She arrived with a flash.
I waited.
Waited.
Thunder rolled overhead.
I waited.
Waited.
Salvation poured over me.
.
Rain
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Sit
I just wanted to sit on the steps.
No reason really.
Just sit.
Watch people. Do nothing.
I watched people walk by, sit on steps, talk, catch Uber rides, hail taxis, eat while walking.
There was a white dog trotting down sidewalk. Her fur was very clean. Very white. She had a proud, friendly prance. She was smiling.
Dogs smile you know.
It was sunny. Not hot. Not cold.
I don’t remember how long I sat.
Miracle.
Want My Opinion? Oh, hell no.
Earlier this year I thought I was going to lose a longtime friend because he said I wasn’t “honest enough” with him. I only said good things about his writing, his opinions, what he was doing, etc. and he felt that just couldn’t be right. I couldn’t possibly like everything he was doing.
He said that it can’t be a really true friendship if we only say god things about one another. We have to be able to say the good and the bad. Truth.
Now, I have another longtime friend who is at risk because, at her insistence, I gave my opinion about how she might beheld through an enormously stressful period right now by asking doctor about anti-anxiety medicine. Wrong answer.
She now thinks that I am belittling her and thinks she can’t manage her life well.
Then earlier today I asked my husband to “speak more deeply” about a topic. He was offended that I didn’t think he was already “being deep.” (We had barely started the conversation; I was wanting more).
So I guess I need to shut up.
Something I’m doing is offending people who are very important to me. Maybe I just need to go away, alone, for awhile. Something is out of sync and the place to look first is in the mirror.
Shoot The Morning Finger
What would cause you, young, late-20-something year old male, to “shoot me the finger” so aggressively early yesterday morning?
It was a sunny and not yet oppressively hot day. I was standing with my bike in the bike path, patiently waiting for all the cars to pass the cross road. I was stationed well back from the road so it was clear I wasn’t a threat to cars. I wasn’t going to somehow lurch out into the road causing you to brake or dodge me and my little bike.
I don’t even look like a cyclist. I don’t have the spandex. None of my clothes match. My helmet isn’t event same color as my fifteen year old bike. I don’t look like an athlete. How could I be a challenge of any sort?
There you drove though. You and your passenger seat buddy. He was looking straight forward and it was his huge grin that even made me look at your car. It was then that I saw you leaning over from the driver’s seat to shoot me the finger through the open window.
If you wanted to offend me you didn’t. Your action was irrelevant to me. I just wondered what is in you that would cause you to do such a thing.
The others cars cleared the road and I continued on the bike path. The little brown rabbit off on the side chewing his morning grass made me smile.
A Surprise from Hemingway
“There is nothing noble in being superior to your fellow man; true nobility is being superior to your former self.” –Ernest Hemingway
Freedom
“I live in the open mindedness of not knowing enough about anything.” — Mary Oliver
Countdown To Machu Picchu
We are several weeks away from our trip to Peru and already I’m doubting my ability to:
1-Hike four days and three nights from Cuzco to Machu Picchu,
2-Survive mosquitoes on the Amazon,
3-Have the “mystical experience” I think I’ll have.
Why do I play these minds games? I’m an intrepid traveler and have always been relaxed and enjoyed whatever comes my way during trip (including AK47’s pointed at my in Nigeria). I can sit still for hours with airport delays and come away with new friends. I’ve eaten boiled grub worms in China and found to be “ok, but a little salty.”
I’m in great physical shape; I have all the necessary shots; I have a friends and an experience team of travelers… so, I need to prepare mentally.
Ok Then, Just Write
I remember being scared to say out loud, “I want to be a writer.”
That’s not entirely true. I declared to my mother when I was 11 that I wanted to be a journalist for National Geographic Magazine. Her immediate response was,”Well then you’ll always be lonely.” I guess back then the thinking was still that restrictive for girls; maybe it still is. That deflating comment came from a very progressive mother, and it stung for decades.
It took me until age 40, yes 40, before I could declare to my husband and two closest, lifelong best friends that “I want to be a writer.” Seventeen years later, I’m still primarily writing in my journal. I tweet for my public professional persona. I submitted one short story once to one publication. They printed it, paid me, and the editor wrote me a note thanking me for sharing such a touching story.
I blog, sometimes.
More and more though I hear the deep voice of myself wonder”Why?” Why do I fight what my soul wants?
At this stage in life it doesn’t even matter if people like my writing. It’s more about my need to do what I was put here to do.
Write. Just write.
Megabus? Me? Why, yes!
I first heard about Megabus being available in the United States from a woman in Texas who I assessed, based upon her expensive jewelry and clothes, and, yes, big hair, would never ride a bus or any form of public transportation.
She was slightly embarrassed to admit to our group of equally coiffed women about to board a cruise ship to Mexico (I was the last minute invitee to round out the group) that she had enjoyed her ride on the Megabus from San Antonio to Galveston “and it only cost $36 USD roundtrip!” We were all intrigued.
Texas is a large state and driving between major cities–Dallas, Houston, San Antonio, Austin, El Paso, Galveston–will take anywhere for four to twelve hours. Yes, twelve hours and you are still in Texas. The state has two time zones after all. Air travel isn’t cheap and security is a hassle for many. But a bus?!
The Megabus adventuress assured us the double deck coach was clean, people were quiet and “they weren’t as poor as you thought they’d be.” (cringe) I vowed to take the Megabus from Dallas to Houston and back next time I wanted to see my lifelong friend, Cally.
I realized I wasn’t going to Houston as often as I’d like because my car was old, I become sleepy when I drive the 241 miles between the cities, the flight is too expensive and, well, I just didn’t enjoy the hassle. I logged on to Megabus.com to see my options.
I was stunned. Megabus travels extensively not only throughout the US, but Canada and Europe. Who knew? I booked my roundtrip from Dallas to Houston for less than $50. Had my friends in Houston been willing to pick me up from the downtown stop at 1 am, my roundtrip cost would have been $4. Yes, $4.
There are two Megabus stops in Dallas. The one I chose was downtown at the local public transportation bus transfer center. Passengers had already started lining up on the sidewalk when I arrived.There was just a small Magabus sign and a couple of attendants with Magabus shirts. You are allowed one bag to check and carry-ons that will fit under your seat. Everyone seemed to follow this rule, unlike airplane travelers who insist carrying half their belongings and are indignant when the flight attendants make them “gate check.”
A family in front of me had one too many bags. there was a moments confusion about what they were going to to when the man in front of them offered to put one on their smaller bags into his large suitcase, thus avoiding an extra charge for anyone. An easy solution. Everyone was happy and we all boarded the bus slowly and quietly.
The bus was clean. The rest room is a port-a-let, but, it, too, was clean.
We arrived in Houston in the same amount of time it would have taken me had I driven my own car, about four hours. The driver asked if we all remained seated until our bags were taken off—and we did it! We stayed seated. There was no jostling and grabbing bags to be first to de-board like on an airplane. Peaceful.
My return trip was just as pleasant.
Everyone Bought a New Face This Summer
There are more than 3.3 billion facelift procedures in the US at a cost of $10.1 billion annually, so I should not be surprised when I run into yet another person I don’t recognize because she (or he) is wearing a new face. Clearly Obama is right and the US economy has recovered because more “regular” people have the money available to return from vacation with a new face.
I’m not talking about the botox fix that freezes out the exclamation point between the eye brows or the fillers that plump up the “parentheses” around the mouth. I’m referring to not recognizing the person who just greeted me at the market with a hug and a conversation of familiarity.
I’ve read a few stories on the psychological adjustments those with new faces encounter when they look in the mirror, but what about us who have to look at these “new” people every time we are around them? It’s unsettling. Interestingly, though not surprising, it seems to be attractive people who buy another attractive face. So I’m looking a beautiful face, but not the one I knew before.
Which makes me realize how dependent I am on emotions expressed through facial movements during a conversation. Aren’t we all actually? The frown to say “I’m unhappy” or the lift of a brow to show skepticism. Gone is the joy of a face crinkled in an all consuming smile of joy.
I find it difficult to know if someone is really understanding what I’m saying when her face simply doesn’t change the entire conversation. It does feel like I’m talking to a robot (or to someone who just doesn’t care).
Remember the late artist, Georgia O’Keefe, or the late actress, Jessica Tandy? Women who let their faces express a life-time of living through layer upon layer of crevices. Even Brad Pitt and Leonardo DiCaprio have recognized they have to allow some wrinkles in order to credibly show emotion on screen.
I understand the frustration in looking older than you feel (me) or in being stunned to see an angry person staring back in the mirror (when you’re not angry), but I think the price is too much. It’s becoming too hard to “feel” a conversation when your face is frozen in a purchased look. Let’s enjoy our wrinkles, especially the memories that made them.
