know the game and I would be embarrassed to join the conversation because I didn’t really know the ins and outs of the game. For instance, the place where you stand when you’re preparing to throw the ball? It’s made up of a whole bunch of vertical boards. Each board has its own number. One time while practicing, someone suggested I try standing on a particular board on the approach and I had no idea where it was.

I was getting better at bowling than I was when I first started, but I hit a plateau and didn’t know how to get past it. So when I met my friend Teri in summer league last year and learned that not only was she a really good bowler, but an actual bowling coach who offers instruction, I nagged her to run a class that I could attend. Teri and her partner, Lonnie ran a clinic at our bowling alley last weekend and for three hours, I learned the basics of bowling and then some. I learned all the things I thought I should know but was afraid to admit I didn’t know. I learned about timing, and the optimal number of steps one should take on the approach. I learned that it was important to keep my fingers curved when holding the ball, and to keep them that way when releasing it. I learned how to swing my arm and how and when to release the ball for the best performance. They taught us that throwing hard and fast doesn’t necessarily mean throwing accurately.

And I learned that the number of boards varies between bowling alleys, but the boards are marked with a dot on every fifth board. The middle dot always signifies the 20th board!

courtesy Google images

Teri and Lonnie taught me all kinds of things, so much that I probably won’t remember it all. At their suggestion, I chose to focus on a few things, and once I get comfortable with them, I can build on them with the other stuff.

Last night I went to my Monday league. During warm-ups, I practiced standing on a different board than I normally do. I practiced my new swing and release, trying to remember to keep my fingers curved, bend my knee, kick my right leg behind and hold my balance with my toe down on the floor. Everything felt strange and different. I watched as my ball consistently went close or directly to the place I wanted it to hit the pins. It took a while and I had to remind myself that Rome wasn’t built in a day. My game was not going to improve overnight. I spent a lot of time moving my starting position slightly to the left or right, in an effort to find where I might hit the pocket consistently. I was getting frustrated during the first two games because even though I sometimes felt more in control of the ball, sometimes it went somewhere completely unexpected. Teri had brought one of her young helpers along when she came to leagues last night and told him to watch me and offer pointers when needed. He told me to just relax. He said I was doing all the right things, but my arm was still too tense when I was throwing.

courtesy Google images

Throughout it all, I remembered that as much as I want to be a better bowler, the other big reason I bowl is because it’s fun. I bowl with some wonderful ladies who don’t really care whether we win or lose, as long as we have fun. And as soon as I remembered that and stopped thinking so much about all of the mechanics of bowling, it all began to come together. I talked with the girls and shared a whole lot of laughs. We cheered each other on. And I threw five strikes in that third game, which for me, is a pretty good thing.

I was excited after that third game and sorry to see the night come to an end. The fact that I had begun to grasp some of the new things I’d learned from Teri and Lonnie made me want to get back on the lanes as soon as possible to keep working on improving my game. I can’t say that I’ve ever grown bored with bowling over the past three years, but last night I felt a renewed sense of excitement about it.

I guess it just goes to show that you’re never too old to learn something new!

There’s a temple along the route we took today. It looks really pretty in the pre-dawn morning.

Later in the morning, Jake and I went to the bowling alley. I have a friend who is not only a phenomenal bowler, she’s a bowling coach. She runs clinics to help others learn to bowl better. I nagged her for months to run a clinic at our bowling alley, and so she did. We spent three hours figuring out what we were doing wrong and what we were doing right. We practiced drills and honed our new skills. I am amazed at how much I didn’t know going into this but I’m excited to start working on improving my game. And it was really fun having Jake along with me. He keeps to himself too much sometimes, but we have our love of bowling in common. I’m really glad I convinced him to come along with me.

After bowling, it was time to return Kacey to school. Her long winter break is over. She wasn’t happy to be leaving Connor. Connor wasn’t happy to see her go. I was feeling sad she had to go back. But I keep reminding myself that college is a good thing for her; the right thing. As much as I love having her around, she has to grow up. We picked up her friend, Matt and brought him back to school too. They chatted and laughed in the back seat while we drove. I was glad Matt was there to take her mind off the sadness of leaving Connor.

It rained most of the day, so the roads were sloppy and a bit slippery. But we made it back to school safe and sound. Kacey’s good friend, Caitlin was already there and waiting for her. They were happy to see each other, which made it easier for me to drive away. My sister had come along for the ride, so I had some fun company on the drive home, making it hard to feel too down.

Besides, I give Kacey two weekends before she’s back home again. And I’m not complaining!

Life is good!

I feel like an idiot in this stupid coat!

We’ve had a stretch of cold weather over the last few days, with below zero nights and only slightly warmer days. We even got a little bit of snow. Lucy finally succumbed to the winter coat a little bit and stopped trying to bite it off of her body long enough to sit and chew on a stick.

She’s also discovered that the house has ground level windows and has begun to peek in them when she’s out in the yard. Of course, I play right into this and if she appears outside the family room window, I go over and talk to her through the glass. The other day, I asked, “Do ya wanna come in? Do ya?” And then I motioned upwards and said, “Go up on the deck! I’ll let you in.”

Mark wanted to know if I seriously thought she understood me.

Anybody in there?

I just had to laugh at myself after he pointed out how silly it all seemed. I don’t know why I talk to my dog as if she can understand reason. Maybe because she’s the only one willing to listen without passing judgement. And besides, I knew she would hear the patio door open and come running, so whether she understood me or not really didn’t matter.

I was off of work the last couple of days in an effort to spend some time with my daughter before she goes back to school. She’s been on winter break from school for nearly a month and somehow those days managed to just slip away. I love having her home. It’s going to be hard not seeing her smiling face every day and hearing her stories. I’m going to miss the way she manages to make me laugh and smile with her infectious, fun attitude.

Since it was so cold yesterday and we really hadn’t made any plans, we decided to just hang out at home. Connor came over and we spent the afternoon playing Scrabble at the kitchen table, talking smack to one another and laughing throughout. Connor played the word jugs, laying the J on a triple letter score and the S on a triple word score, earning him sixty points! For the remainder of the game, he continued to remind us of his skill and pat himself on the back for having such good strategy. However, I somehow managed to pull ahead in points and beat him by just a few points. (Must be due to all of those Words with Friends games I have going online. Practice makes perfect!)

Connor couldn’t stand the thought of being beat, so he demanded another game. The Letter Tile Gods were smiling on me in game two and before each of my turns, I was already plotting out where to lay the next amazing word. Since I took the lead from the start and never looked back, my opponents felt the need to make fun of me. I played the word festoon and a day later, have still not heard the end of it. Kacey and Connor keep finding ways to work the word into conversation and Connor keeps telling me he doesn’t think it should have been allowed on the board because it’s not even a word people actually use any more. I said that wasn’t true and reminded him of the wintery festoon that still hangs in my foyer, even though the other holiday decor has been put away for the season. The coup de grâce came when I played the word jingles, laying the J on a triple word score for forty-eight points, leaving no chance for them to catch up.

I hope they’ll be motivated to improve their skills and play me again. I haven’t played Scrabble in years and I’d forgotten how much I enjoy it!

After a lazy Friday, there were things that needed doing today. I’ve been slacking a bit the last few days on my effort to do more home cooking. So first thing this morning, I plucked one of the many underused cookbooks from the baker’s rack and began browsing for ideas. This week, I’ll be working from the Top Secret Restaurant Recipes cookbook, a five-dollar bargain I found at a Kohl’s store about three years ago and have never once used.

One nice thing about this cold weather is that it makes it easy to want to stay inside, which makes it easy to want to cook. This week , on various days, I’m going to make Tony Roma’s Carolina Honeys (barbecued ribs), Ruby Tuesday Potato Cheese soup, and Olive Garden Alfredo Pasta. From another cookbook, I’m going to make a pork chops and hash brown dinner. Tonight, at Kacey’s request, we’re having her favorite Cheesy Wild Rice soup.

Aaaaand… I just realized, we’re all going to get fat if I keep cooking this way. Next week I’d better work on home cooking with a bit of a healthier aspect to it.

Shelby came into our lives when our kids were one, three and five years old. We loved her dearly, no doubt. She was a playmate for the kids, and a comfort to whomever needed sympathy or a warm body to cuddle. She was our friend and protector. She was such a patient girl, never feeling slighted that attention might not come her way until my babies had all been taken care of. And she was always forgiving when after a long day of caring for children, my own and others, I might not have energy for her.

Shelby loved Mark’s dad. They had a very special bond. During the years when we took summer vacations in northern Minnesota, renting cabins at resorts where pets weren’t allowed, we never felt guilty leaving Shelby with Grandma and Grandpa. We knew she was having the time of her life and being spoiled beyond belief. Grandpa couldn’t resist giving Shelby (or any of his granddogs) a dog biscuit whenever the urge occurred, (which was often. He still has this habit!) We knew Shelby was probably putting on a few extra pounds when she was with Grandpa.

Shelby took care of us until she was fourteen years old. We saw her declining those last couple of years and it was hard to accept. She held on as long as she could. In the end, she had a stroke from which she could not recover and we had to let her go. It was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do in my life. My kids were devastated at having to say goodbye to their beloved Shelby.

Shelby at the lake where Grandpa's cabin resides. She loved it there.

After Shelby was gone, I swore there would never be another dog in our lives. We were too lucky the first time around. There was no way another dog could ever measure up to the sweet creature who had graced us with her love for all of those years. It just wouldn’t be fair to another dog. We could never love another the way we loved Shelby.

My mom is an animal lover to the fullest extent. I’ve lost track of the number of dogs she’s loved in her lifetime. Some of them became members of her family because she went looking for them. Some of them were animals who could no longer live in their own homes. My mom could never resist making room for one more dog or cat. Mom tried to tell me that the pain of losing Shelby would ease eventually. She said I wouldn’t believe her at the time, but some day I would be ready to make room for another dog in my home. I didn’t believe her. Her words came too soon after we’d had to say goodbye to Shelby.

It took a long time for the ache to let up. Shelby’s collar and dog tags still hang on a hook on the garage wall. Every time I saw them, tears would come. I would stop and think of her, see photos, stumble across her old toys, and the heartache would overcome me all over again.

No, I knew I’d never have another dog. Besides, it wasn’t so bad being dogless. My housework was easier without all that fur to vacuum from the carpets and furniture. It was certainly easier not having to go clean up the back yard every week. And I could sleep late again on weekends. It seemed like it was always me who had to leave the comfort of a cozy bed on weekend mornings to let Shelby out when she couldn’t hold it anymore. No, it wasn’t so bad not being a dog owner anymore.

But then it happened. They were just passing thoughts at first. I’d see people walking dogs in the neighborhood when I was out on one of my walks. I’d stop and pet any dog if I was given permission. I’d smile and coo over them like they were adorable little babies. I began to imagine that maybe there could be another dog in my life. Maybe. But that dog was going to have to fall in my lap. Going out and pursuing another dog just seemed like I was asking to have my heart broken again.

Then came the web searches. They just make it too easy these days. You can search online for dogs needing homes and there they are in all of their furry, cuddly, adorable glory. So many dog faces crossed my computer screen. I tried on each one in my mind, picturing them running in the back yard, or cuddling up next to me on cold nights.

And then one day, Lucy’s face appeared in one of my searches. Something prompted me to send an inquiry to the rescue group. (That something might have been my daughter, who had jumped on this dog bandwagon with me, with unabashed enthusiasm!) And the rest is history.

Lucy

It’s different this time around. Shelby came last in line, behind my babies who needed my attention first and foremost. And she never complained. I loved Shelby and I needed her, but that need was different because of where I was in my life. Lucy doesn’t have to wait in line behind any babies. The babies are all off doing their own thing now. I needed Lucy to fill a hole in my heart and she did, so very completely. Now she is the baby of the family. When there are people at home, she’s the center of attention. We can’t get enough of her antics and silliness. Just yesterday, I bought Lucy a suede coat with a furry lining. She’s not been a fan of the other coat I bought her, nor the sweater we tried. This one looked like it might be just what she needed for these below-zero mornings when she’s reluctant to go outside but needs to do her thing. She doesn’t understand coats for dogs. She went out in the yard and circled her body to grab an edge of the coat in her teeth. Then latched on, then circled and chased in a spiral, round and round until I, standing at the door in my robe, was laughing so hard I thought the neighbors might hear! I called her back to me and removed the offending coat.

Now I don’t mind getting up in the morning to let the dog out. Lucy sleeps at our feet and keeps me warm on those nights when Mark is at work. And for the most part, she just waits until she feels me stirring anyway. And when we get up for the day, she acts as if I’ve been gone instead of just sleeping. She comes to me and leans into me (her way of hugging) and wiggles with excitement at the attention. And I don’t think I have to tell you again what a wonderful way she has of welcoming me home when I come back from a day at the office.

Lucy hasn’t taken Shelby’s place. I get it now. No dog will ever replace Shelby. No dog will ever compare to her. And no dog has to. Shelby has a permanent place in my heart. I just didn’t realize, until Lucy came along, that my heart had more room in it. I didn’t realize that some of the heartache I felt in Shelby’s absence wasn’t just that I missed her. It was need. My heart missed having a dog in my life.

Lucy is different than Shelby. She can’t and doesn’t have to measure up to the dog that Shelby was. Lucy is wonderful and loving and special in all her own ways.  It took me a while, but I’m so very glad I changed my mind. I get it now. Once a dog lover, always a dog lover.

He had such a hard time in school. I’m talking about Kindergarten right through his high school years. We did everything we could to try to help make it easier for him, but he was just one of those kids who didn’t do well in a standard classroom setting. I think back to those years and I remember “lost” or forgotten homework, battles at the kitchen table over homework, worrying … constant worrying. I think about the years of summer school and the expensive tutoring we paid for. Could’ve paid for a year of college with that tutoring money.  There were compassionate teachers who loved him and encouraged him through the tough times. There were teachers who I still can’t think about without getting furious all over again. They made my son feel as if he was worth less than his peers. There were times that my child told me he “knew” he was stupid. It broke my heart to see him struggle the way he did. But he worked hard. He found the drive within himself and in the end, he put the push on and graduated from high school. On time. With very acceptable grades. I was so proud of him, especially because he had to work so hard to accomplish it.

After high school, Jake took a little break. We agreed to let him take a breather from his education. He worked and allowed himself to relax for a while. But after one semester at home, I reminded him that he had to pick some sort of direction and work towards it. He registered for classes at the local community college.

Let’s just say that didn’t work out so well. And he hasn’t been in school for the past year and a half.

Jake is a hard worker. He has a job at a bowling center. Not a bad job for a 20 year-old guy. They rely on him there. He’s one of the “go-to” guys. They know if they need someone in a pinch, Jake will drop everything and be there for them. He’s moved up a little bit and earned a little raise. He started out in the arcade and laser tag area. He’s moved up to the bowling desk. He helps manage some of the leagues. He does a little maintenance on the lanes. Sometimes it’s after 1:30 a.m. when he comes home, tired, with oil from the pin-setters staining his uniform shirt.

I still worry about him. A lot. People are always telling me, “He’ll find his way.” He’s a good kid. He’s polite. A little introverted. Charming when he wants to be. People tell me, “Not everyone figures out their direction in life right away. Give him time.”

I know. But I still worry.

Lately Jake’s been wanting to buy a car. He already has a car. He doesn’t want to get rid of his car. He just wants another one. A ’99 Mustang.

“… to work on,” he tells me.

“We already have three vehicles here,” I tell him. “We don’t have the kind of garage or enough driveway or yard to keep so many vehicles.”

The bottom line, I told him, (and I hated having to say it, but it needed saying,) is that he is twenty years old. He is living at home. People who have two cars to their name don’t live in their parents’ houses without a plan for the future.

“And besides,” I asked, “What kind of work do you plan to do? You don’t know enough about cars to do work on them.”

“Well, I might want to take some auto-mechanics courses,” he said. He has a buddy whose dad is completely into cars and he’s spent some time hanging around there, getting a feel for what it’s all about.

I wondered if he could see the hope welling up inside of me. I latched onto that sliver of possibility and went with it. He has always loved cars. When he was nearing his high school graduation, I had tried to get him to consider going into auto-mechanics. He thought he needed to pursue a college degree and shunned the idea at the time.

“Well…,” I said. “If you’re serious. Maybe this is something we could talk about.”

His face lit up, but I cautioned him that there would be some give and take in this deal if his dad and I agreed to consider it. I told him that he couldn’t just say he was going to enroll in classes, then get the car, then fail to follow through with enrolling in a program. I told him I wanted to see him make the effort. Research schools. Find out costs and when he could register.

It’s been a couple of months since the Mustang discussion first came up. Yesterday afternoon, Jake called me to say he was on his way to take a tour at a school. He had spoken with a guidance counselor about admissions requirements. He was taking charge of this. I was impressed!

When I came home from work, he wanted to talk about things. The first thing he wanted to talk about was buying the car. Red flags went up for me.

“Jake,” I said. “I don’t want to sit here and be convinced that you should buy the car. Tell me about the tour and your plans for enrollment. Tell me about school! I don’t want you thinking you can run out and buy a car just because you toured a school. And if you do get the car, you need to know that the agreement comes with stipulations. If you fail to enroll, or drop out, the car goes.”

“Mom.”

“Yeah?”

“I know this isn’t just about a car. I work with a guy. He’s 41 years old and he works at a bowling center for nine dollars an hour. He rents a place because his parents won’t let him live in their house anymore. He can’t afford to do anything fun. Mom, I don’t want to be that guy.”

(I think I heard angels singing at this point.)

“Okay, honey,” I said. “Tell me about the car.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I don’t know if he’ll get the car. It’s been for sale for a while and is still available. Not a great sign. I still don’t know where we’d put it. But if this car is the link to helping my son make a future for himself, we’ll figure it out.

So the meal was planned,  which is the other half of the battle. I find I am much more ambitious about cooking when I have a plan.

So I had the ham. I checked the potato supply in my refrigerator. It was low. I taped ten dollars to the kitchen doorway with a note that said, “If someone goes to a store today, please buy some potatoes.” (Yes, the kitchen doorway is our message center. It works!)

Alas, no one bought potatoes while I was away at work. (Shocker.) I had the presence of mind to check on this before I left work and so I made a stop at the grocery store before I went home. I walked in, grabbed a bag of spuds, and headed to the check-out where every open register had a line of people waiting to pay. I assessed my options. The express lane was way longer than the regular lanes. I found one where the patrons ahead of me had relatively few items and I got in line to wait my turn.

Right about this time, one of the cashiers was ending her shift and closing down her lane. She was a girl of high-school age. As she stepped out from behind the register, she made a sweeping glance at the number of customers in line and stopped short with a surprised realization on her face. She then hurried over to the second express lane and removed the closed sign, calling out, “I can help someone over here!”

One woman headed her direction, and then another. I followed behind them. Each of the women ahead of me had only two items so we were moving along quickly. I waited behind a woman with red curly hair. She was purchasing two bags of potato chips. Her bill rang up to five dollars even and she was writing a check to pay for them. And as she wrote the check, she tilted her head to the side, and eyed up the cashier, saying in a very sarcastic tone, “The appropriate thing to do when you opened up this register would have been to say, ‘I can now help the person who was next in line.’”

She was apparently annoyed, thinking she had a right to be rung up first. The poor cashier could only look at the woman, clearly at a loss as to how to respond. She had opened a register when she wasn’t even required to do so in order to help get the customers on their way and she was being criticized for the way she had done it.

Google Images

Seriously? Why do people have to speak to others in that manner? I am so tired of arrogance. So tired of self-righteousness. So tired of the me-first attitude. When someone speaks to me with a biting tone and a snotty attitude, believe me, it does not make me willing to hear what they are saying. It only makes me want to slap the person and tell them to grow up and mind their manners. What is that saying about catching more flies with honey? Why don’t people get that?

As the arrogant woman bagged up her potato chip purchases at the end of the conveyor belt, the cashier began to ring up my bag of potatoes. I said to the girl, “I saw you close up your other lane. I appreciate that you opened up this lane for us. That woman was rude.”

The girl just smiled shyly and said thank you. She told me to have a wonderful evening.

Out in the parking lot as I walked to my car, I could see the red-headed woman flouncing off toward her own car. I wanted to run after her, grab her by the curls and throw her down on the pavement. I wanted to poke the heel of my boot into her chest as she lay on the ground and ask her who she thought she was. I wanted to ask her who writes a check for five dollars worth of potato chips anyway? I wanted to ask her if it had occurred to her that all she had accomplished was humiliating a poor high-school girl. I wanted to tell her that if she’d intended to teach the girl something valuable, she had failed because whatever point she was trying to make was lost among the heaping pile of rudeness she’d just dumped on that poor girl.

Instead, I startled an older gentleman who walked just ahead of me when I hit the unlock button on my key fob and the tail lights on my car lit up just as he walked behind it. He jumped about three feet back and I called out to him, “I’m sorry! That was just me unlocking my car!”

I felt bad for scaring him and relieved he hadn’t had a heart attack because of my actions. But the gentleman just smiled at me and said, “I thought the car was going to back up, but I didn’t see anyone in the driver’s seat!”

We both laughed. I got in my car and he continued on to his. As I was backing out, he was heading back toward me, on his way to the store again. He waved and smiled at me and I smiled back at him. I think he was there to remind me that there are still good and kind (and patient) people in this world.

Unfortunately, I am not one of those people and I hit the gas pedal, roaring off to see if I could catch up to and run over the curly red-headed chick and teach her a lesson once and for all by leaving my tire tracks across her neck.

Not really. But it felt good to imagine it just for a second.

Oh, and in case you were wondering … the scalloped potatoes were fabulous!

Today, my boss sent me an e-mail asking about the time off, What was this for again?

I resisted the urge to respond that I felt entitled to some time off because I had just rolled over the maximum allowable of  80 hours from last year and had also just cashed out 37 1/4 hours that could not be rolled over. Clearly I did not take enough time off last year. I explained instead that I had intended to take a couple of days off from work to spend some time with my daughter while she was home on winter break. She is returning to school next weekend and I am running out of time. I asked if he needed me in the office. He said that he did not need me to cancel my vacation days but that staffing levels would be low both days and he’d appreciate if I just kept my cell phone on me, just in case.

I told him, Thanks. You are the BEST boss ever.

He replied, Don’t tell anyone. I am actually pretty mean.

He’s not really. He would just like us to believe that about him, but he’s just too darn likable. (And yes, I know that word looks like lickable but that is in fact the appropriate spelling. Get your minds out of the gutter.)

Google Images

During lunch break with my favorite group of coworkers, I was humorously complaining about the need to explain to my boss why I needed time off. I mean really! What if I had a gynecologist appointment? Does he really want to know about that? I don’t think so! I mentioned a concept I had been hearing about on the radio one morning this week; the concept of the 21-hour work week. According to The Case for a 21-hour Work Week, a 21-hour work week will “ redistribute paid work, offering the hope of a more equal society (right now too many are overworked, or underemployed). At the same time, it would give us all time for the things we value but rarely have time to do well such as care for our family, travel, read or continue learning (as opposed to feeding consumerism).”

My coworkers were all in favor. No need to convince us!

And while we were on the subject of dedicating more time to living quality lives instead of working to live and living to work, I pondered why we couldn’t just all take the month of July off, like the Europeans do. I mean all of us Americans, not just my favorite coworkers and me. It could just be that I’m currently reading Under the Tuscan Sun and now feel the need to buy myself an abandoned villa in Italy and spend my summer months restoring it while discovering the history and enchantment of a foreign country … not that this is a likely possibility no matter how much or how little I work … but I suddenly feel strongly that we work too much in this country!

Lori strongly agreed with me. Every time I’ve met a European while on a vacation, she said, adding a very la-dee-da tone to her voice, they tell me they’re on holiday for two months! 

Yeah, the rest of us nodded. Holiday! 

Why can’t we have a summer holiday, someone asked?

Because, Lori said, indignant now. We’re all just pawns in the cesspool of corporate America!

That is a great quote, isn’t it? I wondered who said it? Turns out it was a Lori original. Sadly, we all had to concur with her. With little hope of cutting our work weeks in half, we returned to the salt mines to finish out the day.

But I’ll tell you this much. At the end of this year, I am not rolling over two weeks worth of unused vacation time.

Okay, actually, I might. But I’m not cashing out an additional week’s worth of time off. Life is too short. I need to enjoy more of it outside of the office.

I know. I shouldn’t complain. It was above fifty degrees earlier this week, on Tuesday. We’ve hardly had any snow yet. Last year at this time we were sitting under about eight feet of snow. (I may be exaggerating slightly, but we had at least two blizzards by December last winter.)

It’s good timing for winter to show up though. There’s a big event around here this weekend, drawing lots of attention. It involves brave people wearing ice skates and helmets and hurtling themselves down a frozen ice track. Somehow I don’t think that protective equipment is going to keep it from hurting when one falls!

Headed downhill

Pretty sure this isn't going to end well!

The track starts at the Cathedral where racers can offer up a quick prayer before taking their lives in their hands.

Kacey and Connor went yesterday and just returned from watching today’s events. They plan to go back again tomorrow. I knew nothing about this extreme sport of Ice Cross Downhill until just a few days ago. I guess this is the latest in cold weather entertainment. What will they think of next?

]]> http://intomystic.wordpress.com/2012/01/13/crazy-much/feed/ 24 territerri Red Bull Crashed Ice.jpg Red Bull Crashed Ice Saint Paul Red Bull Crashed Ice Saint Paul Red Bull Crashed Ice Saint Paul http://intomystic.wordpress.com/2012/01/12/lessons-learned/ http://intomystic.wordpress.com/2012/01/12/lessons-learned/#comments Fri, 13 Jan 2012 03:34:06 +0000 territerri http://intomystic.wordpress.com/?p=4462 ]]> I was impressed with the way Lucy restrained herself upon my arrival home from work today, especially considering there was no one else home at the time. I let her out of her kennel and she looked as if she might wiggle right out of her skin, but she did not jump. She just loves everyone so much that most of the time she can’t help herself and before you know it, those paws are reaching for your shoulders. Today I didn’t have to issue the standard warning of “Down!“

She’s also got a habit of wanting to take your hand in her mouth by way of greeting. She doesn’t bite, and she’s not rough about it. She just likes to gently hold your hand in her mouth. I don’t mind it so much, but I’m afraid she’ll forget her manners sometime and accidentally break skin. So we’re also working on putting a stop to that habit. But today, I didn’t have to say anything. She was wiggling up a storm, but she seemed to be on her best behavior.

“Maybe she’s growing out of her puppy ways,” I thought.

I went to sit in a living room chair and she nestled herself between my knees and against the chair. I leaned down to hug her from above, wrapping my arms around her warm furry chest and nuzzling her neck. She grasped my arms with her paws, pulling herself into an upright sitting position against me and the chair. She’s such an affectionate dog and such a goof. But I love coming home to this doggy-love. It’s as if every single day, she is surprised and elated to see that I’ve returned home after my long hours away. Every day, I am treated to this energetic, frantic welcome home party. If she could speak, I imagine she’d be shouting from the top of the stairs, “It’s the most wonderful person in the world and she’s come back to me! Sound the trumpets!”

And then she charges down the stairs to nearly topple me with her affection.

She couldn’t seem to get enough of my attention today, but she continued to exercise an impressive amount of restraint. I was so proud of her!

I was home for just over an hour before I had to leave for a hair appointment. I sent a text message to Kacey to see if she planned to be home again soon. If so, I knew I could leave Lucy out of her kennel for the short while until she’d be supervised again.

When Kacey replied, she said that she was planning to come home shortly.

“Good,” I said. “I’m leaving in a few minutes, but Lucy would like some company.”

“I’m mad at Lucy,” came Kacey’s reply.

Uh-oh.

“Why,” I asked?

“Because …”

“… she ate my shoe.”

Kacey went on to explain that “Dad yelled at her and she wouldn’t even look at him afterwards.”

I surmised the shoe feast took place sometime after I left for work and sometime before anyone else got out of bed this morning. Later, I put on my most furrowed-brow face and stern voice, asking Lucy, “Did you eat a shoe? Huh? Huh? Looo-cy? What did you do? Did you eat Kacey’s shoe?”

She pretended not to know what I was talking about and refused to make eye-contact.

Well, I guess the good behavior was guilt-induced. And I’m guessing Kacey won’t be forgetting to put her shoes in the closet anymore. Lessons learned all around tonight!