Random Confessions, Part 1

Sometimes, as I’m driving down the street, I try to think of someone who I think deserves a nice little box of See’s candies. And then I drove to See’s and buy them a nice little box of candies. And get myself a free sample. Which might be what prompted me to want to get someone a nice little box of candies in the first place. Don’t judge. Those double caramels are crazy good. And all the people I take the boxes to really do deserve chocolate.

I listen to country music all the time. I like that the songs tell stories. They’re mostly stories about girls in ripped jeans drinking out of plastic cups in the back of trucks with KC lights (whatever those are) and the boys who like watching girls in ripped jeans drinking out of plastic cups in the backs of their trucks. But I like the simplicity of the songs. There’s rarely any serious angst going on in country songs.

I drink too much diet soda. To make myself feel better (rather than just drinking less diet soda) I tell myself that this is not so terrible a bad habit--I’m not gambling or doing drugs or binge-eating cartons of ice-cream. It’s rationalization. I know. But it works for me.

I want to get a tattoo. Just one. I don’t really know why. And I probably will never actually get one. But I kind of want one.

I have a crush on Chuck Todd. If it’s Sunday, it’s Meet the Press at my house.

There are certain words that I love (twinkle, stars, splash) and certain words I don’t like (sparkly, synergy, plop). I love the phrase “inky darkness”, but do not like the word inky all by itself.  I don’t know why words have this power for me. But they do. It’s like they have personalities.

Sometimes I think I’m losing my mind. Literally. I feel like I forget more than I remember and occasionally words come out not exactly in the order I planned. I’m hoping it is just menopause. Which is endlessly amusing to me--who hopes they’re starting menopause?

I wish I had a hobby that I could spend days at a time working at and having fun.

I want to speak a language fluently. I want to speak it fluently in a country where it is spoken with people who are native speakers.

Sometimes when I go into smaller stores, if there’s no one else in the store, I feel like I have to buy something before I leave because I feel rude if I walk out without making a purchase. This accounts for many, many pastry and candy purchases and also quite a few diet sodas.

A Rant Regarding Driving Safety (or lack thereof)

Ok, people, this is getting ridiculous.

When you get in your car, as the driver, you are behind the wheel of a vehicle, yes, but also a weapon. Thousands of pounds of force, aimed wherever you want to make it go. Or wherever you make it go.

And there’s can be a decidedly deadly difference between the two if you’re not paying attention.

And why are you not paying attention, by the way? You are driving a car. That’s your one job when you’re the driver. It’s your responsibility to maneuver that thing safely. You cannot do that if you are busy texting or checking your Twitter feed or sending an email or reading an email or taking a selfie or doing anything at all on your cell phone.

If your eyes are on your phone, they are not on the road. Period. No excuses. No ifs, ands or buts. You are either watching the road or you are not watching the road.

Here’s a sampling of what I’ve seen in the last week as I have started actively watching what is going on in other cars (I did these observations as a passenger and as a runner, so I am not spying on others at the expense of watching the road, just FYI):

•a man who was in the left-turn only lane, not seemingly paying any attention to the oncoming traffic because he was texting; I actually stopped my run to see how long he stayed in that lane, letting his left-turn opportunities pass by one after another; he stayed there through at least five left-turn opportunities. He was darn lucky there was no one waiting behind him. I finally just kept running. Now, yes, kudos to him for not texting while he was moving, but then again texting while you are in a dedicated left turn lane and are supposed to actually take that left turn when the opportunity arises is not exactly exemplary behavior. He was literally texting in the middle of the road, with cars zooming by him on either side.

•a woman full-on texting as she drove 45 mph (45 MILES PER HOUR!) down a busy four-lane street. She wasn’t even trying to hide it. Her head was going up and down so much she was going to give herself whiplash.

•a woman directly in front of me at a stoplight so absorbed in whatever was on her phone screen that she completely missed the light. I did honk (I don’t like to honk generally), but the light changed, and there we sat.

•as I was on a run I saw this: there was a line of cars stopped at the red light. The woman in the front car had her head down, obviously doing something on her cell. The light changed. Still texting. The two lanes next to her go. She still sat there, head down, not moving. The car behind her honked. Twice. She didn’t notice. I was running right next to her at that point, so I stopped and waved my arms to get her attention. I startled her and she looked at me questioningly until she saw me pointing to the light. She mouthed “thank you” and started driving. You’re welcome.

Also, if I might, I would like to remind some of you out there that there are, in fact, actual driving rules. Laws, one might call them. You should know them. You should obey them. They are there for a reason.

Here’s one, just as a reminder: when you are taking a right on red, you DO NOT have the right of way over the pedestrian who is crossing the street with that flashing, beeping WALK sign that you are not paying any attention to because you are running late and are too impatient to be bothered with looking left and then right and then left again before you turn.

Just for ducks, let’s say that pedestrian trying to cross the street legally is me, because frankly I’m starting to take the number of times I have almost been hit by a car personally. Theoretically, I would press the “cross” button, wait for the “WALK” sign, and then proceed. And then I would die if I stepped into the street. Because almost no one looks for pedestrians when they’re turning right on red. I don’t know what they think the giant painted white lines are for, but clearly they are not going to provide a protected space in which to walk (as they are intended) if drivers just plow through them as they try to beat that car coming down the street. Yes, driver, that’s a great idea--you, who are at a dead stop, should TOTALLY gun it through the light and try to beat that car coming toward you at 50 mph. I’m sure you have a terrific air bag system. That’ll help you. Maybe. But it won’t help me. Because I’m guessing you don’t have airbags under your car, which is where I’ll be.

Lessons Learned

This morning I completed the last run of my marathon training.

I decided to run the three miles sans music so that I could contemplate what I have learned over the course of the last three months Here is a round-up of the thoughts and conclusions that went through my brain in the thirty-three minutes and fifty-seven seconds that it took me do the run.

It’s okay to ask for help. I tell my kids that all the time, but I realized as I thought about it that I resist offers of help and asking for help more often than not. I don’t know why I do that. At least that’s what I told myself as I was running, but then I decided that’s probably not really true, and I had two and a half more miles to go, so why not try to figure out why I do that. So I thought about it some more and came to the conclusion that part of it is I like to accomplish things by myself if I can--it makes me feel like I have a little more control over the results and (this was more the epiphany) if I fail it’s all mine and no one else has to feel badly about it. I don’t want to slow others down--in this case both literally and figuratively. Note to myself: if someone is offering help, they are doing so with full knowledge of what that means for them, so accept help more graciously.

Okay, one lesson learned and still miles to go. What else had I figured out?

While training for this marathon, I did a lot of the long runs alone due to scheduling conflicts with my running mates. Now let me be clear--I actually do enjoy running alone. I’m not great at talking and running at the same time. It exhausts me. And I like to listen to music while I run, and if you run with people it seems kind of rude to just tune them out. But since I was trying to assess what I’d learned, I thought that perhaps there might be a bit more to my proclivity for solo running so I gave myself a mile to figure it out.

It didn’t take the whole mile. It all circled back to my previous epiphany regarding not slowing other people down, more specifically me not wanting to feel responsible for derailing my friends’ long runs with my potentially bad run. To be fair to myself, I also do actually really and truly enjoy running by myself, so it’s not completely about my fear that I’ll devastate a friend’s training momentum. But it’s there.

Note to myself: learn to run (and work in general) with others more readily, and also don’t assume that failure would automatically be my fault. Also, reassess my definition of failure. Just because a long run goes slower than expected does not mean you didn’t get the long run done!

This was getting kind of fun, analyzing myself. I wasn’t even two miles in and felt like I might have a bright future in psychiatry if this whole running thing didn’t pan out.

The remainder of Mile Two was spent contemplating the joyful recognition that I might just be the luckiest girl in the world. This is not really news to me. But it’s a lovely way to pass a mile--thinking about how much unconditional emotional support I get from my husband, my kids, my parents, my brothers and my friends. Not once did anyone (except me) express any doubt that I could, at the end of all this, run 26.2 miles. That’s the most amazing thing, and I am beyond grateful for that. Dave, especially, was a constant source of encouragement and confidence. When I did my eighteen mile run (by myself), he was standing outside our house clapping and cheering me in as I came down the block at the end. That’s what doing this training felt like all the way through--like I had my own personal cheering squad reminding me how strong I was.

Mile three had me thinking about the fact that I guess I am simultaneously a commitment-phobic as well as a goal-driven person. It’s an odd combination. I can stare at the online registration form for a half-marathon for a solid ten minutes. I have filled out entire forms, including credit card payment information, only to then press “command quit” and erase it all. I have done this multiple times with the same registration. And I do this on a fairly regular basis, not just for runs. It takes some serious soul searching for me to press the actual or metaphorical “send” button on almost anything--airline tickets, forms for volunteer activities, invitations to social engagements--almost anything. However, once I do press the button, there’s an end-goal and I am all in for the duration.

As Dave has pointed out to me numerous times, I am happiest when I am working towards something concrete. In absence of that, I end up without a routine, without a direction,  without consistency, and this is especially true with my running. All that training that I have built up so many times usually ends up disappearing and I have to start all over building up my endurance with each new event. I have run sixteen half-marathons, and I think after most of them I have said the words, “This time I’m going to continue running so that all this progress doesn’t disappear.” And after probably thirteen of those I have not followed through and all that progress went up in smoke and I had to start from scratch with my training. Note to self: apparently I need to set a new goal BEFORE I have completed the previous goal--something to keep me moving forward.

Mile three came to an end. Training completed! What was the takeaway, overall?

Say “yes” more readily when opportunity comes along, accept help more readily when it is offered, think about the possibility that I could contribute to someone’s success instead of automatically assuming that I might drag them down, try to always have a goal (or two or three) that I’m working toward, and appreciate that I am surrounded by people who want to see me succeed.

I haven’t even run the marathon and already I feel like I won!

Face-Timing with Olivia

It started out with an early morning text from Olivia. She wanted to know if we were up, if we would facetime with her. This was at 7am.

A facetime request that early in the morning definitely makes your hackles go up (as my mother would say). I wondered if anything was wrong. Why does my mind immediately go in that direction? Why not think she has amazing news to share?

We called and connected. She looked fine. She sounded good. And then she told us that at crew practice that morning, in the middle of the harbor, the coach asked her to stand up from her position midway down the boat, straddle and walk over the girls to the front seat (trading seats with the former occupant), called the Stroke Seat. This is a seat of distinction in a crew boat. It’s where you put the oarsman who can follow the cockswain’s game plan and it’s the front seat in the boat, the seat that the seven other rowers look to for stroke rate.

Olivia tells a good story. She was laughing as she described trying to climb to the front of the boat without ending up in the water. And she still had a big smile on her face when she told us that once she sat down she asked her coach to confirm that this move was just for this practice, and not for the big regatta coming up that weekend.

And it was both heartbreaking and heartwarming to watch her smile disintegrate into sobbing tears as she told us her coach’s reply: they were moving her to Stroke Seat for the regatta.

That’s my daughter, that particular moment. She has embraced her boat, her coaches, her girls, those daily 4:30am workouts, with unrivaled enthusiasm. She has called to tell us how great it felt to do hill repeats until she thought she was going to throw up. She has told us about rowing eight minute time trials on the ERG machines with the girl in front of her literally throwing up between strokes--apparently that’s a badge of honor, something to strive for! She has worked so hard at crew--a sport she had never seen or participated in before arriving at Chapman. I have honestly never seen her so excited about anything in her life as she has been about being on the crew team. And this is not a girl who hides her emotions.

Back to that particular moment. She was simultaneously overwhelmed at the confidence her coaches were acknowledging in her, and scared to death that she might disappoint the girls. What a wonderful reaction. I think it says so much about who Olivia is. She is a hard worker and a team player. She appreciates the team aspect of crew--there are no standouts in a crew boat, no spotlight players who get all the glory. Everyone in the boat has to work together equally or the boat doesn’t go forward in a straight line.

I know she will not disappoint her team, her coaches, or herself. She will do what she always does--work harder than she thought possible, push herself past her own perceived limits, and do it all with that giant, beautiful smile that comes when she knows she’s where she should be.

The Coffee Table

I am sitting on the couch in our family room. In front of me is our coffee table. It has a top (obviously) and one shelf underneath it. The thing about it that's intriguing me right now is what is currently on top of and what is on the bottom shelf of the table. I think the contents actually tell quite a bit about our family.

It is definitely not a decorative coffee table (which is not to say it isn't good looking--it is--but it's not just a puff piece of furniture which serves no function). It is absolutely functional.

I'll start on top (which almost always needs a nice spray of Windex): Bananagrams and Uno and two empty coffee mugs. That's it. And a lot of fingerprints.

Last night there were five of us playing what we like to call "No Apologies Uno" at this table. Two parents, two siblings, one girlfriend all playing for the win. When you slap down the "Draw Four" card, you can't say you're sorry. You just have to slap it down with purpose and attitude with no regrets. If Steven has called out "card alert!", that means some player is down to fewer than five cards, which means if you're sitting next to that player and you have a "reverse" or a "skip" card then you should not be afraid to play it, and you should be prepared to accompany your power play with a nice stare down or a sinister laugh. Uno brings out sides of us that you might not otherwise know exist.

Following three games of family Uno, Steven and I played a game of Bananagrams. Allison, Steven's girlfriend, had never played before so she watched and helped him out. It was a VERY close game--down to one tile. I won't even tell you who won because it didn't matter. It was just a fun, good-natured ten minutes.

The bottom shelf is quite a bit more cluttered than the top of the table. There are three piles of stuff, so I'll go pile-by-pile.

Pile #1: several Zits books (the comic strip compilation), a Far Side book, an Exploratorium visual book, a Runner's World magazine, A Bon Appetite magazine, a couple of Time magazines, A National Geographic, a book (The Light We Cannot See), and a small ceramic bowl that Olivia made in art class in high school that is currently filled with a game that she made for me and Dave last Christmas.

Pile #2: the Uno box, the Xfinity channel list brochure, the game Utter Nonsense, two books that I have on my reading list (Mary Coin and After You), and the dictionary that I received at my high school graduation.

Pile #3: A VERY large National Geographic world atlas, the game Double Shutter, a couple more Time magazines, and the book Fates and Furies, which I got for Christmas.

If I were a sociologist, what would I make of our family based on what's on our coffee table?

Since I actually know what all this stuff actually represents to us, it's hard for me to approach it with an unbiased eye. So instead I'll just tell you what it all means to me:

There are games on the table because we have played games together since the kids were born. We have, over two decades, gone from Candy Land to Pretty, Pretty Princess to Monopoly to Risk to Settlers of Catan, with dozens more games in between. Our current favorites are, as indicated by their position on top of the table, Bananagrams and Uno. We are not especially competitive with each other in general, but there definitely are certain games that bring out our snarky side. "Utter Nonsense" is a game where you pick a card from the "Accent" pile, and then pick a card with a ridiculous phrase to say using that accent. You can see how this could wind up mildly (or grossly) offensive. If you're the sensitive sort, you should probably sit out games at our house.

I'm a bit of a news junkie. The piles of magazines are mostly mine, although Dave reads the Time and the National Geographic as well. I run. I lay claim to the Runner's World. As well as the Bon Appetite. I'm not a gourmet cook by any stretch. Mostly I love reading the articles about food in places I have been or would like to go, as well as the column by Andrew Knowlton. He talks about his cooking and his family in a very relatable way. Occasionally I will clip out recipes (and by clip out, I mean tear out entire pages), and then if I don't throw the pages away by mistake, there's a chance I may at some point try to cook the recipe. It NEVER looks like it does in the picture.

The Xfinity channel guide is there because we just switched to it and we don't know the channel numbers yet. We watch a fair amount of TV. Olivia can practically quote you all nine seasons of "How I Met Your Mother."

The Zits books and the Far Side technically belong to Steven, although we have all enjoyed them over the years. Zits perfectly captures the high school teenage boy, or maybe it just perfectly captured our particular high school teenage boy. Far Side perfectly captures our family's sense of humor, which tends to be on the side of the sarcastically absurd.

The dictionary, as I mentioned earlier, is mine. It's on the coffee table because if I'm reading or watching television and a I come across a word I do not know, I like to look it up. It's not that I have to look it up. I enjoy looking it up. I like learning new words. I think it's probably more general--I like learning. Period. But looking up words is fun to me.  The kids all look up words on their phones or computers. I like the feel of turning the pages in the dictionary. I like to see how quickly I can find the word. I like the delicate nature of dictionary paper. Call me crazy. It also comes in handy to check words during Bananagrams.

The books, currently, are all mine. I love to read. Love historical fiction. Love a story well told. I usually have two books going at a time.

The giant Atlas is there because we look up geographic stuff all the time. Mostly while we're watching the news. It's interesting to see where cities are, and where borders are, and how far places are from one another. We usually look something up to try to answer some question we have in reference to a story we have seen, but then end up having a long conversation about why the story was on in the first place--what made it happen, what will happen next, who will it affect... The atlas is a great conversation starter. And both Steven and I love maps. Of everything. Countries. Cities. College campuses. The metro. BART. Maps are fun. The atlas is Steven's--a Christmas present from me and Dave a few years ago.

That's our coffee table.  It reflects, in my opinion, our family and what we hold dear, what we want close at hand. It reflects people who like to think, like to talk about what they think, and like to laugh with one another (or sometimes at one another).
The top is usually slightly cluttered and could use some cleaning. The piles underneath are almost never neatly stacked. But it creates an atmosphere that, to me, is very much like our family: warm and comfortable.

Twas the Year of the Donald...

Twas two months before Iowa and all through the states
The focus of attention was the many "Donald-gates"

The candidates were stumping the best that they could
In hopes that the Donald would soon come unglued.

The pundits were stymied by their prior predictions
That Trump would not last, that his surge was mere fiction

And CNN in its frenzy and FOX in its haste
Did a mockery sure make of the GOP debates

When the candidates did clamor to say what was the matter
Trump continued to best them with his ridiculous clatter

Too many to count, they all tried to be heard
They tried and they tried but could not get in a word

The reporters on the beat of the long campaign trail
Gave interview after interview to Trump without fail

When what to my horrified eyes did appear
Yet another heinous quote inciting hatred and fear

From this man who's "amazing" (at least that's what he says)
And "the greatest", the "richest" and of course he's "the best"

More rabid than Old Yeller his supporters they flock
As he continues his tirades of bluster and shock

Deny change in climate and encourage more guns
Ignore the Constitution and ban all Muslims
Keep the Mexicans out with the biggest of walls
Close "that internet" down to cause ISIS to fall

With no mind for the law and no thought to the past
He taps into a base with ideas half-assed

To another debate the candidates did scurry
The soundbites were flying in a tizzy and flurry

And then in a rare moment of courage and candor
Jeb! finally decided to no longer pander

As I turned up the volume and was focusing in
Jeb! changed his tactics, determined to win

He was ready to pounce and had nothing to lose
He stood up to the Donald (unlike Ted Cruz)

He called him a candidate of chaos, unhinged
With disgust and sincerity Jeb's words they were tinged

Trump responded like usual, put his insults to work
He huffed and he puffed and he acted the jerk

Spewing his nonsense, no policies he has
How can he be more than a mere passing fad?

The race has been altered forever, it's so
The level of discourse now shockingly low

He rises in polls with his reckless abandon
He's come so much farther than I had imagined

I dream that one day he will lose his big lead
And then with his triumph no more guaranteed

He'll quickly back out and will fade out of sight
While those with integrity will fight the good fight

I can hear him exclaim as he goes absentee
"I'll never support anyone other than me!"