My Twelve Things About Christmas

1. Having a sweet, furry animal snuggle with me and give me kisses when I least expect it is like having Christmas every day.

2. Having my sweet husband make a fabulous dinner, snuggle with me, give me kisses and share a bottle of wine with me is like having my birthday every day. (Sorry, Jesus.)

2. The less we buy for Christmas gifts, the more precious the day is itself. 

3. There's nothing more perfect than taking a walk on Christmas day and then watching it snow once we come inside.

4. Calories eaten on Christmas Day are like little presents we buy ourselves on credit. They are delightful and totally worth it, even if we pay for them later.

5. Homemade fudge doesn't work with 1% milk. 

6. Be careful what traditions you start. I once had to quit a job because I was spending too much money on a candy dish and filling it up with chocolate. (Just kidding, sort of).

7. Beethoven's 9th Symphony is still amazing today even though it was written nearly two hundred years ago. What will we give each other that could ever last that long? 

8. There's some Christmas songs like White Christmas that I never get tired of hearing and can listen to back to back sung by different artists (Frank Sinatra, Johnny Mathis, etc.)

9. If I went wassailing today in our neighborhood I might get arrested for disturbing the peace, which says more about my voice than the neighbors. 

10. Buying fewer presents means the less likely you will be to stand in line to return something after Christmas. 

11. The less you shop, the less you have to walk past the Salvation Army bell ringing. 

12. With winter solstice already behind us, daylight will start to get longer again. Hallelujah. 

Merry Christmas!!

Five Things I Didn't Know About....Turning 50

Even though I am not even halfway through my fifties, it seems that I still learn new things about my fifth decade of life. Here are some of those things:  

I'm falling behind with technology
When we were kids, we were the ones who programmed the remote and figured out how to get the dishwasher to run WITH water. Our parents were happy to let us figure these things out and hand them the programmed remote or even wash the dishes by hand. Now it's me who is feeling left behind. This new Windows 8 user interface is making me feel old. But, I am not letting technology pass me by just yet. At least I know where to go to find answers. (Hint - it's not my neighbor's teenage daughter, either.)

It hurts getting up
Sometimes when I am sitting on the couch for a long time watching a movie, it hurts when I get up. Everywhere. I remember my dad, my aunts and uncles complaining when they got up after a long night of visiting. My dad would hold his back, my aunt her knees and my uncle his hips. At the time I thought that I would never let myself get that way. Good luck stopping age or time. 

Our generation is still running the show
When I was in my thirties, my colleagues were all baby boomers. We were young, fresh and full of good ideas. Funny thing is, we are still running the show. Maybe we aren't so young any more and certainly not as fresh, but most of my colleagues in their fifties are the only ones still desperately trying to get our younger colleagues on the right track. Alas, our public education has failed miserably. 

I don't like loud music any more
Did I ever like loud music? See, my memory is going, too. I often prefer quiet over music. I turn down the music on my computer until it is so faint that I decide it is better just turning it off. I still listen to music when I work out, but other times, I would rather just listen to silence and hear my own thoughts. 

I think more and more about moving to a warmer climate
I lived in California for seven years but got tired of everything else I had to put up for that warmer climate. Crime, smog, crowds, traffic, brown earth and expensive housing are a few trade-offs. I haven't quite gotten to turning up the heat in the house to 80, but it's not like the thought hasn't crossed my mind. Our winter in Minnesota last year was brutal and the summer rather cool and far too short. I can actually understand how people would want to spend Christmas or New Year's somewhere snow doesn't fly. Perhaps next year. For now, I'll just turn up my electric blanket, add a fuzzy pair of sock to wear to bed and slip underneath my mound of blankets to keep warm. 

And I will  pray that I might actually sleep tonight...but that would make this six things about turning fifty. 

Four Things I Did Not Know...about dogs

We have had a dog now for seventeen months. It is hard to reflect back to the first few days and weeks to remember the many things that I did not know about dogs until Sophie came into our lives. In fact, there are still things that I learn about dogs and Sophie specifically every day. Here are just a few of those things. 

Dogs have personalities

Some say that dogs don't have personalities, that it is primarily the nature of the animal (dog) and secondarily the nature of the breed (Catahoula Leopard Dog) that determines how characteristics that could be categorized as personality come about. The fact that Sophie is a "people-person" dog, could be explained by breed. But it doesn't explain why she likes to be chased when playing with other dogs or will "arm" wrestle my feet when I wear fuzzy socks. It also doesn't explain why Sophie is dreadfully afraid of all things plastic: bags, plastic wrap, plastic backing for smoked  salmon. Bring one of these things close to her and she will run to the other room, even if it still has yummy salmon pieces left on it. 

When I play with Sophie with her stuffed toys and make the toy have mannerisms of another living creature, like cocking its head, walking or making it raise its eyebrows, Sophie will respond in kind and watch the toy, turning her head and raising her eyebrows. If it is convincing enough, she will give the toy her butt to sniff, which is universal for dog greeting, much like our shaking hands with strangers is to greet them.

Dogs want to please

Okay, of course I knew that dogs would do things for rewards, especially for food treats. I didn't quite realize how much even a stern voice or an expression of displeasure would cause Sophie to give me a spontaneous kiss with her snout to make it all better. Or if I grimaced at her, her eyebrows would go up and she might even whine sorrowfully. If she can guess at the source of displeasure, she might back up a step out of the kitchen where she is not supposed to be. If I say "ouch" when she bites me accidentally instead of the toy I am playing tug of war with, she will drop the toy and let me have it for a bit. Or, if it was a loud "ouch," she will kiss me with her snout and wait to see if it is okay to resume our play.

Don't judge a puppy like a dog

All bets are off when it comes to puppies. This applies to dogs at least under 12 months. This is the time when Sophie's attention was like the dog in the movie Up with the sight of "Squirrel." Her body goes where her attention goes, so having a tight grip on the leash was necessary. Her world view was whatever was twelve inches in front of her snout. She would jump or chase after leaves blowing across the lawn. Everything went into her mouth for her to "see" what it was - which is one of the first behaviors that must be changed to keep your dog alive. But, don't give up training during this time. Everything you do to train your puppy matters, over time. It just might not be evident quite as quickly as you would like. 

Dogs are people, too

To have emotions seems to be uniquely human. Or is it, I wonder. At bed time, David will tell Sophie it is time to go to bed. Sophie will go to her bed and then wait for David to come over so that he can tuck her in. Once settled, David will cover her with her blanket (yes, she is a spoiled little girl). When we snuggle with her to kiss her goodnight, she sighs with pleasure. Sure, this could be our own emotions that I am mistaking for hers, but her little breath changes when we cuddle with her. It is much like the breath I let out when I bite into a good bar of chocolate, David's homemade baguettes or when I sink into a hot, sudsy bath. When we laugh, giggle and play around, Sophie gets it and responds, wanting to be a part of it. She will give us so many kisses that, well how could you not mistake her for being a person, too?

Hibernating

Temperatures have been so cold so fast this year that I think I have already gone into my mid-January hibernation mode. This starts to happen when it’s cold and dark outside when I get up to go to work and cold and dark by the time I get home. I just don’t want to do anything other than go to work, come home and change into my jammies so I can hide under a blanket to stay warm.

Those little errands that I would gladly do while it is warm and light outside get put aside until the weekend. Then even when the weekend arrives I still don’t feel like venturing very far. Things that I thought were important are things I find I can easily do without. Most shopping can be done on-line. Sophie our 19 month old dog even likes to snuggle more, curling up with us on the couch after dinner until it is time to go to bed.

I realize that I haven’t posted a blog since September and it isn’t because I haven’t wanted to or even that I haven’t spent some time thinking about it. It is mostly because, well – my brain is already hibernating – closed for the winter. The little bit of thinking I do is reserved for work, where more often than I would like it seems to be where my brain cells go to die.

David reminded me recently that sometimes when things go badly - or even just not as hoped, a concentrated effort to make a difference in one small little area of our world can be what turns the whole mess around - my words, not his. When we face a problem complicated by a series of things seemingly outside our control, it is easy to want to hibernate, to withdraw ourselves from the problem, separating "it" from ourselves. It then becomes "not our problem," as well as it being "not in our control." As a result, we freeze our problems in place. We cause it and ourselves to hibernate.

A body at rest remains at rest. By challenging ourselves to find a single action that we can take that would improve the situation, we often are able to break the logjam. Yet, all too often we impoverish our lives by eliminating choices that are fully available to us, but are out of the "normal" range of choices we consider.

The single action that I can do right at this moment to improve my situation is to get out of my comfortable jammies, go to the gym and do a big work out. Once I am done, I will sit in the sauna for a couple minutes so that when I step outside and it is still only 19 degrees, the air will actually feel refreshing. All this so that when I fill my plate again tonight with more turkey, stuffing and gravy - I won't feel quite so guilty, but will once again feel thankful. On the other hand, perhaps what I really need to do before I do anything else is to take a nap with David and little Sophie between us resting her head on my arm. 

Say it Hot (Reflections on Breath)

When I bend down to snuggle with Sophie, I like to breathe in the smell of her. As I bury my nose in her fur, I hear her breathing change. It is the same breathy sound that I expel when I first sink into a hot bathtub.

When I was in college I didn't date very much, but one summer I did have a boyfriend. After dinner out one night we sat on the couch. I remember smelling his cologne. It smelled wonderful. I breathed in so deeply and so repeatedly that he finally made a comment. Maybe you shouldn't do that. It might make you sick, he said.

Sometimes my breath warns me of things. When I started getting short of breath when I exercised, I went in for tests. My doctor discovered my cholesterol levels were sky high. She called me on my cell phone while I was a mile high in Denver. I was visiting friends, trying to catch my breath by getting away for the weekend.

My breath will tell me when I am in pain, when I have sinusitis, have acid reflux or even have a respiratory infection. Most of the time, my breath tells me I am stressed out. I imagine someday it will tell me when my breaths are coming to an end.

I like watching my husband breathe when he sleeps. His chest rises and falls. Sophie's little head goes along for the ride. When I snuggle with my husband, I sometimes notice our breathing and match my breath to his so that our breath rises and falls at the same time.

I read a while back that breathing very slowly can increase my ability to resist temptation. When I breathe in very slowly over a large chocolate chip muffin, it does not ease my temptation.

I recently had a VO2 test at my gym to measure my maximum rate of oxygen consumption. The good news is that I am in excellent cardiovascular physical fitness. Unfortunately, it didn't tell me that I am not overweight. I am. It does tell me that I need to work out harder. I must "up" my pace and breathe harder to get my heart rate faster for the exercise to really matter.

I used to get stitches when I would run. Stitches is that stabbing pain in your side. I read that exhaling as my right foot strikes the ground causes this. I alternate my exhale and the stitches went away. The exhale on my right foot causes my liver to press against my diaphragm which creates spasms. I now try to be kind to my liver since I need it for other things that I may not be as kind to it with.

When Sophie was a puppy she used to get the hiccups all the time. When I was younger, I used to get the hiccups all the time. Hiccups start in the diaphragm. I would stand on my head, press my temple with a spoon or have someone scare me. It never got rid of my hiccups. When I get them, I now know to close my mouth. I hold my breath and count to 10. It never works. I eat a teaspoon of dry sugar. I enjoy the sugar even if it doesn't work. It always works.

Counting breaths is often how I start my meditation every day. 1:2 breaths, which is where gradually I make the length of my breath out twice as long as the breath in, relaxes me no matter where I am.

I like to breath the hot moist air of the sauna at the gym. It relaxes me. I hate smelling the eucalyptus oil that others like. They believe it treats respiratory ills and calms them. It makes me gasp and cough. I can't relax.

I dislike smelling cough drops or bad breath that isn't from me. The worst is when I am in the sauna and can smell it even from the other side. Sometimes I sit alone with someone's lingering breath long after they have left.

When I visit my friends in Denver now, my cholesterol is under control. We drive up into the mountains where the elevation still knocks the breath out of me. Sometimes, the view of the mountains does the same.

I hear that letting wine breathe mellows the taste and helps the aroma to bloom. I don't understand. The taste mellows in my mouth and the aroma blooms in my nose. I am what breathes the fragrance of wine through my nose.

I enjoy reading Thoreau. He tells us: "Live each season as it passes; breathe the air, drink the drink, taste the fruit, and resign yourself to the influences of each." Henry David Thoreau. My kind of poet.

I didn't like the guy in college so much when he told me not to breathe in his cologne. Once I realized I liked his cologne more than I liked him, we broke up. I breathed a lot easier after that.

I have nothing left to say, at least about breath. I will save my breath.

"Be still when you have nothing to say; when genuine passion moves you, say what you've got to say and say it hot." D. H. Lawrence

Scent of a Dog

I have been thinking about scents lately. It's not that I want to think about them. I just can't seem to escape them.

The other night on our walk, Sophie, our Catahoula Leopard dog, was charging out of the driveway with her nose to the ground like a bloodhound. Who knows what she was smelling. The whole walk she seemed to be in pursuit of something invisible that was long since gone. Each season seems to bring a whole assortment of exciting new scents that gets her tail wagging and nose twitching.

Tonight at the gym I started doing a new stretch to ward off the pain from Piriformis Syndrome that I sometimes get. This stretch requires that I lie down on the bench face down with one leg hanging off the side. As I got into this position, my nose came "face to face" with the very strong scent of men's hair product left behind by a man who had been there sometime before me. The scent was so strong it could even have been hours that he had since left the gym and the scent still wouldn't have time to dissipate.

Later in my stretches I did a couple yoga poses on a mat while a woman stood on a wobble board next to me for strength and balance. The scent of her lotion was so strong I actually did leave to go do something else.

So, while I am trying to not smell things, Sophie is just a happy little girl wagging her tail following whatever invisible trail she "sees" with her nose.

The scents that do bother me seem to be everywhere. Earlier in the week I considered how I might correctly complain about a woman at work who seems to think that perfume in the office can somehow be pleasant for anyone else in the office other than herself. (If you are at all conflicted, let me break it to you. It is not.)

In the evening, when Sophie has finally wound down and has curled up next to me on the couch, I like to nuzzle my nose into the thick fur around her neck. Mmmm. She has that summer dog sort of smell. It's not as bad as wet dog, but it is still a bit fragrant. Ever since she got too big to wash in our laundry tub downstairs, we take her to get a shampoo and have her nails trimmed every few weeks, which is quite honestly something I never thought I would do for a dog, like ever. I rarely get my own nails done. But really, I mostly don't mind her smell and hardly notice. It's just Sophie.

While the scent that people put on themselves to make themselves smell better seems to repel me, Sophie's natural scent is far more pleasant and even soothing somehow. I'm certainly not advocating that people go natural in the scent arena, but a little discretion and moderation would be welcome.

I thought that perhaps in protest I would start wearing Sophie scent somehow. But then I realized that when I came home little Sophie might bark at me, not knowing who I was. If I did this at work, people might also get the notion to pet me or worse just want to send me outside. And, since I like how her tail wags when I come home and she tries to sniff out my scent among all of the other foreign scents on me from the day, I guess that is, well, it's nothing to sniff at.

The Tempest

David and I recently watched a documentary called Shakespeare Behind Bars. The documentary follows a group of men in prison for heinous crimes as they rehearse for a production of The Tempest, Shakespeare's last play. As they rehearse, learn their lines and ultimately decode the personal meaning of their particular roles from the play against the backdrop of their own lives, it seems that the one theme that everything comes down to is meaning in life.

I wanted to believe that the Shakespeare program had changed these men's lives. As I watched, the program did seem at least to change me. But, in reading the follow up on-line, I learned that so many of the inmates continued to have problems with the law. Some were sent back for more years when their parole hearing arrived. Some were released only to be incarcerated yet again. Only a few were released and seemed to live a happy life. How much had the program changed any of their lives no one but the inmates themselves would ever know. And, perhaps whom among any of us can ever really say? After all, do we know the measure of change following anything in life?

One man made a deep impression on me. He had lived a sad childhood and actually seemed like a nice enough guy. Yet, it was this man who had strangled a woman who reminded him of someone who had caused him great pain in his childhood. When I was a teenager, my relationship with my step-mother was quite stormy. Little did I know then that the stormy waves she rode were part of what is called bipolar disorder today. And what does it even matter? We are still accountable for our own actions. It took me many years after moving away to college to realize that I didn't have to tie my little raft to hers. She would surely drown us both. The life I live with my husband today is miraculously joyous, calm and soothing. What accounts for drama is having to go back to the grocery store for another baguette because we finished the one we had for breakfast.

The irony of the Shakespeare prison program was in the meaning that the one inmate was so desperate to find in his own life. The Tempest explores the ideas of guilt and innocence and the fine line between them. It also explores the cyclical nature of injustice, or justice as the case may be. One good turn, so they say.

The one inmate expected to live out his life in prison. He had not come to any true life meaning by the end of the documentary, just as surely as many of us will not come to one at the end of our lives. Yet, to the audience it seemed clear that he should have. And perhaps if he never does, then he will truly continue to live the Tempest's life imprisoned on his own island.

The difference between happiness and tragedy in life is both personal and delicate. Sometimes those who have suffered great tragedy find the greatest happiness. Other times it is those who should be the happiest that continue to suffer the most. Shakespeare seemed to know this. The final scene in The Tempest has Prospero calling for the audience to end his spell by their applause. And in this way the meaning to life seems clear. It is but ourselves that set us free, for we are gods.

Time is Precious

I now do time tracking at work. For those uninitiated to corporate life, this might sound complicated and ominous. It is and it isn't. At its simplest, time tracking means recording how employees spend their time, which is only slightly different from punching a clock. As an exempt employee I am not technically paid by the hour, but am instead paid to do a job. What that means is if the "job" requires more time, then I must work longer. Yet, it doesn't always seem to work in the reverse. There always seems to be more "work" that can be added to a "job." Since this tends to be more my own doing than the company's, I really have no complaint.

However, just as observing a thing changes it, time tracking has changed how I perceive my time spent at work. And, while you might think that this change in perception may be exactly what the company had intended, instead it is the reverse.

A bit of personal history. For a good part of my life I have kept a journal, which often gets reduced to a simple record of who, what, when and a little bit of the how life happens. The journal has been a tool for me to identify and set goals and to record my progress towards these goals. Of course, some goals seem to be repeated in every single journal since I first scrawled them onto loose leaf paper back in the fifth grade. But for the most part, tracking my goals has worked quite well for me.

I have done a similar effort to record my time spent at work for similar reasons. I do know the value of time tracking. It seems to at least focus my energies towards a goal rather than allow my energy to be scattered with no goal in mind.

Back to my company. They recently introduced time tracking across all departments. Originally, the tool was part of a package that we would use to identify projects, set the priority of projects and the resources needed for each project. Based on who was available and when would then determine how quickly any given project could start and when it would likely be completed.

But as with many lofty goals, this evidently seemed too hard. Instead, the company skipped the first part and went directly to time tracking. The folly of tracking time without setting priorities first is that in reverse the results of tracking time spent without priorities is rather meaningless. What people spend time on today based on no clear priorities does not determine what they should spend time on in the future. Nor does it identify any resource gaps - meaning it doesn't tell management where or even when they simply don't have enough people to do the job. Frustrated people tend to average around 40 hours a week regardless of the need to work more or the chaos they leave at the end of each day. When the mountain of work never diminishes, people resort to simply punching a virtual clock.

So, quickly coming to my long awaited point. I have found that by officially tracking my time at work, my time overall has become more precious to me. I realized that I was giving away more of my time than I had thought. And, to what end was the question that followed that cinched it for me. Basically, my time has become a far greater commodity to me. My price went up and supply became more scarce. Simple economics.

Of course, I still do my job. I work very hard and I will give of my time when I really need to. But...that internal monitor that tells me when I need to kick in a little bit more has now been calibrated. It is tuned a little tighter than it was before.

And, just saying...I don't believe that this was the result that my company had expected or even had intended; but sometimes you don't get what you want. You get what you need.

If Only I Used More Of My Brain

     While out in Denver, my friends and I went to see the movie Lucy. Don't worry, I won't give you any spoilers. The big question my friends and I discussed after the movie was, "What would it be like if we used a larger percentage of our brains?"

     I continued to think about this thought once I got back home. While there are certainly theories about the potential for human psychokinesis and telepathy, I find the more down to earth possibilities more intriguing. As I was thinking about this question I was driving down one of our neighborhood roads that is often a speed trap. I was going just a bit over the speed limit, so slowed down just in case.

     Another thought occurred to me. What if I had been pulled over for speeding just then - wouldn't it be ironical?
     I pondered what I would say. Here is what I imagined:

     "Hi, officer. I should explain," I would speak before he could say a word.
     "Drivers license and registration, please," he says as if not hearing me.
     "See, officer, as I was driving just now, I was thinking about what would happen if I were suddenly able to use more of my brain. You know, like in the movie Lucy."
     He would peer down at me over his sunglasses and hold his hand out, waiting.
     I would then have to hand him my drivers license and registration.
     He examines them, so I continue.
     "By focusing my attention and concentrating more fully on what I was experiencing, the executive function of my brain would have come into play and provided a “top-down” control—putting a brake on my alpha waves, thus allowing me to see things that I might have missed in a more relaxed state."
     He would look up at me for a split second as if I were crazy.
     "Then, using more of my brain functions, I would have processed the fact that I was speeding and that the police station is just at the other end of this road. Within microseconds of me starting to speed, my brain would have sent lightening speed messages to my foot to ease up just a little and maybe even press on the break since this road is downhill and it is hard to go slow."
     "Wait here," he would say and turn sharply to head back to his police car.
     "That is....if I were able to use more of my brain...Officer."
     I would watch as he walks back to his car, gets in and does God only knows what to make sure I am not a felon, loose from a mental facility or have a list of other speeding offenses that I unsuccessfully couldn't talk my way out of.
     Finally he would open his door, get out and walk back to my car.
     I would then look up at him pleadingly. "And... if I could use more of my brain, I might have thought better of telling you this story and instead would have come up with something like really more persuasive and all."
     Then, he would take his sunglasses off and give me a half smile.
     "Well, I have to admit. This is the best excuse I've heard yet," he would say and hand me my drivers license and registration. "Slow down. I'll give you just a warning. This time."

end scene----

     All of this played out in my tiny little mind as I drove the few remaining blocks home. I almost felt disappointed that I hadn't really been stopped. It was all in my imagination. A dress rehearsal almost.
     Sadly, this was not what I had really wanted to ponder when thinking about using more of my brain. Clearly there must be a vast number of brain cells just waiting to be used more usefully than this sort of mental amusement. But, heck, why waste a good excuse. I might actually use this sometime.

Apologies to Kyle Mathewsom for his marvelous article and quoting his words.

http://beckman.illinois.edu/news/2014/04/brain-waves-improve-vision

Things will be different this time

I resisted writing this blog. In fact, part of me thought that I had written it already. Lately, I have been pondering the fact that of the 60,000 thoughts I think a day (not my estimate, I lost count at 50), 95% of them are statistically believed to be the same thoughts that I had yesterday. Writing about any of these thoughts in a blog can certainly seem pointless, especially when chances are what I thought was a new thought today was really an old thought that I had yesterday.

I wondered if I could identify one or two of my new thoughts that I might have on any given day. So, with little to start with, I just wanted to check to see if I might have written about this idea already.

Before I had a chance to look, another question came to mind. If so many of my thoughts are the same each day, then why is it that the thought that "Things will be different this time" seems to be such a remarkable, fresh and singular thought. When I have this thought, I am so attracted by this thought that for a second I believe it to be my boldest, brightest and best thought I've had all day. Alas, not only do I make the mistake of having this thought, I too often verbalize it and worse, I act upon it.

Tonight we walked Sophie. It was a perfect evening for a walk. A neighbor with a three month old Golden must have had the same thought. We crossed paths and Sophie could hardly be controlled, she so badly wanted to play with this fresh, cuddly little thing. For weeks now, Sophie has been our angel, gliding past most distractions, albeit craning her neck at times when we pass. Tonight, it took David and I together to restrain her. But, we walked the opposite direction and got safely past. We had to make our way past them in order to get back home. The neighbor with said puppy had made very short progress (see previous blogs about challenges with walking a puppy). So, even though we took a circuitous route to further delay or altogether avoid them, we still came upon them on the back side.

Suddenly, I have what I think is my new thought. "Maybe Sophie and new puppy can stop and meet. Wouldn't that be charming." (Translation: It will be different this time.)

Woe. Not, woah, like slow down, although that couldn't have hurt. But, woe is me who thinketh stupid thoughts. With barely a word out of my mouth, Sophie has perceived my slightest hesitation and intention and is now lurching across the quiet intersection to get to this darling furry creature.

Summary of my thoughts.
1. Remembered old thought: "Sophie will never be that kind of dog."
2. Reality: Two minutes ago Sophie couldn't restrain herself. How could she be different when nothing else has changed.
3. My new thought: "When I have that old thought that 'Things will be different this time,' - remember "Who am I kidding! Keep walking."

What the Hell

I realize that when I do stupid things my first impulse is to explain away my stupidity, to rationalize it. Sometimes though it is amazing at how truly caught up in my thoughts I can get, so any opportunity I would have otherwise had to divert my journey towards stupidity is woefully ignored.

Monday morning I got up to take my shower so I could get dressed and go to work. My body felt like lead. I had one drink with dinner the night before, but that morning it felt as if I had four. After my shower and feeling somewhat better, I opened my cabinet where I keep a small clock to keep track of the time and make sure I don't dawdle.

What the hell. It read 2:45 a.m.

It had been a rough start to the weekend. Two days before the weekend, I was in a meeting with a large number of people sitting in a conference room with floor length windows facing the parking lot. Although purportedly watching a presentation, we were also watching the torrential rain come down. The rain was gushing out of the sky as if we were in the tropics and the monsoon season was upon us.

Someone's phone chirped like a frog. We laughed. He glanced at his Smartphone and silenced it. Then, another person's phone sounded like a train whistle. Within seconds two others had alerts. If you know your alerts, I believe one was Chimes and the other Synth. It was a Smart Phone symphony. My phone joined the chorus with Bulletin sounds, or perhaps it was newsflash, I don't recall. I showed the screen to my low-tech coworker next to me: FLASH FLOOD IN EFFECT for Minnetonka until 3:00 PM. We looked outside again. There was no river, no stream, not even a pond nearby, so we were good. We didn't have to evacuate to high ground just yet.

Then, my husband called. My intuition already on alert, I answered. I stepped into the hallway to talk.

"We have a problem," he tells me. In a rush, I only heard the words, "Water, basement, bailing and can you go to the hardware store." In order to leave, I had to do about a half dozen things before I could fly out the door with car keys in hand. But within minutes the same people watching the storm were now watching me make a run out to my car and then leave. Some had no doubt not even noticed that I had left.

The long story made short, we had two inches of water in a corner of the downstairs guest bedroom. I mopped up the water and pressed endless towels into the white carpet while David installed a sump pump in the window well, redirected a downspout that under normal conditions was not a problem and then purchased extra de-humidifiers to do the rest of the work to dry things out.

We had received over four inches of rain during the time I walked into the conference room to when I ran through the downpour to get to my car some three hours later. Still, by Sunday night, all was good.

I have been reading a book called The Willpower Instinct by Kelly McGonigal. Our willpower is actually made up of three distinct components: "I will," "I won't" and "I want." In my own interpretation of this, the "I want" is the strongest. When I am standing in the middle of our cafeteria at work to buy lunch, the "I will" power tells me that I had planned to eat salad. The "I won't" power tells me I won't have the grilled cheese on sourdough with bacon and tomato and french fries.

But, in the moment that matters, remembering the "I want" power which reminds me that I want to fit into my skinny jeans trumps the other two willpower intentions quite easily. There is no fight, no dilemma and no drama. Everything I do is either helping me towards my goal or it is hindering my progress.

In her book, which I would highly recommend to anyone working on any sort of goal (i.e. everyone), there is a chapter called "What the Hell." If I remember correctly, we do some silly mental gymnastics that are worth noting. Although eating a salad is really just a means to a goal, we often mix that up with the goal itself. So, we turn eating the salad into being able to reward ourselves later with chocolate cake. Silly, but I do it all the time. If we remember that eating salad and passing up the chocolate cake are both things that bring about our goal faster, we would not feel as guilty afterwards when we "reward" ourselves. When we do this, we often feel that all is lost and the only way to console ourselves is with a pint of double chocolate ice cream to wash down the chocolate cake.

So, how does any of this have to do with me waking up at 2:45 and managing to drag my butt out of bed and into the shower?

On Sunday night, I started to iron my clothes for the next day and blew a circuit. We had so many appliances running to dry out the basement the iron cycling on was just too much draw. No worries. I trudged downstairs, shut off one of the dehumidifiers, reset the circuit breaker and returned to my ironing. I turned the dehumidifier back on when I was done.

So by Sunday night, I had not noticed that my bedroom clock was on the same circuit and had reset itself to 12:00. Having worked on my iPad until bedtime I knew what time it was and had not even glanced at my now blinking clock.

When I woke up and it was time to get up according to the clock, I was disheartened that it was so quickly time to get up. But, having been on a roll with finding renewed source of willpower in other areas, I really wanted to prove to myself that my "I will" power was stronger than my "I won't."

I even remember shaking my head at my blinking clock thinking, What the hell? Why is it blinking? I hadn't heard the power go out in the middle of the night as is common in our neighborhood. I thought maybe it just needed the 9 volt battery backup replaced. I had totally forgotten about the circuit breaker.

After all of this, I now have a new set of "I will," "I won't" and "I want" goals. First, I will listen to both my intuition and more importantly to my body. Second, I won't forget to change the 9 volt battery that would have saved me from all this trouble. Finally, my "want" is that I want to get more sleep tonight so I am posting this now. What the hell. It's time for lights off. Good night.

Closet Cleaning, Calories and Clarity

One may wonder what closet cleaning, calories and clarity might have to do with one another. I propose that they have everything to do with each other.

Spring cleaning may be over, but my closets remain overflowing. My usual process of cleaning out the closet often leaves sentimental items, clothes that Goodwill won't even take and wrongly sized items I hope to one day wear again still in my closet. Apparently, one must follow a process to effectively clean out one's closet.

My job as a project manager requires that I write numerous types of documents. Some are documents targeting an executive audience to fund a project. Some are forms or summaries and some are complex spreadsheets. Each one of these can often start out with only a seed of an idea. As my ideas grow, I find that I hit the muddle in the middle.

Inspired by my cousin Gloria who is doing an amazing job losing weight by counting calories, I am reminded that counting calories is one of the only successful techniques I have found for losing weight, whether it is the five pounds I gained over the holidays or the twenty I have gained over the last dozen years. My resistance to actually doing it - counting calories - is not because it doesn't work. It is usually because I know that I will choose not to have the many little things I delight in eating (e.g. chocolate, chocolate and chocolate).

What each of these seemingly separate things has in common is a deliberate process where one chooses to fill an empty space. The most effective method for cleaning the closet ends up being the one where you spill everything out of your closet and make four piles: Keep, Give Away, Throw Out or Try On. With an empty closet, it is easier to fill the empty space with clothes that both fit and complement you and with items that work together to create an outfit.

Sometimes when I am writing a difficult document for work, I need to set the whole thing aside and start from scratch. I start a new page or create a new tab on my spreadsheet. With first ideas out of the way, the empty page gives me a way to select from all the raw material generated to include only the important ones.

With a calorie planner like My Fitness Pal, you start with a clean slate each day to log the foods you consume and the exercise you engage in. As you log the calories, you quickly realize how you will not achieve your target at the rate you are consuming foods. You see clearly and immediately that if you skip your work out or eat more of the little Dove chocolate squares than you allotted for, you will not hit your target. As a result, you end up with an empty space where you can decide to eat this or eat that, skip the workout or go for a little bit longer. You choose. You decide. You fill the empty space.

Clarity comes in small, bite sized pieces sometimes, and I'm not talking above Dove chocolate pieces. As I have been writing this, I started to log my calories again. I started a clean sheet to write this blog. Unfortunately, I have done nothing about the clutter in my closet. But, knowing that I could exercise my choice in advance of the temptation, I find that the allotted two pieces of chocolate I had planned as my reward for finishing this blog are really not needed. My reward is knowing that I had a choice.

Last Moments

Last Moments

My husband and I were out walking our dog. Now that we are finally having summer weather, we have switched to wearing shorts for our walks. A few days ago I had bought David a new pair of shorts to try on. He liked them and earlier that day went to buy another pair.

"Probably the last Cargo shorts I'll ever buy," David said as we stepped outside with our dog Sophie.

It was a funny thing to say. But, how many pairs of Cargo shorts does anyone really need in a lifetime?

This made me think about the last of other things. My husband and I flew to Fiji for a dive vacation many years ago. On the day of our eighteenth anniversary we visited a small village on one of the islands. As we arrived by boat the people from the village greeted us on the shore with song and a Fijian lei. I wore a sarong as did both the women and men in our group. The women from the village wore bright, multi-colored skirts and the boys wore grass skirts. The villagers were glowing, their smiles as bright as the sunshine. One young woman took my hand as she led me to the building where we would join them for the traditional Kava ceremony.

When it was finally time to say goodbye, we climbed aboard the skiff and donned life preservers. As the sun was setting, the villagers stood on the shore once again and sang, clapping to the music. As the boat made its way out of the little harbor, we waved goodbye to these beautiful and happy people from Fiji. I had tears in my eyes as I held David's hand and waved until we could no longer hear them. Despite how lovely a vacation it was we knew then that this would be the last time we would ever go to Fiji.

The last time I saw my dad, I kissed him on the cheek to say goodbye when we left the Assisted Living where he lived. I knew then that it would be the last time I would ever see him. I was not in the room when my father died a few weeks later, although my brother Jim was. I am thankful that Jim was there holding his hand, telling him it was okay to let go. Jim will always have the memory that he was there for Dad at the end. That I wasn't in the room when he died was okay. I have my own memories of my father eating McDonalds in the park on a Saturday morning soaking up the sunshine and watching the bald eagles fly over the river or talking with people fishing along the Chippewa River.

The mother of a very dear friend of mine recently passed away. Her mother was a very spiritual, generous and delightful woman. Years ago my friend having a vibrant and independent single life in Seattle, made the sacrifice to move back to Denver to have her mother live with her. It was getting hard for her mom to take care of her home by herself.

Having one of our parents live with us can be a challenge not to be underestimated. It requires sacrifice, deep patience and everlasting lovingkindness, no matter how good our relationship is with our parent. Not only do our parents change as they get older, we change as well. On our own we have a chance to drop old habits and develop new and better ones. We are able to refine our emotional responses in a way that when we are back "home" this becomes complicated, difficult and seemingly impossible.

I know this only from a distance. When my brother and I moved my father up to Wisconsin late in his life, I drove out to visit him ninety miles away every weekend for several weeks. Over those ninety miles, I transformed back to my old self and had to transform myself back again by the time I reached home.

My friend was also not in the room when her mom died, having left the hospice a short time before to get some much needed sleep. Her two sisters stayed and then called her to come back as their mom took her last breath and then took no more. My friend had a special connection and closeness with her mother that could not be understood by either of her two sisters. In a very real way, my friend and her mother had become almost inseparable with a deep emotional connection to each other. Neither were far from each other's thoughts no matter what they were doing or when or where they were.

Earlier in the hospice room in meditation the three daughters lifted their mother up in spirit, encouraging her to let go. At the height of the meditation, both an interior door and an exterior one flew open with a gust of wind. But still, even if her spirit departed at that moment, her physical form clung on. It was only when my friend, utterly exhausted finally left to rest that her mother was able to detach completely and finally from this earthly existence.

Leaving the hospice room was almost like granting permission for them both to let go of the bond they had for so many years. My friend shared nearly a decade of evening laughter, lively discourse and morning reflections with her mom that neither of her other sisters had experienced in the same way.

The day to day intimacy and companionship we have with anyone we live with is hard to explain to others that only come for visits. It is in the quiet, relaxed moments when we are at home with no guests to attend to that we are really ourselves and allow others to share in who we are - the good and the bad, our dreams and our hopes. Because we never really know that something is ever really the last, even if we may think we do, every moment we share with others is precious.

Life Attachments

It seems that with some frequency, I experience a catastrophic failure with my electronic devices. Any more frequently than ever in my opinion is too frequent. Nothing else can completely blow my plans for an entire weekend and sometimes even several weekends. If one crash isn't bad enough, I recently had both my laptop and my iPad crash at the same time. Alas, I felt maybe the universe was trying to tell me something.

Device Attachment
I try to prevent a crash and, failing that I at least try to prepare for it. I subscribe to antivirus software, run malware software detection programs and backup my data. I frequently check that all of these things are running as they should be. Regardless of my intentions, it - the crash - still occurs. With the sudden absence of devices, I am left alone to ponder my attachment to devices and much more.

We are often fed philosophies through media and politicians that encourage us to progress to a state less dependent on material trappings and embrace a more natural relationship with nature. On the one hand, I agree that material pursuits can be endless and leave us unfulfilled. Yet, I don't subscribe to the belief that we should shun the comforts both past and present generations have worked hard to achieve. It is ultimately a balance that I desire.

When I find my life suddenly over-dependent on devices, I know I have carelessly put my feet up on the technology see-saw, rode one end of it a little too high off the ground, and without warning, I crashed my butt smacking hard on the ground of device over-dependency.

Devices and technology in general have contributed much to my enjoyment of life in an everyday sort of way that I often forget to what degree my enjoyment is dependent on them. Can I go for a run without my music? Can I read something on a Saturday morning without my e-Book on Kindle? Can I ponder life's questions without Google and Word at my fingertips? All of these I can answer with a resounding yes. Yet, still something unsettles me.

Suffering and Attachment
I don't know much about the eastern philosophy of Buddhism. I know that it is often mistakenly categorized as a religion, partly because followers have a religious adherence to its principles, sit in meditation which is much like prayer and with some forms of Buddhism followers have a belief that so many hours of "practice" will bring them the wisdom to achieve their goals. Setting this aside, one interesting premise of Buddhism is that attachment leads to suffering. The inverse of this is that all suffering can be attributed to our attachments.

While I only dabble in these philosophies and ideas to cobble together my own understanding of the world, when my computer crashes it occurs to me that my clinging to a device has indeed contributed to my current suffering.

In Buddhism, an attachment requires two things: the person having the attachment and the thing they are attached to. An attachment is only possible when we believe ourselves to be separated from other things in the universe. By feeling unity with the universe and all of the things in it, we no longer feel a need to cling to things, but are free to follow the ebb and flow, the rise and fall, the creation and destruction of all things. Still, in some ways, because my devices were so inseparable from me, I suffered more when they were taken away than if there had been no unity with these things at all.

Social Attachments
I have recently lost touch with a good friend of mine whose wedding I attended in New York City two years ago. I have periodically tried to reconnect, unsuccessfully thus far. I know that he has an active and busy life. I see his postings on Facebook, but often do not know the context for some of the recent developments. I understand he has recently moved and I gather it is some distance from New York City.

For some reason, I still resist my own dependency on social media, yet it seems this is one of the only ways to reach many of my friends and relatives. In fact, I believe now in hindsight that planning a recent trip to my home town nearly four hundred miles away could have been made significantly easier had I announced this event on Facebook. Attempting to orchestrate a gathering of sorts between myself, three brothers, their spouses and children, as well as an aunt and four cousins through alternative methods was difficult and only moderately successful. Embracing technology, specifically, social media, might have been more efficient and less stressful.

Of course, the gaps in my awareness of my friend's activities are not due to him not posting plentiful detail. He posts quite frequently. Rather, it is because, as explained by my cousin, I am a Facebook stalker. I read. I follow. I do not post. I seldom upload pictures or links. I rarely “Like” anything, and I can count the number of times I have commented on other posts. It may also be several weeks between my visits to Facebook. An entire litany of events can have occurred without my awareness or my "following" any of it. My friends and I are connected, it seems and yet we still inexplicably remain out of touch.

Virtual Attachments
Cloud computing has become an effective solution for storing information. Even my personal blog postings will continue to exist in the cloud independent of my device crashes and even any personal crises I might have. My blog will wait patiently for me to reconnect to the Cloud when I am ready and able.

Restoring from the cloud has also become a great option. Yet, the cloud is not without problems. I still worry about privacy, security, reliability, ease of restoring and even my own access. Keeping track of the many url's, user names and passwords can be tricky. If an email changes, disaster is imminent without careful planning and foresight.

If I did not use my devices, but instead purchased hard cover books, wrote using traditional pen and paper and even if I purchased music on CD's instead of downloading them, these are still vulnerable to physical damage. These can be dropped in the bathtub or pool, soiled, scratched, lost or stolen. As well, it is more difficult to share with others when there is only one impermanent copy.

Sometimes when videos are posted to the internet, usually when someone has acted badly, the person depicted will seek its removal through all means possible, not wanting their bad behavior to be on display. Yet, as soon as the site is taken down, the video removed or the words edited, another site pops up with the original content. Someone, perhaps had downloaded it, printed it or somehow duplicated it. It is almost as if anything that has been recorded in some format by someone will always exist somewhere and in some form.

Eternal Attachments
Akasha is the Sanskrit word meaning "sky" or "space."  In theosophy, the Akashic Record is described as a sort of permanent record held in the astral plane containing past and future human thought and action. The Akashic Records are the original equivalent of today's Cloud. While some claim that these records are always accessible, others claim they can only be interpreted by a trained occultist. Evidently, not only does the Akashic records contain actual events, they also contain the collective imagination. So it seems, similar to the cloud, access and reliability to the Akashic Records is even less reliable or assured.

The Book of Life is found in both Christianity and Judaism. In Christianity, the Book is in a summarized form, only listing your name. If you are an unbeliever, your name will not appear and you will be cast into the Lake of Fire. There is debate over whether someone can lose their place in heaven and if so, whether your name would have ever been included on the list and blotted out, or if God, who knows the past and the future, would simply not record your name in the first place. Even though it is said that God knows his true followers and will keep and protect them through their earthly journey, for the  purposes of this discussion, the Book of Life is still rather useless.

In Judaism, the Book of Life is a bit more literal. Each year God studies each person's words, actions and thoughts to determine whether their good deeds outweigh their sinful acts. If the good outweighs the bad, your name will be allowed to remain inscribed in the book for another year. If not, your name will be removed. It is unclear to me what exactly occurs the year your name is removed and ultimately whether your fate is your responsibility or simply God's because he has removed your name. There is also disagreement to be found over whether the Book of Life is even to be taken literally. And, as still there is no mention of access to these records by anyone other than God, these records are not retrievable by the average sapient being.

Social Attachments
The weekend after my computer crashed, I drove the nearly four hundred miles to visit two of my brothers. The third brother unfortunately had to work that weekend. During that weekend we spent hours reminiscing about our childhood, sharing our memories, particularly stories of a family tragedy that occurred very early in our lives. Through this sharing, we each learned things we had not known and perhaps gained insight into how we individually met the challenges of life. Only by sharing our experiences did we gain this new insight into our past.

Telling personal stories is an art form I admire, but don't believe I inherited, nor have I been inclined to hone. Rather than knowing my ending when I begin, I often start hoping that it will come to me. It often does not. The details of our lives are usually less interesting to others, a fact I all too often overlook. My cousin on the other hand can take a simple life moment like leaving eggs boiling on the stove to watch Gone With the Wind in the basement and can transform it into an entertaining saga of suspense, surprise, devotion and laughter all included, and all for free.

Fading Attachments
My father suffered from dementia the last few years of his life. As his dementia progressed, his memories gradually narrowed and became more focused on childhood memories rather than recent ones. We were happy when he seemed to forget some of the more unhappy memories of his life. We were heartbroken when he forgot some of our fondest.

A short time before his death, we had a party for him with a few of his many sisters, cousins and other family members and friends, as many as we could gather on short notice. He could barely speak, his mouth tripping over the words he wanted to say. His mind seemed alive with ideas that he tried desperately to tell us about, resorting mostly to gestures. And then he would smile and laugh, which made me smile. Whatever his thought or idea, I was happy that it made him happy.

Shortly before everyone went home for the evening, my dad picked up the accordion to play for us. I worried that with so many people around he might feel nervous and self-conscious. The last few times he tried to play, others would try to sing along or play along with their guitars, but would finally stop it had become so difficult. One song would lead to another after only a few short bars and then maybe back again.

But that day with his family and friends surrounding him, he played songs that we hadn’t heard for decades. His fingers channelled songs that could only be stored in some form of sense memory. His fingers glided over the keys just as they used to. That afternoon, he tapped into a source unavailable on normal occasions. Just as he finished playing, he caught my eye. He chuckled with delight knowing that he was able to share this special moment with us.

A Conclusion
All life experiences are captured in our hearts and memories. The more we share them with others, whether it be through Facebook, blogs or personal storytelling, the more these will live on. While sometimes it seems that something really doesn’t happen unless you post it on Facebook or Tweet about it, the stories remain with us in some form or another. When we find ourselves too dependent on our devices, we miss out on experiencing life itself, which is really the source of all attachments.

So, with my iPad restored to factory settings, the operating system and applications restored onto my laptop and my personal stories restored from the Cloud, I decide to hit save. I press the power button on my iPad and close the lid to my laptop.

My husband and I take our dog for a walk around our neighborhood where trees are finally budding, tulips are blooming and our neighbors have deemed it safe after a long and harsh winter to finally plant their flowers and gardens. Later, we drive to a frozen yogurt shop for an afternoon snack, and I still have time later that afternoon to ponder all of these various things to post another blog.

Managing Expectations

As my husband and I continue our adventures of owning a dog, we learn more and more about dogs, but perhaps even more about ourselves. We adopted Sophie, a Catahoula Leopard dog as a puppy last July. We watched Caesar Milan the Dog Whisperer working with uptight people, getting them to loosen up and miraculously their dogs would become better controlled. We watched and we thought we understood. It was about them, the people, more than it was about the dog.

Then, why was it that our puppy would lurch and jerk, bounce and pounce and generally misbehave whenever any sort of distraction came upon our path? It was perplexing. We explained it to ourselves that she was just a puppy or perhaps just high strung. It was just a phase.

I had good friends come to visit for a weekend in March. One friend has also recently acquired a dog. Her dog sniffs and wanders on the leash zig zagging all about, forward, backwards and sideways. Abby, the dog, has no awareness that the person holding the leash has any sort of expectations of her. Having a stroke of good weather in Minnesota that week in March, I took my two good friends for a walk with Sophie. During the walk at times I found myself frustrated that Sophie was ahead of me. I would tug her leash, hold it tighter. Then, she would be too far behind me, sniffing grass like a blood hound. She bounced and pulled to go visit strangers walking and lurched at the neighbor's yard when we passed their yard, because sometimes we would let her play with their dog.

When we were back in the house, my friend said to me. "Man, I wish my dog Abby would walk so well on a leash."

I had been getting increasingly angry with Sophie over the behavior from her that I wasn't getting. She was learning when and in what circumstances I didn't trust her and how certain behavior would evoke a strong reaction from me, positive or negative, it didn't really matter. She was getting something from me during those moments of frustration and anger, whether I realized it or not.

When my husband and I went for a walk some days later with Sophie, I loosened up on the leash. I let Sophie roam ahead, sniff the grass, letting the leash out to the full six feet. When she returned back to my side, I collected the leash in my hand, praised her, and gave her a nice treat. When she ventured off again, I let the leash out a bit again. If she wandered too far or stopped, I would give a tug and say "Uh uh." When she returned to my side, especially the left "heel" side, I would give her big praise and, of course, a treat.

Tonight, we passed bunny rabbits sitting on the lawn, squirrels running up trees and even robins hopping along in the grass looking for worms. The leash was loose. Sophie might bounce once or even twice, but she continued the walk. She returned back to my side and I praised her and gave her a treat. She looked up at me and I swear I could see her smile.

How this actually makes any sense or why it works still puzzles me. But, sometimes it's best not to question these things. You just have to go with it.

This is the reason that Caesar Milan continues to have clients. They watch the same show, they see it and hear it over and over, but they don't think any of it applies to them.

My husband and I have an angel and a sweetheart of a dog. Going for walks with her is a joy. Rather than having trained Sophie, we have managed to train ourselves. I can't help but think this philosophy could be applied to other areas of my life. Yet, training myself to expect better things seems to be harder than it seems. Perhaps even the expectation that this itself is difficult is yet another expectation I must learn to manage.

Combat Parking in Life

After coming back from a lunch with a coworker in his car, he pulled ahead of the open parking spot and proceeded to back in. I hadn't thought much about it until he apologized.

"Sorry. Combat parking. It's a habit."

My coworker served in the military prior to coming to work for my company, as did an increasing number of my coworkers lately. This is not a new thing. I have had coworkers in the past leave to go into the military, leave for reserve duty and several who had a distant past involving military service; however, it is only recently that most of these coworkers are now younger than me and are returning from places like Afghanistan and Iraq where active duty means more than just simply and safely serving our country.

Combat parking, I understand, is parking in such a way as to allow the quickest exit. The time you may have to park may not be time you have to leave. The difference can mean your life. Therefore, combat parking is a difficult habit to break, even well after returning home.

Another coworker recently divulged to a few of us that he is divorcing his recently married wife. They were married less than a year ago. This was a second marriage for both of them.

It occurred to me that my divorcing coworker may have a life habit of combat parking when it comes to relationships.

I recalled a conversation a few days before his wedding.

"Well, we'll see who moves out. Me or the cat."

He is allergic to cats and his fiancé's cat was very old. The cat did not appear to be moving out any time soon. While he tried to seem like he was joking, his tone let on just how ready he was to bail at the first sign of trouble. In the end, the cat went peacefully. My coworker, it seems, did not. His anger at other topics mentioned early on seemed to become bigger issues rather than somehow resolving on their own. What he had envisioned would happen is something I don't know and could never now ask.

He did share that he still had been splitting his time between an apartment some distance away to allow his youngest son to graduate from the same high school. So, it seems he combat parked allowing for a speedy exit.

This made me think about attitudes about life in general. There is yet another coworker who threatens that she is just going to quit if things go a certain way or a decision is decided against her recommendations. Yet she stays. In private conversations she shares with me everything wrong on any given topic, my pick.

Rather than practice combat parking she appears instead to be dug in, sharing her fox hole with others around. It has become my habit to listen, to sympathize and more often than I would prefer, to share in her observations of how life in the trenches sucks. Yet I understand somehow that if I did not share in this way that I would become a target. Which of these choices is better I didn't know until recently. Only now I realize that when I join her, my misery is all the greater with only trench mouth to keep us company.

I have always believed in full engagement in my career and believe this has aided in my success, combined with a good measure of luck and hard work. If I cannot engage, then I endeavor to find somewhere else where I can. As a result, I have changed jobs more often than I care to admit.

Tomorrow is Monday and I look forward to work, even knowing my day's challenges will be great. When I focus on my job and the things I do well, I have far more luck engaging fully. It is only when I succumb to temptation and join my trench partner that the world seems hopelessly dark and gloomy. Life isn't perfect; work is usually even less perfect, but feeling like I gave it my all at the end of the day, even if I do back into my parking space from time to time so that I can hurry home to my husband and one year old dog Sophie  - this is really all that matters.

In the Shadows

I have never been one of those people who has understood astronomy, even though I have forever been fascinated by it. You might say that I am in the dark about most things astronomical.

We recently had a lunar eclipse. Many people say they know what a lunar eclipse is, but then struggle to explain what "it" is exactly, myself included. So here goes. Within a matter of minutes, the moon slips quietly into the earth's shadow and then back out again. For those of us who were willing to get up at an ungodly hour of the night, we were treated to a spectacular view of the cogs of our universe in action.

One important aspect of any eclipse relates to shadows. It isn't something that comes up in most conversations, but objects have two types of shadows: umbra and penumbra. Umbra is the complete shadow of an opaque body. This is where the light from the source of illumination is completely cut off. Penumbra is the partial shadow.

If you stand right smack behind something bigger than you that completely blocks the source of light, you would be in the darkest part of the shadow, the umbra. If you edge out just a ways, you are essentially half-in and half-out, or in the penumbra.

I know. On first read this may still be confusing. I felt the same way when the topic was introduced in my painting class. How is it that we do not learn about this in school? Or, perhaps I did and should be embarrassed that I, for one, failed to learn. When painting still lifes, we learn about these two types of shadows. Shadows and the contrast between light and dark are important, if not the most critical aspect of painting. Oddly enough, if you do shadows wrong, the painting will not look real. So, it seems that this lies somewhere in our understanding that is less than conscious, perhaps in the penumbra of our awareness.

To further describe the metaphor relating shadows to awareness, there are things we know (illuminated), there are things we know we don't know (penumbra) and then there are the things we do not even know that we don't know (umbra).

Another loose analogy also came to mind. We have a one year old puppy named Sophie. We try to keep track of her when she is outside so that she doesn't bark, eat twigs and rocks or dig up our yard. When she is outside, we can look out a window and sometimes, we see her. However, there is a "dark" side to the house where we cannot see her at all. This seems to be her spot. This is the umbra.

After a long winter, Sophie decided to go exploring into our neighbor's yard. Before the snow melted, her explorations were confined to a trail around the back yard tromped out in the deep snow. So, without a physical border of snow to keep her inside the yard, she has recently become more adventurous. Even though we have an electronic fence we often use a training collar instead to train her not to dig in the grass. Today, hiding in the umbra and not having the electronic fence collar on to warn her, she slipped over the line without our knowing.

My husband retrieved her after the neighbor called. We live close enough to a busy highway that our dog running loose is a frightening experience. Once inside the house we reprimanded her and gave her a time-out, which means she sits in her crate for a few minutes. As we were feeling all sorts of emotions, including anger, fear, sadness and relief, we talked about how long you stay mad at a dog. It seems that our consensus was that this should be only to the point where being mad no longer served its purpose. That point, however, was ill defined. There is no manual to guide us. It clearly would not extend beyond some number of minutes into hours.

And I wondered if we disregard this understanding with each other as humans. We stay angry and punish each other well past the point our anger serves any purpose. In fact, sometimes they are unaware of our anger. Or, as a result of our lingering anger they themselves become mad at us, confusing the issue. While we cannot rationalize with a dog and explain the implications of their actions and the emotional effects it has upon us, we can quite easily with each other, yet often choose not to.

So while we are in our deepest anger we remain inside our own umbra. Yet a few steps away we could come into the penumbra. The natural forces of our emotional universe are upset when we choose to hide behind the object of our anger unmovable. We do not slip into the penumbra, umbra and back out again as we see occur in the natural world. We hide behind the cause and force others into the darkness of our anger, setting off all manner of collisions.

While for today, this lesson may be learned and my awareness expanded, I am certain that the next time I am angry that things will become less clear once again and I will lose my way out of the umbra of my anger. I resolve to revisit the next eclipse so that the lesson may be repeated.

The lunar eclipse is different from other eclipses in that far more people can view the eclipse. All you have to be is on the night side of the earth and have a clear view of the moon. In other words, you just have to be in the dark. And, you just have to take the time to look out beyond yourself for a few precious minutes, sometimes when it may seem the most inconvenient. And then for a treasured moment, we remember how small we are in relation to the universe and how good it is to be human.

Hurry Up, Slow Down

Life is often lived straddling opposites. We learn to appreciate things most when we experience the thing's inverse. Some of these are only 21st century problems. We discover that we most appreciate food when we are truly hungry, we learn that resting is best after hard work and those of us who have hard winters appreciate the summers far more than those who have moderate weather all year round. 

How we experience time also has opposites. Tedious, boring or painful events we want to go fast, yet they go slow. And our most looked forward to moments are over before we know it. Vacations are notable examples that follow this rule. A vacation planned appears like a beacon on the horizon that we steer towards knowing the thought of it will lighten our dreary day. Then, when the day finally arrives to start our most anticipated vacation, we want to reverse time or at least to slow things down considerably so that we can savor every moment. In reality, it seems that the best option in overcoming this perpetual "Hurry Up, Slow Down" teeter totter, is to keep our thoughts in the present moment, no matter what it is we might be doing. 

This past winter in Minnesota, Minnesotans already accustomed to bitter winters wanted to heave themselves somehow into the future, leapfrogging the endless subzero temperatures to get to what we anticipate most in Minnesota: The Thaw. In my optimism of an early spring, I invited friends from Denver to visit at the end of March, certainly an "iffy" time of year when a big snowstorm is still completely plausible. But, as if I had some insight into our weather, the weekend turned out to be perfection. 

The weekend was everything we had hoped for. It was filled with delightful conversation, spectacular food (thanks to my husband who was chef for the weekend) and the perfect weather to enjoy our various activities. On the final day of their visit and in gorgeous weather, we walked around the Walker Arts Center, the Sculpture Garden, Loring Park and even walked into downtown Minneapolis for a bite to eat. At the very end of the visit that day, we parked ourselves at a picnic table in Minnehaha Park to sit and relax. We were beat. It had been a long day, filled with lots to see and lots of ground that we had covered by foot. 

We were so weary that we found ourselves not such good company, instead only yearning for a minute or two to close our eyes. Yet, I found myself watching the clock,  timing our stay at the park perfectly in order to fill the time before I would take them to the airport. According to my watch, we would need to sit and talk for another twenty minutes before I would take them to the airport, which was just a short drive away.  

At last, one of my friend's said, "You know, you can take us to the airport any time." 

It was as if this thought had not occurred to me. It wasn't my responsibility to fill every waking moment of my guest's time up until the time of their departure. But, here with each of us so tired we could barely keep our eyes open, I had not considered what was most practical and perhaps even most enjoyable for each of us at the moment. 

I had returned to the "Hurry up" frame of mind yet again. In hindsight, I wonder if all vacations end this way. We are tired of living out of a suitcase, the kids are getting on our nerves, too much time with siblings or other relatives and we crave alone time once again and yearn to sleep back in our own beds.  

So taking my friend's suggestion, I made our way back out of the winding roads to the airport. We said our final goodbyes and I got home in time to take a nap with my husband and our sweet puppy who takes naps with us before a delightful dinner of left-overs. With that, I was once again in the sweet-spot of living in the moment. 

Perfection of the Nap

I was raised in a family of great nap takers. My dad took naps on the weekends after working in the yard or fixing one thing or another down in the basement. After being in constant motion for most of the day, he would come inside or upstairs, wash his hands and even have a little bite of something to eat. Then, when the four of us kids were all squirmy and tiring of each other's company, it would be nap time. Sometimes if we didn't notice it was nap time, and we were being loud and rambunctious, my dad would appear from nowhere standing over us. The little bit of hair he had on top of his head would be all mussed and he would have a stern look on his face. But, most of the time we knew nap time was approaching and would prepare. This meant getting ourselves situated in a part of the house that would least disturb him, stocked with things that would amuse us quietly for the hour or so that he might nap. Sometimes, we would nap, too. For us kids, this usually required an old western on TV and rain pouring outside.

Married now for many years, one of our favorite past-times on weekends has been our weekend nap. Since we now have Sophie, our mixed breed dog, the art of nap-taking has required some modification in order to be sufficiently satisfying. After-all, a bad nap can ruin a perfectly good afternoon.

Sophie, a Catahoula Leopard Dog, the dominant breed in her heritage we discovered recently, now weighs over 50 pounds. The nap arrangements between just David and I on our futon couch had been perfected over many years. We each take an end with feet to head and plenty of pillows, and blankets when needed. Add one hefty dog and the balance of things is thrown. Add the fact that Sophie does not know how big she is, the nap starts to completely break down. Sophie does not know that she can no longer snuggle comfortably atop my stomach or across David's chest. Well, not comfortably for us, that is. She will try walking atop a jumble of limbs and body parts covered by a blanket until we finally have to shoo her off to start again. But, once she is off she rests her chin on the futon next to us with the saddest of eyes that melts our hearts.

So after several weekends of disrupted naps, at long last we have come to the perfection of the nap. There is a sequence of assembling ourselves on the futon that must be followed, else all must disembark and start once again. The order is David, then me and finally Sophie. David lies catawampus. I then take the other end, lying down and lifting legs upended across the back of the futon. Yes, I am comfortable this way. I even have pictures of my dad taking a nap with a one-legged version of this. Finally, Sophie climbs on and has only one of three satisfactory positions available to her. One is her butt to my butt, facing David, looking adoringly at him with her head resting on his chest. The other is the wedge position, where she lies like a tomato wedge between two wedges of iceberg lettuce. Or, the final variation is the pimento, where she lies under the covers in much the same fashion with only her snout protruding. With the last two positions, she rests her head on my arm or across David's feet and looks adoringly at me. Any of these are satisfactory and produce a nice result.

There are ample pictures of my three brothers and my dad all in a row on a couch in unknown relatives' homes across several states with each of them napping. It is said that a family that naps together, stays together. Or perhaps I made this up. Nevertheless, each of my father's descendants appears to enjoy the occasional weekend nap and have married partners who are also amenable to the nap. Sounds like perfection to me.