Doing Nothing

One of my goals for 2015 was to do nothing more often.

So far, I'm kind of failing. Even a friend called me out as 'clearly failing'. Failing is not a thing I enjoy. (But, I'm pretty sure she really enjoyed telling me I was.)

One of my favorite things is Gem Shopping. Hitting the thrift stores, antique shops, etc to look for 'gems'. Sometimes they stand alone, but most of the time I am looking for a project - something to paint or stain or take apart. I'm always out there looking for something to upcycle.

So a thing I enjoy is colliding with a goal to do less. Not just less, the goal is to do nothing.

Takes a lotta time to make it look bad. Er, shabby.

This past weekend, I painted and waxed two pieces of furniture and spray painted two light fixtures. I hadn't really planned the spray painting as it's the husbands project but it turns out that I am a superior spray painter. Farm kid for the win.

And because the painting, waxing, distressing and buffing on the furniture all took longer than I expected, I didn't get in the miles on the treadmill I wanted - wanted five but ran out of time and only got in two. A collision with another goal for the year: more miles.

It's all really because the Superbowl was on. I had to be on the couch by 3:30. Which was technically 'doing nothing'. I was just sitting there, I guess. And, ate so much junk my stomach hurt for two days. Felt like I was punished for doing nothing. And the game and commercials weren't really all that great. Other than the brawl at the end.

Not a good investment in my do nothing time.

This week I've been out of the house four of the five nights. Two for runs, one for a party and one for tap dance. Three of those nights directly correlate to goals for the year which is good. Trouble is that I've been out of the house so much this week it looks like meth heads have moved in. There's enough dog hair on the floor to knit a new dog. (A project?!)

Which means the weekend won't have much 'do nothing' time as I'll be cleaning up and motivating the small humans who also occupy the space to help.

Turns out that takes twice as much time as just doing it myself.

I'm not ready to throw in the towel on the goal so early in the year. I know that I can do nothing.

I CAN DO NOTHING!

Or will stress myself into a heart attack trying.

Sickly

Damn, I was a sick kid. Really, really sick.

Always a sore throat. Always?

I shouldn't say 'always', I guess. There were some broken bones in there too. And some stitches. But a lot of damn sore throats.

The year they took my tonsils out, I missed 34 days of school. That was after three years of the same. My ear canals are scarred from all the ear infections. I can still remember how bad I hurt.

Now, as an adult, I get sick a lot too. I have antibiotic resistance from all the years of delicious bubblegum flavored refrigerated amoxicillin. Fortunately, it's not as bad as it was then. A day or two here and there - always a sore throat and ear infection. Apparently as a Taurus, I am prone to throat problems. I guess I'll take that one hit because I am the most badass sign in the zodiac. Throat problems for life is a small price to pay.

The boy was sick as a baby. A couple ear infections and pneumonia. A little stressful, for sure. But now, as a regular ol' big kid, he's pretty healthy.

Adorable, even when sick.

The girl though. The girl is another story. We're dealing with another sore throat today. Third of the school year. I ache for her. I remember how much it hurt. How you want to play and do things but just can't. How swallowing hurts so bad. How you just cry. For no reason. Well, no 'real' reason. She spent dinner time crying. Poor thing. Not eating for her is not a good thing. At 41 pounds, missing a meal is not really an option.

When I was her age, Jello was the fix. She doesn't care much about Jello. Her fix appears to be applesauce.

We're at Defcon level: Applesauce-Tylenol

She's currently wrapped in a blanket on the couch watching Strawberry Shortcake, crabby and not herself. I'm keeping my distance for a variety of reasons.

I hope it doesn't move to her ears, and that it's quick. I also hope that she sleeps tonight and that I get to too. Without it I'm just a tall six year old. And this house doesn't need two of those.

The Quest for Peace

I've been on this quest for peace business for awhile. And, I don't mean in the Superman save the world way.

More like something inside.

After my dad died, I told my mom I wanted to go see a psychic. She wanted to know what I was searching for.

I don't know.

Maybe that's the point.

Back in November of 2013, I, along with some friends, started a 21 day meditation challenge. Led by Deepak and Oprah we were going to become better people, or try harder, or something.

Here's the thing about Deepak's voice, it's soothing and persuasive at the same time. You actually want to do what he says. It's a power that I wish I had, but, my voice is grating at best.

At any rate, I'm lying there, early morning, in the dark while Deepak asks in my headphones, "What do you want?" Over. And. Over.

And shockingly, I didn't think new car, new house, beach house, stock split... any of my normal beautiful material things. On my back with my eyes closed, tears running down the sides of my face and into my hair and ears, it came to me.

Peace. I want peace.

Now getting there. That's the trick. I don't know how. Because I don't like quiet and it sure seems like peace and quiet go together. I need the kids playing, the TV on in living room, music on in the kitchen. Loud. In the quiet I think too much, over think, think the worst. Loud is better. Or so says my head. And we know that heads shouldn't be making any decisions. So, while my soul screams for everything to be quiet, my head screams for everything to be loud.

And then that song came out. O.A.R. Now, I've loved this band since before they had a hit. And right in the middle of my quest for peace and some serious churning and soul searching... what do you know? They come out with a song called: Peace.

Dicks.

Because what I didn't need or have time for was to sit in the dark and play that song on repeat and cry for days on end. But, I wasn't doing anything else. So, why not?

Here's the thing, there's two lines that get to me. Other than the obvious, "I want peace".

I just want to make you laugh.
I just want to see that smile.

That's kind of my thing. I really do just want to sit at a table with people I love and crack up and make them laugh. Nothing makes me happier.

Maybe that is what brings me peace.

Well, that and writing depressing blogs.

A Whole New Year

Well, a new year has started. Here we are. 2015.

I can find competition in anything. But, beat last year? That's going to be tough. A new job, new adventures, some clarity, questions answered, spirit expanded.

Not everything was perfection. There were some trials. But balanced with lessons learned and appreciation and I'm wrapping up 2014 as a solid year.

I'm not a fan of the New Years resolution. Not really anyway. Why wait to start what you want to do? Change your life but wait until January? And then give up by February. No thanks.

Instead of a resolution I'm just going to have some goals, a to do list, if you will. God, I do love a to do list. Love. Love. Love.

Other than new things for work, I haven't learned anything new, for fun, in awhile. 

So, first up - tap dance classes. When I was 10 I was forced to take tap. I hated it. It's a series of posts all in its own. Another day maybe. But, now at 38, I'm excited. With one class down, it's pretty clear that I'm a star.

Next, ukulele lessons. Because, why not?

After that? Not sure. I'm assuming I'll hit the professional tap dancing ukulele playing circuit for some amount of time. I hear it pays well.

We can laugh about the scarf. Now.

I've got a redo on some knitting lessons. Not that the lessons were bad but this student failed. I'll be attempting that one again. Probably again and again.

Other than learning some new stuff, I've got some other goals too.

I shed some weight in 2014. I won't be writing about it. But, a big part of it was starting to run again. So, for 2015, a 10k a month. 100 days of miles between January 1 and April 30 and 1000 miles for the year. And maybe a 1/2 marathon if I can fit the training time in. 

What else? Well, there's some organizational stuff to do. Legal documents that need to be updated, close out some accounts, pay off some bills. Finish off the house projects. Just kidding, those go to 2075. On my 99th birthday we'll celebrate the house finally being 'done'.

I do plan on spending some time not doing anything. This will be the hardest goal, resolution, dream, etc I've ever had. Doing nothing is something I really suck at. 

Lastly, write more, write more, write more. 

Maybe. 

Whiskey'd Up

It's Christmas Eve, we're trying to fit everything in. We've wedged church into our evening - a good thing, don't get me wrong, but it's seriously hurting our time table.

We rush out of the Cathedral - tricky to do on ice. But we can't be a minute late. We have 105 minutes to travel 90 miles.

We must be in Hay no later than 8 PM.

In the past, my mother has arranged for Santa to do a Christmas Eve pop-in. He lives up the road a couple miles. This qualifies as a 'neighbor' there. The kids go nuts and it's awesome. But, this year. Well, the middle two are pretty sharp. We're on the cusp with them - a full on visit doesn't seem responsible. They'll notice any discrepancy. I've suggested a glimpse. Maybe he runs past the windows or they hear bells and see him run out the door. But, under no circumstances should they be close to him.

The roads are not awesome. A little icy in patches. Taking it easy while in a rush is not ideal. We pull into the driveway at 7:45. Time to spare.

There is a pickup near the house. A farmer rig. Diesel. Flat bed. Uh oh. Is our visitor early? The nieces come racing out of the house. Screaming that Santa is here! 

Santa is here!

We grab the kids and tell them to run inside. First question would be, why is Santa in the house, he's just supposed to run by a window or something at 8 PM. Not be inside at 7:45.

We run in. There he is. Leaning against the back of the couch. Casually talking to my nephew, who's 16. Nephew and I make eye contact. He looks confused.

As am I.

I'm standing there in my mothers family room looking at this guy. And, I have no idea who this is. I come from a very small town. I know everyone. Literally.  The population is 14. Not only do I not know who he is, his beard is crooked and he's wearing Nikes. Which, I support, of course. But, the kids are looking at this guy skeptically.

The older niece, looks at her mom and I hear her say, 'That's not Santa. He has on sneakers.'

Um, kid, we've got bigger problems. This isn't just not Santa. This is a STRANGER.

Santa?

My mom comes in. Also with a confused look - as this guy, this stranger, is asking the kids which of the reindeer is their favorite.

Clearly the memo of 'a glimpse' didn't get to him. Or, our actual requested Santa will run by the window at 8 PM and then this guy who murders families on Christmas Eve by posing as Santa will kill us all.

The nephew disappears while this 'Santa' yammers on about how cold it is at the North Pole, what reindeer eat, etc.

I start trying all my tricks to get him to leave.

So, Santa, you're really busy, you should probably get going.

Yep, real busy. So kids, what's you're favorite toy? His beard slips a bit. He's very thin. And young. I'm not even sure he shaves.

I start toward the door. Wow, Santa, you don't want to be late. We've sure appreciated you stopping by.

Please don't murder us. Please don't murder us. Please don't murder us. I've watched way too much SVU to be comfortable with a strange Santa in the house.

And finally, he steps outside.

My mom and I make eye contact as I close the door. She mouths, "I don't know who that was." I hold in a giggle - which, side note, I think can kill you. Much like holding in a sneeze.

The kids are wound up and happy although the older ones are clearly in 'the know'. They turn on the TV to start the Christmas Story marathon.

Adults head to the kitchen. The nephew comes in - he's smiling. My mom asks, so you know who that was?

Well, Santa apparently got a little bit whiskeyed up tonight. So he sent his nephew.

At that moment, my brother, bless his heart, hands me a whiskey. We go ahead and follow Santa's lead.

Which really begs the question - why aren't liquor stores open on Christmas, when you need them the most?

Go Pluck Yourself!

I've often asked my friends if truly odd things happen to me or if it's just my impression of the world that makes everything seem so odd. Most of them say it's just me and my view.

I'm not sure I agree.

Because seriously weird shit happens to me. Routinely. 

I don't consider myself a runner.  But, staggerer doesn't sound that great... I don't love running. I don't hate it either. What I do love is alone time. With music. That I like. This morning there was a break in the weather. Almost 50 degrees, no rain. I'm headed out.

Gear on, headphones in, Nike running app started.

Stretch in the driveway, head up Cedar St. 

Nike voice says, "beginning workout". "Running with the Devil" by Van Halen starts. Oh yeah. 

What the Hell? Coming toward me like a little gang - three chickens and a turkey. 

Run! Run for freedom!

First thought. Run little guys! Run for freedom! Five days to Thanksgiving and they've escaped. I'd like to think they tunneled out using some truly complicated plan while whistling the theme from 'The Great Escape'. But, really, I don't want them to get run over. After an awesome escape it would be a big bummer to get flattened by a car.

I put my hands out and got in my 'get the calves in the pen' stance.

Pausing work out.

The turkey comes toward me.

Come on guys, get out of the street. 

The chickens started first. Moving faster than you'd expect.

Hey man, be cool. 

The turkey charged and grabbed my shoelace. Okay, this is funny. 

Dude, I'm a vegetarian. Be cool, man.

I juked to the side to get away.

Resuming workout. 

This turkey is crazy. He opens his wings a bit and speeds up as I back away.

Hey man, where do you live? Come on, I'll help you.

He lunged again. This time at my knee cap. It's not that it's painful, but it's not pleasant either. I'm more worried that he'll damage my running tights. Nike, of course.

Pausing workout.

Listen asshole. I'm trying to help you. (Oh my God. I just called a turkey an asshole. On Cedar Street.)

He continues to peck at my knees. I pushed him back. And that's when he went for my hand. Chomping and trying to shake it - like a dog. The chickens are now wound up and running in circles, loudly cheering on their turkey friend, who I've now determined is some sort of 'roided up Foster Farms escapee.

Forget it man. I turn and leave them on their own. 

Resuming workout.

Come at me! This time I have a car!

Halfway down the block I turn and look back. They are right behind me. Barely off my ankles. They're lucky that I'm more Aileen Henley than Dorothy Henley. Dorothy would have rung some necks and planned a delicious meal. 

Hours after my run, shower and lunch they're still roaming around about a block away. He's tasted how delicious a vegetarian is and wants more.

I'm pretty sure.

Adventures with Hillary

This adventure started off like so many others...

With a text from Michelle.

Her: Hillary Clinton is in town on Wednesday.

Me: Details. I need details!

Her: U of W bookstore. I'll call and find out more.

Me: I'm in. Just figure it out. I'm in.

Now, here's the thing. I don't write political blogs. Oh, I have opinions. Lots of them. But, it just seems like a rats nest. And a way for a lot of people that I am related to to like me even less. Let's just say, when it comes to politics, this apple fell FAR from the tree(s).

But, to meet and shake hands and get an autographed book from a woman who could be the next president. Seriously? I'm in. And I'm gonna tell everyone.

We made plans. I'd leave the office a little early on Tuesday. Go to Michelle's house in Olympia, we'll hang out and then head out to the bookstore late at night or early in the morning. We had to be in line and wrist banded and security checked.

Well, most of those things happened in that order...

Solid night. Lost track of time.

Turns out that Olympia is like the Bermuda Triangle - I had no idea! I did go to her house. I did even sleep there. For a couple hours. And, I did wake up so hung over I thought I was going to die. Or maybe wishing. I can tell you waking up even slightly hung over underneath a skylight is a very unpleasant experience.

I think our plan was to go out for a couple hours.

I forgot the plan right around the 5th G & T. But, who's counting?

Interviewed while hungover - winning!

We made it out of the house blurry eyed but awake. The line wasn't too long - yet. Made the coffee run. It was Seattle, after all. And then. Well, then, we waited. And waited. And waited. We did get interviewed by the Seattle-Times - where I gave a very funny line about Bill Clinton needing hobbies once Hillary is in office. Because, seriously, I love him but he needs to be kept busy. It didn't translate well into print. Without tone and inflection, I'm not that funny.

At 9AM the line started to move. Slowly. It snaked through the bookstore. We were wrist banded and charged for the book. Which is genius, pretty much guarantees you'll return to get it and holds you to only one book.

We returned to Oly and napped, showered and got ready and then returned. Most people had just stayed there and thus had a pretty good position in line. We did not.

Instructions were given. Summed up to this: Keep the line moving, if someone tells you to do something, do it. And, no matter what, don't touch her.

Photos weren't allowed within three feet. Bummer because I was going to selfie the shit out of that deal. It's all good though, I'll do the walking away selfie with her in the background.

The tiny bit of turquoise back there? Hillary!

We started the security process. Started with friendly guys in khakis and polos. But, at the top of the stairs there was a line of what looked like former NFLers in suits. They were not friendly and they did not smile. At all.

We got a little freaked out when they took a guy down. Okay, we can handle this, we just do what they say.

At the top of the rope line people started taking pictures. The line was moving fast. People were violating the rules. And getting yelled at by large men in suits and guns. Do what they say! Please!? Crazy lady! They're going to take you down! Honestly, some of the people were so annoying that I would have been fine had the been taken down. But it would have probably slowed the line down. Ain't nobody got time for that.

In the end, we got our books signed. I did get that hand shake in - double handed - Bill Clinton style.


An awesome selfie with a future president? That didn't go so well. But, we can laugh about it now. Maybe.

I'll do the Matt selfie. With Hillary in the background. Shit.