What can't be looked for

A Beautiful Life

2011-10-11T09:50:00.001Z

This morning, I woke up a full two hours before my alarm was due to go off. At first I thought I had left the ‘auto’ setting on the coffee pot, and then I thought it was the rain, or the dog that’s ears seem to be bothering him, even though I can’t see any reason why. After all that, I decided that just like 90% of the mornings since the first part of the year, I was just awake. Usually, when this happens, I find my thoughts racing to the extent that I am reminded of that amusement park ride, the one where you line up against the wall and the room spins and spins, and eventually the floor drops out. Although that kind of force seems to have left, I still have moments where it does seem the floor has yet to make a full comeback.
I don’t know that I’ve ever been a ‘everything happens for a reason’ person, with enough emotional distance I’m usually able to see the sunnier side of the darkest things. This is no exception, I’m in the right place, although I couldn’t have predicted it, I learned another lesson about who belongs in my life and who didn’t deserve to exist in it, even its gutters. It’s almost funny that it’s her betrayal that has cut more deeply. The girl I shared much with over the last few years; training victories and dilemmas, parental relationship difficulties, boyfriend/husband stories, and just the financial obligation to get back and forth to the trainer we both felt so good about, is now waking up every morning with the last man I ever thought I’d love.
Sometimes, my gender deserves its very worst reputation.
I don’t think this is what keeps me awake at night anymore; I think it’s just the rest. Everything from jobs, to dog training to the slightly crazy guy I’ve been dating for a couple of months. It’s good to be here. It’s good to see that the parts of me I have always been able to count on, are still intact. It’s better to see that I had more friends that surprised me with their love and loyalty and only one that let me down. In any equation, I call that a win.
My friend Mandy often quotes “Two tears in a bucket….” And I’m blessedly, finally, there. Some things belong in the rear view, even if you have to back over it a few times before you go.

Mindlessness Matters

2011-07-28T10:16:00.009Z

This time of year, everything slows down, including, sadly, my dog training. Between the heat, lack of rain, and the fire ants overrunning my tracking fields, my priorities change, there is no beating the summer in late July/August in North Carolina. So Mojo and I do short spurts of obedience with the reward being a floatie toy tossed into the pond, lather, rinse, repeat.

My goal becomes keeping him fit, happy, and keeping both of us sane.
This entire year, I’ve been struggling with insomnia. Headed into the 8th month of the year, with little improvement, despite over the counter remedies, prescription remedies ‘have a glass f wine before you go to bed’, work out before you go to bed, turn off the TV ½ hour before you go to bed, etc., and still no change, I’m resigned to getting comfortable being uncomfortably tired most of the time.

This morning, up far too early (again) I did something I’ve been doing a few times a week for the last 4 years. I got up, and went out to sit on the deck stairs with my first cup of coffee, and play a game of 2-ball fetch with Mojo. Not too long ago I read a discussion thread about how useless this game is. The speakers described the game as “mindless” and the human participant as no better than “a ball machine”. I remember feeling a little bad about doing it when I read the discussion. It’s one of the things I do all summer for sure, but honestly all the time for him. As I watched Mojo light up with joy when I came out the back door with two balls this morning, I decided (again and finally) that I really don’t care what those people think of this game. Dog training pros they might be, and many more may agree., but I know that 2 dozen tosses of a ball before 5 am on a day predicted to hit 100 degrees is Mojo’s equivalent to me sitting down and watching Survivor. It IS mindless. So what of it? I ask a lot of him. I ask him to track well, be quick and correct in obedience, be strong and convincing, and very under control in bite work. I ask him not to bite the neighbors, or my old dog, and overall, Mojo complies. Not always joyfully (okay, rarely joyfully), but he complies.

When I started running I used to go between 4 and 5 am. I started running in July of 2005, I told myself it was because of the heat, really, I just wanted the cover of darkness. Running is hard, and if I needed to stop and suck wind, I wanted as few witnesses as possible. Somewhere along the way I got over that. Maybe just as the running got harder, and I had to focus on it more, I stopped realizing anyone else existed during those “I’m sucking wind” moments. Entirely possible, running hurts.

Whatever the truth, when I watch Mojo racing across the lawn in the pre-dawn hours during our ‘mindless game’ what comes to mind is what his breeder told me when I pushed her about the fact that I hadn’t signed a contract. She said she wasn’t worried about it because she knew I would take care of him. That, in the end is what matters. Of course he needs a job, and mental stimulation, and he has that. But he also needs a bowl of popcorn and a sofa to cheer on idiots left in a jungle with a bag of rice 2 months.

This all may seem simplistic, and maybe it is. I’m not really sure what else someone who hasn’t slept more than 5 hours at a time for the last 8 months is capable of. I just know that the events of the last 8 months of made me re-evaluate a whole host of things in my life., not just dog training bits, some much more personal and hard to hear.

I’m not dumb enough to think I have it all figured out, I've made that mistake too often, but I do know that Mojo is out back, laying in his baby pool, drinking some of the same water, happy. That, coupled with leaning into being okay with the decisions I am making these days, get me a whole lot closer to happy as well.

You all knew it was coming

2011-05-30T00:07:00.003Z

A month or so ago, I thought I was going to a dog training seminar for the holiday weekend, so I requested three days off. When things didn’t work out the way I had planned, I didn’t rescind my leave request. I decided, to take my Body Pump instructors advice when heading into a difficult set, and use the time off to “get my mind right”.

For the changes just behind me, and for those just ahead, I needed very much to have my mind right.

I finished getting the upstairs ready, new mattress in, old one to the dump, books and bookcase packed up and stored. The last box of his shit packed up and carried downstairs.

I went to the gym, got a pedicure, went shopping, to the pool, and got a facial. I have been unable to sleep more than 4 hours a night since he told me he was leaving in January. With prescription medication, I could get 5 hours. This weekend, I took a nap.

It’s not over; I’m not completely over what he did, to me, to us.
I am just not sorry anymore.
He chose this. He chose to lie, and cheat and quit.
He listened to my crying, and apologizing and never once owned up to his mistakes. In the end he chose to keep making the same mistakes that have ruined every other major relationship in his life. And, I just can’t care or take care of him for one minute longer.

The box weighed 43lbs. I carried down the stairs, put in the bed of the truck, and carried it into the pack and ship up the street; I wouldn’t let them help me. I needed to do this last thing. I tracked those 43 lbs as they traveled northward. When the notice arrived that it was left on his front porch I deleted the email.

My new tenant moves in next weekend.
I have a goal date for Mojo’s next title.
I start a new work schedule and in a new department, on Tuesday.
I have a first date.

I don’t know where any of these things might lead. I’m not entirely sure I care where some of them lead, but I care that they are steps forward, every good run I’ve ever had started with just a few steps forward.

If that's not getting my mind right, I don't know what is.

Montana Sage

2011-03-22T23:04:00.001Z

“Burn it when he’s gone”, she said as she passed the light green bundle of leaves and twigs to her, “it will clear the negativity” pausing only to bring the bundle to her nose just briefly, then almost to herself alone, “We picked this in Montana, it’s Montana Sage”.
This is the kind of thing that had anyone else told her she would have smiled,rolled her eyes and never done it. This friend was different, though, this was the friend she never should have made, the friend she no longer would know what do without knowing she existed in the world.
The sage sat in her truck for days. She picked it up at stoplights and smelled it, thinking about Montana and remembering that night with her friend. She didn’t want to bring it inside the house, didn’t want to explain it to anyone, or think about all it represented every time she passed it on the desk or kitchen table.
When she was ready, or thought she was, she carried it inside the house, not brave enough to carry it upstairs, she sat on the living room floor in her quiet, quiet house, with just the dogs as witnesses and lit the little bundle of sage.
She cried, the dogs watched, the sage burned.
At some point she lit the other end, for the friend that gave it to her, and the weight of the loss, this seemed right.

thoughts from rubber and the road

2011-02-27T11:35:00.002Z

Northbound this morning I thought of you, brother. You driving southbound, in the Comet, noting to yourself that speed kills. You went south to support a friend in need; I went north, the one in need.
My first trip in the new truck, the dog you never met curled in his crate, tail over his nose, I imagined. Five short days from yet another birthday you aren’t here for, I feel the same thing I always feel when your absence rears its head. Alone. There is just no end to that, it seems. It wasn’t a speedy death I worried about this morning or really any death at all. It was everything else.
The road didn’t take me past your house, and I was glad, even though my heart still wishes I could hear you give directions one more time to “E M, like Auntie EM “ Street. I wondered if I ever would understand you and Grace, if you ever got over the hurt, and how on earth you did. I wondered what advice you would give me now, and cursed the circumstances that lead me to wish your counsel was available today. No one else has the words - that was always your job.
Sometimes, there’s peace in miles rolling under wheels, sometimes in the music I hear, or in something only found alone in a car with your thoughts, popcorn crumbs and static interrupting songs you haven’t heard in years, but like enough slow down and hope the song ends before the signal fades. I am trying to hold onto the moments of peace I found in those moments today. Recently I’ve been told my talent is in words, and my failing is in human contact. It seems my desire to write for a living falls right in line with my personal failings. I think this is a good thing to find out, but it cuts deeply.
I don’t know what I expected, ever. I only know when I don’t have it. It’s like that job interview question, “where do you want to be in five years” although I never say it, the only answer that ever rings in my head is “happy”. It’s maybe why I’m not such a great employee.
Changing everything doesn’t seem like such a bad idea. I did that once, 6 years ago, thought it made things better, today I’m not sure, and I’m not sure it will help things if I do it again but I’m going to. Last time I left the people that cared most for me behind, this time, I’m going to them. The people and places that I may never tell anything to, but their presence and their concern may just be enough. Enough to keep me from feeling like someone left a door to a cold winter open in my chest. Wind raging and stinging so cold it brings tears to my eyes. Drafts so cold as to leave me feeling like a solitary tree on an open plain, bent from its force, and unprotected.
I don’t choose to fight this one alone, unprotected is not where I want to be. Maybe I should have made friends with pain when I had the chance, when it was what kept me company night after night, day after day, but I didn’t and I won’t this time either.
On the road, I remember roll call in your class, the comment that made everyone giggle when a student wasn’t there, “absence really the strangest sort of presence”.
It’s the truest thing I know today.

A crisis of faith

2011-02-05T14:33:00.001Z

During a conversation, this phrase ran through my head. Unfortunately it ran through my head because the words that were being said about me made me think that the speaker, through no fault of their own had been having a crisis of faith, in me.

The idea that I had so deeply let someone this important down, and for so long, was nothing short of devastating. Feeling gut shot, I stumbled through the next 5 days a husk of nauseated, shaky, sobbing grief. How I had let this happen, a slow progression of all the things I hate about the complacency that comes over time in close relationships. I spoke and they heard things I could never mean, think or do; and they spoke and I just didn’t hear, again and again.

A traditional crisis of faith is defined by me in non secular terms as a crisis demanding an uncompromising decision – one that sufficiently reconciles the cause of doubt with the belief or the discarding of the belief altogether. Although faith is generally used in reference to a higher power; and I am *not* comparing myself to a deity, I do believe faith is something we all feel, in the people and often, world around us, religious or not. In some ways, faith is beyond definition, those of any religious persuasion have faith their chosen God exists, cares for them and is all powerful. Intellectual disparities matter not at all.

So what do you do when you find yourself as the source of so much pain in a loved one there seems no way back to forgiveness and love? When all that has gone before, has seemingly been discarded, or at least written over in black magic marker, by the harm you inflicted? I am feeling sorry enough for myself, and don’t want sympathy. I have never ‘hung in there’ before, when the hurt comes, I leave. How does a classically faithless girl find redemption in the heart of a loved one? Where do you even start?

I HAVE TWO DOGS THAT HATE EACH OTHER, AND NOW I HAVE ONE WITH 3 LEGS*

2010-09-08T01:50:00.002Z

They say the more things change, the more they stay the same. I disagree.
Things ‘round here are changing and nothing is staying the same.

I don’t really think I’m complaining, but aside from the physical location of my home, I barely recognize my life. My Dad had often marveled at the number of job changes I’ve had. For him (and maybe his generation) he went from 25 years in the military to 25 years at a private corporation. The idea of his daughter changing jobs, and even careers, especially at my “advanced” age was not easy for him. I think he thought I was chasing butterflies and in a way, maybe I have been. I’ve admittedly sort of followed a path career wise, and not cut a path. Somewhere along the way, I decided that when the thing in front of you seemed right, no matter how different, how out of character, how risky, how ‘not like me’ I gave it a shot. This is said to sound as though I was full of confidence and positive feelings, because I rarely if ever was. Somewhere in my genetic make-up was a healthy dose of ‘make the best of it’. So I did, or at least I tried to. Along the way I found some things I liked, some I definitely did not, and a few I utterly disliked. Also, I discovered some things I was really good at, and some things I really wasn’t good at. Lucky for me, I also discovered just a couple of things I genuinely loved.

Veterinary medicine was my first grown-up love, anesthesia was the first thing I was really damn good at, dog training and horse back riding swept me off my feet, regulatory writing helped me find a lost love of creative writing, (also, it showed me that I’m really bad at telling people what they want to hear and not just what I think.)

Talking to a friend this afternoon, I had the realization that if all the mistakes I’ve made in my life got me where I am today - I am not so sure I can even call them mistakes. In particular, if all the bad relationships I’ve had got me to the one where I’m finally with the guy that when I call him on a random Tuesday afternoon and tell him I’m bringing home a three-legged foster dog that needs some rehab and some love responds with “I can’t wait to meet him” and not a list (even if it is legitimate) of why I shouldn’t do it. I think I’ll just be grateful for those missteps.

I don’t know that I fully recognize my life from the outside, but from the inside, it feels better, and more like home than anything in years past. Things, they are not easy these days, money is tight, loved ones are on borrowed time, cars are getting old, debt isn’t shrinking, and the lottery is looking more and more like a viable retirement plan, but, I sent marshmallow shooters to friends a few weeks ago, and bought 2 for the house. From now on, all arguments will be solved via marshmallow war.

Take that lousy economy, stuck up doctors, crappy long war, “mosque” protests, still high unemployment rate, and mounting school debt.

I'm packing marshmellows and I know how to use them.

*love you Daisy.

Pear Shaped

2010-08-28T23:55:00.002Z

A long absence, indeed.
Thirteen months ago, I, along with so many others in today's world got laid off. I did some contract work, received unemployment, and went back to school. For the record, I'm still in school, graduation date is yet to be determined, but it's coming along nicely.

A month ago, I started a new job, and it's a job, and I'm grateful for it. It's not perfect, but what ever is?

Now, on the other side of it, I can admit how comnpletely I fell apart after losing my job. Nothing prepared me for the level of failure I felt. I tried to stay positive, and quickly threw myself into school and the bit of contract work I got, but the uncertainity really set my on my arse. No matter who was looking at me, I only saw my own perception of myself, a failure, a disappointment, in their eyes. It cut so deep I stopped looking. I stopped everything. I buried myself deep in papers and grades and dog training and looked only into the chocolate brown eyes of my dogs, who love me... anyway.

I am not proud of the things I did and didn't do during a lot of the last year. I neglected the ones dearest to my heart. I didn't do wantonly, but I did do it. Although I've said I'm sorry, many times over, it never seems enough when you know you've hurt the ones you love the most.

Maybe because I'm getting old(er) this stuff, this starting over stuff, is just plain hard. I know I'll find my way, I don't have much 'quit' in me. I just hope I can find some of those old friends along the way, and that they'll find it in their hearts to forgive me.

What do you do with a drunken sailor?

2009-12-29T13:56:00.001Z

I knew I would write this morning, because I dreamt of Mark last night. It was like a visual reminder, if you want to write, do it every day, something he told me and we all found out he definitely did when we cleaned out his house. Mark was riding around in the back of an old Nissan Sentra, one with bumper stickers plastered all of over the back of it. This car exists in my real-time life. It belongs to one of the women at the farm that drives me crazy. Mark was there, arm draped over the back of the seat, leather jacket, white shirt, singing in a Bob Dylan twang to my friend Staci. Staci, was laughing loudly, and glancing alternately at Mark in the rear view mirror and to her right at me in the passenger seat.

Our destination was some sort of cookout. Mark headed for the barbecue and didn’t come back for the rest of the dream. Staci and I sat at a long picnic table, laughing about something and were joined by a couple, a couple that clearly couldn’t find any other place to sit, judging by how uncomfortable they seemed sitting with us. It only got worse, when Mandy arrived, plate in hand, her well behaved food sitting in its sections ever so careful to not touch. Soon enough, the couple disappeared too. I cannot blame anyone in my dreams or my real world that feels the desire to evaporate when I am with these two women. It’s a little bit like watching twins that have their own language. There is a divider, while not meant to be entirely exclusionary, it does create a space between the us, and the not us.

There was no major revelation in this dream. I had no great insight, or million dollar idea. The world’s greatest novel was not born in this dream last night. I do think it had a message for me. You see, yesterday, was one of those damn days, the ones where I feel that everything I touch turns to complete crap. Where even looking back, what’s in the rear view mirror looks like ruin, both the places and the people. Right about 4 pm I hated absolutely everything about the last 20 or so years. I couldn’t find a nugget of goodness in myself or my ‘doings.’ Fortunately, I know that these days come and they go. I still find them hard to deal with and in truth, spend most of them crying and feeling inept and without value. I think, the dream was reminding me of those who love (d) me the most, those that do see the good in me, even at my worst. I think I needed that reminder, because it is now, during winter, that I can be dragged into believing there is no good, no hope, left in the world.

There is in fact, a poem that ends with this line “nothing now can ever come to any good” it is a poem about losing someone, and the first time I heard it I felt as though it had been etched into my sunburned skin with a shard of broken glass. It is an amazing thing, the power words strung together just so can have. I only need to think of the poem, the images it creates in my head, some memories, some conjured by the words, and I am standing outside a funeral home in Fairfax Virginia on the coldest day of my life while a man named Archer sits inside at long shiny wooden dining table talking to my mother and sisters about “the remains.” I left before I punched him, but not before I reminded him that the remains had a goddamn name.

I felt better this morning, just a little. I suppose it could have been the dream, or just the bright sunshine through the blinds and the cold dog nose pressed to my forearm. In that, there is hope to share.

Meet me in Banner Elk next October.

2009-12-27T13:56:00.002Z

Fat black sharpie in hand, I crossed off yesterday’s date on my calendar this morning, mentally ticking off the days until the new year. Just four to go. I thought briefly about the past year, about the big things that have happened, and wondered even more briefly what 2010 would hold. Usually, I just feel hopeful at the end of a year, this year, there’s a good bit more fear mixed in. A month or so ago, I met with a real estate agent, got a rough, non-official appraisal on my house, just in case I need to put it on the market this spring. I told myself then, as I do each time I tell this fact to someone, I’d rather sell my house than lose it. It’s true, but it makes me unspeakably sad. I don’t know that I had envisioned the step that came after this little Cape Cod house, but I feel confident it was never, ever, leave it before I lose it. Deciding it was too early for such dark thoughts; I poured another cup of coffee and headed for the couch.

The early darkness of winter makes me nuts and truth be told, a little sad. I don’t know that I’m one of those people that are truly affected by the lack of sunlight, but my spirits sure are. Yesterday morning, sick of just about everything, I shoved myself out the door to the gym, determined to chase the winter doldrums away. I took a new class, one whose ad has one of those perfectly sculpted females on it, and the slogan “Pressure makes diamonds.” This, to a different person, would have been a clue. In early November, I got a horrible cold, worst one I’ve had in years, knocked me back for a good 3 weeks. On Thanksgiving Day when I went to run the turkey trot, I hadn’t run a step in roughly 2.5 weeks. I had no grand hopes; and that turned out to be a very good thing. I ended that run a full 5 minutes slower than the year previous, but with a really cool shirt (purple, with a turkey on it!) and a flier for North Carolina’s newest marathon. I wore the shirt on Thanksgiving Day. I put the flier on my desk and looked at it nearly every day. A week or so ago, I pulled it out and mapped out a training schedule for the half-marathon. I am not mentally ready for school, work (I hope) and full marathon training; the half will have to do. The week starting tomorrow is week 1.

Twelve weeks from now, I hope to have been successful in consistently training for 13.1 miles. I hope 2010 looks better than it did early this morning. If I have put my house on the market I hope it’s because I cashed in a winning lottery ticket, and am moving to Belize, or perhaps, just because I got a job offer somewhere else and am moving by choice, not out of necessity and fear.

Someone told me a few weeks ago that those wooly bear caterpillars are predictors of winter weather, if they have a lot of brown and very little black it means that we are in for a hard winter. Curious about this I went looking for more information and discovered that right here in North Carolina (Banner Elk to be exact) there is actually a Wooly Worm Festival in which the highlight is a Wooly Worm race which ends with the Mayor pronouncing the winner (no doubt he has to pronounce it loudly to wake the spectators) and examining the caterpillar and declaring the winter weather forecast. However bizarre this information, there is some scientific research that backs this up. The one I was examining that day a few weeks ago was nearly all brown. Even without a mayor to pronounce it, it appears this winter is going to be long one. I suppose you can’t argue with a wooly bear caterpillar. So, I won’t. I will hope, just a little more this year than in years past, for a correspondingly brighter spring.

Baby, it's cold outside.

2009-12-23T13:46:00.002Z

I am struck by the parallels between writing and running. Every question a hopeful runner asks themselves,, is the same a hopeful writer asks.
“How do I get better/stronger/faster?”
“How often should I do it?”
“What do I need?”
“When am I a ‘real’ runner/writer?”

When doubt is winning the war, these turn into declarative statements,
“I’ll never be better/stronger/faster.
“I don’t have enough time to work on it.”
“I don’t have what I need.”
“I’ll never be a real runner/writer.”

This may not be news to anyone. For me it is a reminder. A reminder that running was and still is hard, and that I am capable of hard things.

In running, you just lace up your shoes and get to stepping. I know this because I did it. Less than 24 hours after I quit smoking, I started running.

Now, approaching 5 years later, it is those earliest runs I repeat in my head when I need encouragement. I still see myself, in those blue addidas running pants with the 3 white stripes down the side heading down into the weird part of my old neighborhood, the part where all the houses were dark brown wood duplexes, and there were no street lights. At 4 am, it was dark down there. That part, despite being all downhill, was often the hardest part, to this day, the first 3 to 5 minutes of nearly every run, still feels like a really bad idea.

The next long stretch of road was all flat, full of weird 4 way stops, and the house that was in the news, an elderly lady died there that summer, and no one knew for a very long time. Well, no one except her 47 cats. The entire house had to be demolished. For months, it was just a large dirt spot in between houses. A dirt spot that, I swear, still smelled like cat urine. It was here I got my rhythm, where I got my first inklings of what I thought a ‘real runner’ felt like. I have found little else in the world like the power of moving through t he world powered only by my own feet and brain, and maybe a little Rob Zombie. I remember running along this road, wondering if people would look out their windows as they started their coffee pot, see me, and think 'look at that crazy runner’. I hoped so.

The third stretch of these runs was my nemesis. The hill at E. Maple. Initially, I couldn’t run up even one quarter of it. That changed over time, with practice.

The last stretch, quite literally the home stretch, past the elementary school and the Getty-mart, down the street that ran right to my little condo and the visitors parking lot where I would cool down and stretch. Still alone, still in the dark.

Many more runs came after these first ones, many races too. Yet, it is these practice runs my mind returns to when I struggle with running, and now with writing.

I would quite staunchly defend myself to anyone who declared me not a ‘real runner’ because I can’t run a 7 or even 8 minute mile. I run, therefore I am a runner. The clock does not define me. It may define them, or maybe not them, but something in their world that is important to them. I can, now, let go of that. I have met those people, at races, on the trails, even in shoe stores, they can’t be bothered with so called recreational runners, they have splits to make consistent, or better, to make negative. They have qualifying times to meet; and other very important runner-things to do. I am wasting my time in their eyes. It’s good that I am not looking at myself through their eyes. I see them as dedicated, competent, passionate, and in love with the thing that running has become for them, and not so much the act of running itself. I could be wrong about this.

When I sit down to write, it becomes a lesson in truth-telling. Will I say what I really feel about something – or will I be cowed by the possibility of discovery, and what those that discover it will say, think, feel about me because of the words on the page.

My brother once wrote a poem, a poem that he said was a lesbian, and that poem fucked many other woman poems. He said it, just like that. He wrote it, it was published, and he gave, sold and distributed that book to friends, family, even our parents(!), students, and strangers. He had no fear of saying exactly what he meant, of being exactly who he was.

I think my question about writing isn’t when will I be a real writer, but when will I brave enough to expose the real me. When will I whip out my promiscuous poems (lesbian or otherwise) with pride and not fear?

The truth is I don’t know. So in the meantime, I will follow the path that made me a real runner.

I’ll practice.

Deify Plums!

2009-12-22T12:35:00.002Z

I drink coffee at all times of the day – but that first cup, that morning coffee, is always the best cup. When I lived alone, I used to start the pot brewing, clean up the kitchen from whatever detritus was left from the previous night, and take that first cup out on the back deck with my young dog and his favorite toy.
Since he was very young, a simple game of fetch has been a winner for this dog. So, I would drink my coffee with one hand and throw the toy with the other. My coffee comes in a cup; his comes, most often, in the form of red rubber Kong toy. When the cup was empty the game was done for the morning. I had things to do, a shower to take, a job to get ready for.

Since I lost my job in July, that game of fetch can come randomly, at any time of the day. When I have freelance work, it’s sometimes what I do to clear my head when I’ve been agonizing over something I’m supposed to analyze and interpret in nice, objective, scientific text. This randomness has driven this poor dog of mine nearly over the edge. Now, if you so much as twitch in the direction of the back door, he’s through the dog door like a rocket, whining, craning his neck toward the kitchen sink, desperate to see you, toy in hand, following him out the back door. You can practically hear his little hear pounding in anticipation. It’s hard to let him down.

This morning, I woke up a full hour and then some earlier than I have been since July. I started the coffee pot, cleaned up the kitchen, found my boots and the red rubber Kong. He had not forgotten. We played fetch in the cold and dark, on the hard ground, bright stars overhead. I watched my breath rise above me and his plume out around him as he ran to the far corner of the yard, chasing his toy. Frost made the ground shine in the fluorescent light, and crunch under his feet and mine. We played till my fingers got numb. He was ready for more; I was only ready for more coffee.

A nudge

2009-10-09T12:04:00.003Z

I've been duly nudged by a friend and reader, that I've been gone too long.

Things aren't all bad, but they certainly aren't what I expected either. I am working a bit, as an independent contractor/freelance writer. It has a strong appeal for me, because it allows me to work from home, whatever hours I need to work. So when I have down time, I go to the gym, ride horses, or train my dog. I also cook and clean more. Interestingly enough, I chose this time in my life, (you know the time where I don't have a steady job), to start taking classes, classes working towards my Master's degree. So, working like this also allows me to do homework, or other class assignments. Sweet, right? Well, kind of. The downside is from one week to the next, I don't know if I'm going to have work. It's nerve-wracking at best, and ulcer-inducing at worst. I'm trying to stay positive, and convince myself that the next job/temporary or not, is on the horizon, and adopt that whole "everything happens for a reason" attitude.
Sometimes it even works, at least for a couple of hours.

My health insurance coverage ended this month, and there's nothing like not being truly employed coupled with not having health insurance to make you suddenly become more interested in the unending health care debate. Honestly I can't voice an opinion because I just haven't sat down and down my due diligence on the proposed bills, but I can tell you, that I think at least once a week, "what would happen to me if I fell off this horse/had a car accident/tripped going down the stairs and broke [fill in the blank], OR (heaven forbid) found a lump in my breast/had a seizure/got swine flu and needed medical care". Maybe because I've always had it and now suddenly don't, it weighs more heavily than for those that just never had it, but geeezy pete, this is not a happy place.

Things at home have shifted a good bit as well. My long-term boyfriend and I took that big "let's live together" step. So he and his 2 dogs (one of whom I love, the other not so much) have moved in. Unfortunately (but expectedly) my young dog has come into his own "maleness" in the last 3 months or so, and has decided he will no longer accept being pushed around by my old dog or the boyfriend's older female. Our house resembles Poland these days, a place divided by the ruling factions. Heh. Yeah. There's a two closed doors between warring dogs at all times policy. There was a bit of bloodshed and a LOT of hurt feelings (mostly on the part of the boyfriend) while we sorted this all out, but so far, it's working just fine. I find myself deciding to move from room to room in order to spend "equal" time with the dogs, which sometimes feels ridiculous but that certainly hasn't stopped me from doing things in the past, so I see no reason to start worrying about it now.

All in all, things could be way worse, and most of the time I'm grateful for what I have that's going right. Sometimes, that doesn't seem like a lot, and sometimes, it seems like Everything. So, if you catch me on the right day, Everything is just fine.

Hiatus

2009-09-06T22:20:00.005Z

The last two days, I’ve had the same dream.
I’m standing on the corner of two streets in the neighborhood I grew up in. The park is just behind me on the right, the scene of the first joint I smoked; just a road beyond that is the house I grew up in. The house where my first memories were born, where some the biggest influences in my life first entered. To my left, maybe a block away is the house of the girl who was my best friend in grade school. To my right is the road that would take me to my first experiences with teen love and lust. For me, mostly the latter, for my friends, both in equal measure. Love, for me, was many years away.
I can’t figure out which way to go in the dream. I end up sitting on the curb with my head between my knees. I’m not crying. I am simply too overwhelmed to feel just one emotion. So I just sit there.
I’d have to be dead to not see the parallel in this dream to my own life right now. I feel like I am working really hard at just being okay, and it feel s so much like treading water I can’t figure out why I’m not wet. I can’t quite get to okay though. I am restless and exhausted, never quite sated in any arena, from the work I do to the meals I eat. I’ve had a headache nearly every day for the last 12 days or more. Sometimes they go away for awhile, but mostly they just retreat until I actually need to sit down and analyze data for the contract work I’m doing here and there. It forces me to write, then do something else, then go back and recheck, reword, reanalyze.
The permanent job I thought I had fell through, and while I’m grateful and lucky to have the contract work I do, the temporary nature of it is harder for me to deal with than I ever imagined. I worry all the time and the rest of the time I’m just plain sick to my stomach scared. I will be taking a couple of classes this fall, I’m considering my next degree, because what better time to reevaluate your life than when the one you were expecting to have is suddenly gone? I haven’t any idea how to pay for that anymore than I know how I’m going to pay anything else without regular work, but there I am, signing up for classes and buying rubber mulch for my empty flower beds like it’s any other fall.
I can be cheery and optimistic for the length of a phone call or email, or on a bad day just long enough to throw out a random facebook status update or to conduct a text message conversation. The rest of the time I’m wearing old sweats and thinking about the fetal position and it’s very difficult to type in the fetal position.
So yeah, now you know.

For Joe, all the words I have.

2009-08-10T00:47:00.004Z

Twice in the last five years I've had the responsibility of relaying the news that someone we love has died. Once, to my mother, who's response was, "I'm coming" followed by a dial tone, and just recently to a friend when we lost a mutual friend. I found her disbelief rocked me almost more than the news itself. Her words, "I don't believe it, I'm calling him right now" and a beat or two later, more softly,"but I don't want him to be dead" sat in my head and my in heart, for at least a week. I wrote them down in my orange composition notebook in all caps and I looked at it everyday. I thought about how there just aren't any truer words to be spoken when that kind of news is delivered. Her grief, her anger, put me in touch with my own. I was traveling, somewhere in Delaware I think, when I got the word myself, I kept it together, more easily than I'd like to admit. But later that night confronted with her disbelief, her grief, I pulled to the side of the Interstate 476and sobbed.

During the week, his memorial was held, and our group of runner friends, they honored our friend by showing up at his service in their finest, accessorized with running shoes and leopard print scarves, honoring our beloved runner/caveman. Those that couldn't attend the service interrupted their normal schedules and ran at the appointed hour. I joined them in this, doing my speed work on the hotel treadmill and not caring much that the guy on the bowflex in the corner looked distressed and a little scared when I broke into tears during my last interval. I was remembering a few years back, when he broke 4 hours at the Philadelphia Marathon, and me, unable to attend, tracked him online all morning, screaming loudly enough to frighten the dog, as I watched his splits bringing him closer to his goal, 26.2 in under four hours. He did it.
And I cried alone in my living room, reveling in his success.

The man had a huge heart, a kind word, an open mind, and a smile for everyone he met. He never met a burrito he didn't like, and his perseverance made me a better runner. Proving time and time again, that the only limitations there truly are, are those we put on ourselves, everything else, EVERYTHING else, is negotiable, and in our own hands.

Dammit, Stace, I don't want him to be dead either.

Ch-ch-changes!

2009-07-24T14:16:00.003Z

I got on the treadmill at the hotel the other day and set the time for 45 minutes. My pace wasn't easy, but it wasn't really hard either. I threw a hand towel over the display and turned on the ridiculously over-size flat screen television at the front of the gym. I flipped channels idly, finding nothing compelling enough to hold my attention for more than a few minutes.

Feeling strong, I picked up the pace, and was rewarded with a feeling I don't get often enough. The one that says I could run forever. That feeling came along with the completely emotional one of "and I wish I could just stay on this treadmill forever". Okay, to those of you who don't run, that sounds crazy, but no, I wasn't losing my grip on the last threads of sanity, it was just that running makes everything simple and uncomplicated. One foot in front of the other, breathe, when it gets hard, slow down, when you feel good, speed up, thirsty, drink. Simple.

Life lately, has gotten complicated.

A week earlier, after working very late on a Tuesday night, I was invited to a mandatory teleconference mid-afternoon on Wednesday. I called into find out I was one of 300 people at company ABC, who were being "released" thank you for all your years of service, come in tomorrow and drop off your company belongings, and have a nice day. I took that job 3 years ago, unsure I would like it, and was as surprised as those around me to find that I enjoyed it more than I expected, and along the way made some amazing friends. The kind of friends that remember good anniversaries and sad ones, and throw puppy showers when you bring your new 8 week old four-footed friend home.

Oh, I know, I shouldn't have been so surprised. I'm just one more of thousands of good people finding themselves adding websites like career builder to their Internet favorites folder, talking to recruiters, and hoping that a friend of a friend of a friend really will deliver your resume to the 'right hands' and the 'right hands' will dial the phone and ask you to come in for an interview. I was though, surprised, I mean. Stunned even. I can remember now staring at the contents of the open refrigerator and thinking that I should wait to eat until I was really hungry, because soon, I was going to run out of food. So. Melodramatic. Just where does that stuff come from? Company ABC gave me a severance package, although not huge, it's something, and I certainly realize the gift that 2 months is. Yet, that day, on the treadmill, I still wanted to run forever, just deal with the cadence of my footsteps, and not the rest of what I was thinking and feeling since losing my job. Logically, I know I did nothing wrong, emotionally, it feels somewhat humiliating.

Plainly, it just sucks.

I've done all the right things, filed for unemployment, and of course, I'm actively looking, talking and seeking work. I have my first interview today, and I'm not feeling too bad about it, a little unsteady, but I suppose given the way of the world these days, unsteady is probably the new black.

So, I'll wear my new black to my interview today and see where it takes me.

Catching up

2009-04-20T22:44:00.005Z

So, I look up and nearly a month has gone by, that, was not intentional. Life has been, if nothing else, interesting in the last month., and that is something to be grateful for I suppose, at least I have not died of boredom.

Spring has arrived in North Carolina, and despite several interruptions of rain, rain and cold, cold and rain, and rain, I've already had to cut my grass and just today spent some time wandering around the backyard noting all the new baby grass sprouting in the areas I put down seed earlier in the year.

I went to church on Easter Sunday with a friend. You'll know it was a good friend when I tell you I not only went, but went to a sunrise service in a cemetery. I've always thought religion was macabre, and this fit right in to that notion. I want to tell you it was a beautiful cemetery, but that seems wrong. Just how beautiful can a place full of dead people be? The grounds were pretty, the trees were overwhelmingly beautiful, and the service included an all brass band that performed multiple times and was more impressive each time, but it was, a cemetery. While I have no desire to be planted when I pass on, as the idea of becoming human mulch does not work for me personally, I am a staunch believer in 'to each his own' and I am as respectful of burial places as I know how to be. So I was more than a little surprised as I watched the people joining the service around me as they trod over graves, and bumped into/rested on crypts. To say I was disappointed when I noticed the minister gave his sermon from atop someones stone grave marker would be an understatement.

The service itself, seemed a little dark given that at least in my mind, in my limited prior religious experience, Easter Sunday should be a celebration. I walked away feeling like the minister felt we should all be wringing our hands and weeping while kneeling on a bed of nails waiting for Christ's return. No joy in mudville would be permitted.

The going meant something deeply personal to my friend so I am glad to have done it, regardless of my own (unchanged) feelings for organized religion. My friend and I followed the service with grilled corn on the cob, sweet potatoes and burgers. We read a little on my deck and watched the dogs play and dig and run in the very welcome sunshine.

I had my first interview with the Weight Watchers folks, and although it might still come together, it's going to be a way off., they just don't have the need for more people right now. I can wait. Somethings are worth the waiting.

Last week I returned to Philadelphia for dog training. It was a welcome change of pace to the previous busy few weeks at work. Sleeping in, even in a hotel, and not having to be anywhere until 10, feels like some sort of decadence, especially when I realize the place I have to be at 10 is an open field, with my dog and a trainer, a trainer I love and respect more each hour I spend with him. I leave Philadelphia feeling completely not-crazy for trying to finance these trips or at least I feel comfortable enough with the level of crazy it might be to shrug it off when I tell people and they get the look. The one that suggests they are thinking there might be something seriously wrong with me.

I ran another 10k - my best race in some time. It wasn't a record breaker and the Olympic committee isn't knocking down my door, but it was a success by my yard stick. A (relatively) fast, extremely consistent, happy, feel-good 6.2 miles followed by a trip to the local bakery that sponsored the race for a free loaf of bread and a bag of jambalaya soup mix. In my world, that's a damn good way to start any day.

I got my final receipt for the beach house rental in the mail the other day - just about 7 weeks to go. I bought a polka-dot bathing suit and a multi-colored-striped beach umbrella. I told the dogs we were going. The thought of 7 wake-ups with good friends, good coffee and dog-beach walking is more than enough to get me through the next 7 weeks - no matter what they hold. You're invited to stop by, look for the umbrella, planted somewhere off Sand Road, I'll have a pitcher of mimosas in the cooler and be sitting with the red head with the wicked sense of humor and irrational fear of chickens.

It's guaranteed to be a good time.

Just a post about a run

2009-03-24T01:08:00.003Z

I am, still, after four years of running, completely suprised at how the simple act of moving through the world on my own two feet at a pace of my own choosing can make me makes me so strong, so powerful.

I worked from home today, and just before lunch, laced up my running shoes and headed out the door. Spring has reared her head here, so things are greening and blooming and it was cool and breezy, and bright and clear. Perfect running weather. I dragged out my garmin forerunner for this run, because I at least wanted to know how far I went, regardless of the pace. Technically, Mondays are supposed to be recovery runs for me (which would imply I did something on Sunday to recover from) but I didn't run this weekend, I rode both horses on Sunday, and while my core and abductors are very sore, running doesn't ease riding soreness. So off I went.

I made up the run as I went along. Since I was running along the main road in front of my neighborhood, I left the IPOD at home. I got some running advice from a guy picking up his mail "pick your knees up a little higher", was told to be careful by a guy on a bike, and my personal favorite, was yelled "what are you training for?" by a guy at a stop sign, I smiled waved, and yelled back "the rest of my life". Yeah, I know, totally corny. I couldn't help myself.

Some runs are just like that.

I love these dumb things, and it won't stop raining..

2009-03-16T21:43:00.003Z

1.Your rock star name (first pet, current car) - Sparky Commander!

2.Your gangsta name (favorite ice cream flavor, favorite type of shoe) -
Cookie Dough Boots (not really that "gangsta" if you ask me)

3.Your Native American name (favorite color, favorite animal) - Red Wolf ( like it!)

4.Your soap opera name (middle name, city where you were born) - Lynn Johnstown
(ha!)

5.Your Star Wars name (the first 3 letters of your last name, first 2 of your first name) CRAJE (stupid!)

6.Superhero name (2nd favorite color, favorite drink) -
Green Mojito (awesome!)

7.NASCAR name (the first names of your grandfathers) -
Richard Wayne
(Scary realistic)

8.Dancer name (the name of your favorite perfume/cologne/scent, favorite candy) Princess Peppermint Patty (hells yeah!)

9.TV weather anchor name (your 5th grade teacher’s last name, a major city that starts with the same letter)
Ruble Raleigh (hahahaha!)

10.Spy name (your favorite season/holiday, flower) - Spring Daisy

11.Cartoon name:(favorite fruit, article of clothing you’re wearing right now) -
Strawberry Yoga Pants (squeee!)

12.Hippie name (what you ate for breakfast, your favorite tree) - Cereal Maple
Mcmuffin Oak (um, whatever)

13.Movie (or porn) star name (first pet, first street where you lived) -
Sparky Bing! (see my email address for how much I love this name).

Carry on with your regular scheduled blog surfing, it has been raining in Raleigh for 5607 days and I can't take it anymore, I need sunshine and flowers and warm weather and green grass and a ride on a horse, or I AM GOING TO START KICKING THINGS.

(It always seems that every one else who does this meme gets better answers than I do.)

The words that hurt you

2009-03-13T17:30:00.005Z

I realize it is a direct resultof the angry, often-violent home I grew up in, that I learned so well, so very young that words were weapons and best hurled by those that claim to love you for maximum sting. I also remember hearing my mom cry for hours after the words were vapor and Dad was gone.

In high school I took a class called "Human Behavior", I took it because it was open to both juniors and seniors and my dearest friend at the time was a junior and it gave us an excuse to spend another hour together. It was a great class that I did get a lot out of, which is something I can't say about the vast majority of my high school career.

One of the discussions I remembered today while driving around in the rain, we were talking about how in a court of law, a judge can instruct a jury to "disregard previously heard testimony" and were asked if we thought that was really possible.

All around the classroom, we all agreed that No, it wasn't possible, a bell can't be unrung.

All my life I've been a lover of words, of what they can conjure up in one's imagination, the good, the evil, and everything in between.

To this day I can tell you the best compliments I ever received. How the simple words "I'm proud of you" said at an airport one cold November morning choked me up and left me speechless for hours. I can recite the written words of a poem dedicated to me that make me feel more cherished and more loved in 4 simple stanzas than every single utterance of love I have ever heard all stacked up.

These are the words I cling to when I need to remember how much I am/was loved. They are sometimes, the only things that work. They have a value I can't name. They are quite simply everything I want to be worthy of.

Unforunately, I can also recite to you the worst things ever said to me. I remember the day my dad told me my bleach blonde hair made me look "cheaper than dime store candy" (him being right didn't make it hurt less). I remember the Valentine's Day, my boyfriend at the time, Rob, told me he was dumping me for his previous girlfriend because "after all she has the better body", I remember the boyfriend that told me the woman he cheated on me with was no more than "a hole and a hearbeat" (while not speaking of me the fact that I meant so little to be betrayed for "a hole and a heartbeat" was just as painful) and then, most recently, I had someone wish me "a long and lonely life" -- the power of that little phrase has been nothing short of gut wrenching and heart-breaking. That one echoes, loudly and deep in me. It left a big hole going in, but the injury inside is immeasurable.

It is these words that pile on when I am low and hurt and feeling unworthy of any sort of happiness. Most of these words and others like them, were uttered a decade or more ago, and I can honestly say that for me, I'd rather take a punch. I can say that because I've taken a few, also by people that claimed to love me and somehow these words hurt me more*.

I still love words, and wish I could use them better in every situation -- I just don't love those words; admire/detest their power over me, yes, but love them, no. These words make me feel like that last one -- is all I deserve.

I know I will get past this, I have done it before, I will do it again. I will wake up one day soon and know this is just a really bad day, and of course I deserve better/more than that and it was just an incredibly hurtful string of words.

In the meantime, I am trying to remember Dr. Err's advice -- Two tears in a bucket, Fuck it.

*In NO way is this meant to downplay domestic violence/spousal abuse situations. I speak only for myself in *this* situation and am not in any way making light of violent relationships.

Just a post

2009-03-07T10:23:00.005Z

In about 3.5 hours I'm running a 10K in a neighboring town. The group that organized the 8k turkey trot I did organizes a bunch of smaller local races - races I didn't know about until after that Thanksgiving Day race. I sat down with their website last week and entered random races over the next couple of months. Since my dog training situation is suddenly vastly different than it's been for the last year plus, my weekends just got a whole lot roomier. I see more running and more horses in my future. This is not a bad thing but it feels weird, for sure.

I'm thinking pretty seriously about getting a part time job. If nothing else it would finance my dog training trips to Pennsylvania. I'm feeling a little greedy when I consider having TWO jobs when so many are losing their jobs, but I'm hoping that greedy feeling will pass as I watch my dog learn under the capable (and considerably more gentle) hand of this trainer.

I am in the process of becoming (hopefully) a Weight Watchers leader. I lost nearly 47lbs using Weight Watchers, and don't mind pimping them. Weight Watchers isn't a flashy program, Jillian Barberie, Marie Osmond and Wynona Judd are NOT involved. It's truly the program of 'eat right and exercise' and that's kind of boring, but it is truly the only thing that works, long term. I don't think I know everything about the program, but I certainly absorbed everything I could and I am a believer. I was completely, and utterly frustrated at being in my late 30's and able to own and run a home, hold down a job, take care of cars and finances and animals and friends and travel and running but somehow I couldn't get a grip on how to lose weight and keep it off. That frustration drove me to that first meeting well over a year ago.

About a month ago I stopped in to my meeting to record my once a month weight and walked into a new group member talking to our group Leader and dissolving into tears. I went to make a quick escape and she asked me to stay. She apologized and before I could form the thought I told her to stop, that I didn't know a single woman who hadn't cried over her weight. After 15 minutes or so of talking, she left and my Leader, the woman who helped me so much, told me that was about the nicest thing she had heard one member tell another. She planted the seed, and now it's a vile, wicked, unpluckable weed.

Recently in another, much more dangerous, situation I had the opportunity to help someone, a complete stranger in fact, and I followed my heart and my gut - they both told me it was the right thing to do. So, I did. When that person expressed concern that she was being perceived as soliciting help, I told her the truth. When things were at the darkest in my life a complete stranger stuck out their hand.
I owe.

Yes, the two situations are completely different and only in the extreme is weight loss life threatening, but who am I *not* to help when I can, whatever the situation?

It's the person in the second situation I'll be thinking of this morning during my run. She may be running as well this morning, and no doubt with a heavier heart and load than I will. It's going to be a beautiful day here in my corner of the world, I hope it's as beautiful where she's headed today.

No, you do not understand.

2009-03-05T01:35:00.003Z

Trust me when I tell you, you just don't. The sentiment is wonderful, and kind and yes, it really does mean something., but do not tell me you understand how I feel. Because you don't. I know you don't -- how could you understand how I feel when I don't understand how I feel?

I thought it was going to be fine this year, I got up that morning, wished I could call him, did an emotional inventory and felt okay about it, sad but not bunny boiling sad/crazy. Then I went to lunch. I walked in, sat down, ate an entire meal, and just as we were finishing, I saw the mongolian barbecue chefs slinging vegetables and meat across the hot skillet/table and realized that if he were still alive I'd have been having mongolian barbecue with my brother that nigh to celebrate his 53rd birthday, like we did every year.

I suddenly felt all hot and nauseous, my throat got dry, my heart raced, tears formed and burned my eyes. I was mad. At myself, at my lunch date, at him for dying.

I sucked it up, went back to work, and at 10:15pm as I raised my sharpie marker to cross through the date on the calendar, like I do every other day, I lost it. How could I treat it like any other day? I spent 20 minutes on the floor in my bathroom crying until I vomited then I marked the day off and went to bed.

I believe you care, but no, you do not understand.

It's the first of March

2009-03-02T01:31:00.002Z

and at risk of sounding just like my dad where exactly did the time go?
Seriously.

I put in a fair amount of extra hours at the office in the last four weeks, but I did it to feel better about the several months before the new year where I did almost nothing. I'm not stupid enough to not get nervous in these economic times when work slows down, despite the corporate emails I keep getting telling me everything is fine. It makes me 'squishy' when work slows down like that.

I wrapped up my portion of the project at the end of the week two weeks ago, and headed north to Pennsylvania. My friend Molly lives just west of Harrisburg, PA and we share a common loss (brothers), a common love (german shepherds) and the same taste in stupid movies (The Pink Panther!) I have known Molly a long time, but until recently we were fairly distant. My friendship with her now,is so close, she feels like family. We spent a few days together and then I headed to Philadelphia to work with a well known, well respected dog trainer. Is it reasonable to think I'm going to drive to Philly to train dogs on a regular basis? No. Am I considering it? Yep. I've already spent a day re-figuring budgets and yeah it's crazy, but yeah, I might do it anyway. It would really help if I could just win the damn lottery though. Really. Not even the big jackpot is necessary, the little one will do. I'm just putting that out there in case the lottery gods are interested.

My favorite quote of the week in PA came from Molly who as she handed me several bowls of dog food to feed her boarding dogs reminded me to push the bowls 2-3 feet away from the chain link fencing. Why? (Well I'll tell you why, because if you leave the bowls close to the edge the chickens will stick their heads in through the fence holes and the dogs, they will bite their heads right off.

For the record, no chickens were beheaded on my watch.

I stayed in one of those cool studio apartment-hotel rooms in Philadelphia. I LOVE staying in hotels, as long as I have a comfortable bed a four cup coffee maker a microwave and a fridge, I'm all good.

We trained from 10 am til nearly 8pm at night, I'm not sure, but I may have been just as tired as my dog. I forced myself to stop the first night and buy groceries and bubble bath. Worth the stop. Hell yes.

I'd forgotten just how cold winter is. It's amazing what spending four winters in North Carolina can do to your memory. I owe a couple of friends a huge Thank You for pushing me to invest in a couple of "winter-wear" purchases. I would never have survived without their insistence on those purchases. For the girls out there in need of warm clothes, find CuddlDuds - you won't be sorry.

I've spent the whole day in my pajamas, and it's snowing outside in MARCH in North Carolina. As much as I want warmer weather, this year is already flying by and I won't be the one to wish it by any faster.

The Interview

2009-02-01T23:53:00.003Z

I asked the lovely L of Just Run Girl fame to interview me. I needed a 'gimmee' post to get back in the swing of blogging again. She very quickly obliged. If I remember correctly, I'm supposed to offer to interview any of my 2 distinguished readers. So if you'd like some interview question sthrown your way, leave me a comment.

1. What's your favorite movie? And if you could watch it with anyone, who would that be?

This is a hard one, I like SO many movies, and for so many different reasons.

Being a homebody with a blockbuster card means I’ve watched a few movies. So, let’s see..
Heathers …. this movie was my first real discovery of both dark humour and Christian Slater.

Bladerunner, I love so much about this movie, the flying cars, the constant rain, Rutger Hauer’s character “Roy”, the idea of replicants.

LadyHawke is probably my favorite lovestory/comedy, ever.

Raging Bull, I was more or less coerced into watching this and was sure I would hate it, I didn’t, not even a little bit.

The Princess Bride and The Three Musketeers (the Kiefer Sutherland version) are both Cravey-comedy favorites. We all needed Billy Crystal to tell us to ‘have fun storming the castle’ and Oliver Platt to point out the appropriate wine choice for a carriage chase.

All that said and done, I think I’d pick Rumble Fish.
On my 16th birthday my big brother took me into DC for a double feature of the two S.E. Hinton novel/movies; The Outsiders and Rumble Fish.
All the way through the Outsiders I was in 16 year old lust with Dallas Winston (played by Matt Dillon) and was swearing I’d never love again. Until Rumble Fish started and I “met” Mickey Rourke.

Hold your groans people, this was hot Mickey Rourke, go check out the move if you don’t believe me. Plus he was the kind of guy I totally fell for, conflicted, angry, possibly violent. Yeah, at 16, I loved that crap. (Thank god I survived it).

Now I could argue why this movie means so much to me and possibly it’d all be crap. It’s possible I only loved it so much because of the circumstances. Bottom line is that might be true. Because if I could watch it again with anyone it would be Mark. No question.

I am going to add in an honorable mention here – to the god awful Natural Born Killers. Yeah, Woody Harrelson and Juliette Lewis on a killing spree. It’s terrible. Yet. I watch it every year on Valentines Day.
Oh YES. Cuz nothing, nothing will make you homicidal like being in love.

2. What's your favorite way to unwind?Unwind from what?
After a work day:
Animals.
About 98% of the time it’s taking my dogs out in the back yard and playing /working with them. I cannot imagine what it would be like to have my entire world revolve around a BALL, but man, it sure looks like fun.

The other 2% of the time (or sometimes in addition to), going horseback riding is on the list. The catching and grooming alone can melt away about 5lbs of stress and tension.

I think riding would rank a higher percentage if I could get there more often, but with the crappy winter daylight hours I just can’t.

After a long run:
A hot bath and big ‘comfort meal’ something involving broccoli and potatoes, and usually, a nap.

3. If you could pick up and go somewhere right now, this minute, where would you go?
Cape Hatteras. ‘Nuff said.

4. Describe a funny/entertaining moment or story from your childhood.
My childhood was a lot of things, but funny/entertaining, I’m not so sure. The story I am about to tell you was not funny when it was happening. (Try picturing it through the eyes of a 8 year old).

Now, it’s hysterically funny to me. This might make me strange..or even sick, but you didn’t say who it had to be funny to.

My dad was a career military man. He retired in the early 80’s a ‘full-bird’ colonel. He had the typical uniform with all the ribbons and badges and things on his left (?) chest panel. One of those things was his name tag. It was something I remember as a little girl watching my dad do, right after coming home from work. He’d head upstairs and take off all the ‘bells and whistles’ they went into a brown ceramic ashtray on his dresser top. The name tag was what I think of now as the old-fashioned kind with the straight pointy-pins on the back and the weird-star-shaped push on nubs.

Well one evening he didn’t go straight upstairs, he poured himself a gin and tonic and sat down in his recliner to drink it. I think he smoked a cigar too. When he got up his nametag tilted wildly, clearly one of the push on nubs had pushed off.

My dad retraced every step he took, searched the car, the carport, the kitchen, the living room and finally the recliner. Quickly he became convinced the chair was the culprit. After turning the chair upside down and still not finding it, he carried the chair out to the front yard. Fascinated, I slipped outside through the side door so I could watch what would happen next. Dad set the chair down in the driveway and went back inside. I stayed hidden behind the camper in the carport, I knew it wasn’t over.
When Dad came back he was carrying an axe.
I watched in silence as my dad methodically destroyed that damn recliner in search of his beloved push on nub.

He reduced that chair to kindling.

And no, he never found the nub.

Even funnier, my mom got home a bit later, got out of her car, studied the pile of kindling, touched the former headrest once, and went inside. She never asked what happened to the chair.

I love my Dad.

5. What's your favorite time of day? Why?I’m going to pick morning for the purpose of this interview. Truthfully, I like daylight hours, and all of them. However, I do love the quiet of mornings, watching the sun come up over the back porch when I’m home. I like the feeling of ‘new’ each morning has. I like the promise of a new day., as goofy and cliché as that sounds.

Follow up questions will be answered. Hell with it, I'm game.

A rough start

2009-02-01T03:19:00.002Z

When I was young, and making too much noise with either my friends or my siblings, the warning that we were being too loud was always the same.
My father roaring from the floor below us or the next room over,
"I have had enough of this!"

The subsequent arrival of him in the room was almost unnecessary, that exclamation was enough to shut us all up and keep us quiet for the rest of the afternoon or evening.

I'm hoping that I've got just enough of my dad in me to make that same annoucement and have it run off the seemingly never ending parade of viral and now bacterial infections that have had me swilling cold medicines and running to Urgent Care for strep cultures. I have had enough of this.

Admittedly I am not oozing eye good like some people, but still.

The constant sick has kept me from doing almost everything I like to do, because I am expending all my energy on only what I must do. This is what makes Cravey a very dull, very unhappy girl.

Here's hoping the antibiotics do their job and I can get back to living my life instead of just missing it.

2008: Rewind

2008-12-28T23:35:00.009Z

So, just a few days from a new year and as usual, I am excited about that shiny, glitter-laden (at least in my mind), January 1.

In last year's 'end of the year post' I wrote this:

If I am able to avoid the e-bay bankruptcy, I have trips with friends, more intense dog training, the start of competing with my own dog, family weddings, and just maybe another marathon in the works. If I'm really lucky I'll get to meet some new people and make some new friends along the way - there's a Bruce Springsteen fan in Austin I'm dying to meet, and a chance I'll be in Austin next fall. And then there's the best part - there's stuff I don't have any idea about that's coming.

I was indeed able to avoid e-bay bankruptcy, albeit barely.

The trip to Hatteras was all I hoped it would be and more. The picture on this post is from our very last day there. I can only tell you that 7 days like that, with those folks could never be enough. Plus, Hatteras was awesome from start to finish.

As for 'more intense dog training' check, and more to come... and oh hell yes, a shiny (first) and new title for the Mojo-dog and I (picture of trial day above!).

I didn't make it to the wedding - my niece had to throw it together very quickly (No, shotguns involved, people, please) her husband was heading off to training - he was an ROTC graduate and they had about 6 weeks from graduation to him being shipped to somewhere, and her needing to be in base housing in ALABAMA. The timing was bad for me, as I had already planned another of those trips with friends.

No marathon this year, but '08 did bring me the return of truly regular running, an introduction and hard and fast love-affair with speedwork, and the loss of 47 lbs. (Thank you Weight Watchers). I'll be looking for 26.2 in '09 because running is so much easier with those lbs behind me (or maybe, no longer BEHIND me -- heh).

I didn't get to Austin, this time it was money that kept me home. While I'm not one of the many dealing with a job loss my purse string grew tight and remain that way. I'll be looking for ways to end that in '09 as well. Cuz, damn., this sucks.

The stuff I didn't see coming.
The biggest, bestest one one has to be the horses. Thanks to a new friend I started riding again after a 17 year hiatus, and taking lessons and jumping, and jumping and jumping. I'm still at it eight months later, and I only know I want more time to do it, more money to spend on it and yes, Santa, a horse for Christmas would be awesome. I've met some wonderful people at the farm, and I have learned so much about myself it's embarassing. When I started riding there I told people it was the only place I didn't think about the problems in my life.
When this wasn't the truth, the horses told me. The horse you are sitting on knows when you are lying, and will show you whether or not you are tense or tired or distracted. These animals respond to the clenching of a buttock, the pressure of a calf, the tightening of a finger on a rein. They know if you're having an off day and will show you what it gets you.
Be here right now, is the lesson. Every time.
It has been an amazing ride, it every sense of the word.

My dad co-wrote a book this year, about the little coal-mining town he grew up in. I can't fully describe how wonderful it was to see this part of Pennsylvania through his eyes. It is likely this book changed something in me. My dad knew from a very young age he never wanted to go into the coal mines, and he worked very hard to get away. To write about this place with such love, and not a hint of bitterness for the father he lost, or the fathers of his friends lost in the mines, to only remember the good people, the good places, it is the definition of peace. I am proud of him.

The not-so-good stuff.
My dad had quadruple bypass surgery this year. The surgery was fine and went as planned, his recovery was really rocky and had prolonged complications that I could have done without.
My mom had a scare as well with anemia and kidney function.
Listen to me universe. It is not okay to screw with both my parents in the same year. BACK UP OFF 'EM.

I lost my friend Dennis this year. I have yet to fully deal with this. I can't erase his phone number from my cell phone. I go to his Police officer memorial page. I think of him randomly. I got a text message from a friend telling me they caught the guys. It helped.

In 2009, I hope to have more of the good, less of the bad, and just plain old hope for the unexpected.

I'd be a fool to hope for a quick cure to the economic trouble the country is facing or for peace in the middle east, for not one more solider to die, or the end to hunger and poverty, a cure for aids, and MS, but I'm going to hope for it anyway.

Happy New Year to all of you.

Don't be an egg-faker

2008-12-15T01:47:00.004Z

Lately, it seems 'doing' has been much higher on my priority list than reflecting and writing. Typically, I find time for both, and I've been beating myself up a little for not doing it. I decided today, that I was saving it up for one big end-of-the-year post. No, I don't actually have that planned, I think it's just another way to procrastinate.

I haven't really been any busier than usual but I have been more tired and I'm blaming that on the stupid lack of daylight. Can I just say that I STILL hate this time of year? I do NOT understand the need for dark at 5pm. How exactly does this help ANYthing/ANYone. It doesn't. Anyone who says different is a liar AND they just plain suck.

I still have not gotten around to baking (or even deciding what I am going to bake for her - leave your suggestions in the comments please!) for the delightful Ms. Kaply and that makes me very sad. I have not finished my Christmas present for my mom, and if I did Christmas cards I'd be really far behind. I do have a christmas light adorned palm tree that sings and dances to rocking around the christmas tree when you press her hand/frond. It is the most awesome christmas tree ever.

I'm training for my marathon, competing my dog and horseback riding. I am busy. And inordinately happy. At christmastime and every other time, that is decidely, enough.

If you aren't going to bake me a cake at least do this for me.....

2008-12-02T00:22:00.009Z

That's right people, today is my birthday.

When I was in grade school mom used to let me stay home on birthday, she'd take me out to baskin robbins for mint chocolate chip ice cream cones and to the roller skating rink off Franconia Road. I got whatever I wanted for dinner and most everyone in the family was nice to me. (Being the youngest in a large family, this was the biggest deal of all).

Starting in high school, my oldest brother Mark was the first person on my birthday to call me. Usually by or before 6 am. The call would start with Mark asking me how old I was, I'd tell him, he'd spend 3 to 5 minutes telling me how OLD I was. Then he'd share a memory of little Cravey with me, usually the one where when I would get to crying mom would make him peddle around the court with me perched on his knee until I stopped crying, this frequently took a LONG time. I'd laugh with him, and remind him that however OLD I was, he was still 14 years OLDER. He'd tell me he loved me, and usually we made plans to get together for Mongolian barbecue.

The first year after Mark died, I couldn't answer the phone when it rang the morning of December 2nd. I wanted it to be him, knew it wasn't and wanted to believe I could make it all go away if I just didn't answer the phone.

Yesterday when I was thinking about my birthday and Mark, I decided I wanted to ask you people, my imaginary internet friends and those of you aren't so imaginary, for a gift.

If you're a brother or a sister, younger or older, call your sibling today (only children, you are not off the hook, call someone, a friend, a parent, whatever). Tell 'em you love them, make fun of them, share a laugh with them, something.
Just do it.

It'll make me feel better, and since I have a cold (which sucks, by the way), and it is my birthday (and you people aren't making me a cake) call your siblings. I miss him more than words can describe, every damn day and if I can't have him call me, I'm going to take some credit for making other people feel the way he made me feel every year.
Special, loved, and remembered.

Happy Birthday to me.

No turkey here

2008-11-28T03:22:00.002Z

It’s been a few years since I’ve done the traditional turkey and fixings style Thanksgiving. To be honest, as far as traditional Thanksgiving food goes, the only thing I really love is the pies. I like my sweet potatoes plain, stove top stuffing is just fine with me, don’t understand the canned cranberry thing (sorry Dr. Err), could go the rest of my life without eating another mashed potato, and turkey is just okay.

And yes, I get that the holiday is about more than the food, but my family, we’re all over the place, and honestly, my family is the kind that celebrates our differences and different choices every bit as much, if not more, than the need to sit around the table once a year and eat until we’re all considering bulimia.

Wednesday, I decided to look for a local turkey trot, and found an 8k in a neighboring town. After a long visit to the farm Wednesday afternoon, I drove over to the sports store hosting it and stood in a very long line to register.

It was 29 degrees when I rolled out of bed this morning to eat and prep for the race. After picking up my chip and making my final running wardrobe decisions I walked to the start. There was a 1 mile fun run before the 8k, mostly little kids, running their guts out, and frequently crying at the finish. At least at a distance, this is adorable.

Although they had chip timing at this race, they had no clock at the start/finish so I have only the roughest of ideas on how long it took me to run 4.97 miles this morning. What I do know is that I had a great run. I felt really strong through every bit of it, and discovered that my hill workouts are paying off. My climbing is strong. I consistently gained ground on hills instead of losing or just maintaining.

For wallflowers race starts are excellent people watching. In most every other environment ladies win the most outrageous outfit contest – not at race starts, here, the men have it. Yes, I’m talking about the over 50 year old man wearing bright blue spandex pants with pink and white “waves” splashed down the side, and his matching, but opposing colors spandex long sleeved shirt. People, if this guy had worn a cape, I couldn’t have been any more amused.

I had enough gas in the tank to kick it to the finish line, grabbed my water bottle and fig newton, walked around a little in the crowd, stripped the chip off my shoe, and headed for my truck. Realizing just how cold I really was revised my plan to head to the farm for a ride and I became quickly convinced that a cup of hot chocolate and an even hotter shower was the only real choice I had.

I read an article recently about Paula Radcliffe it said she had a sign taped to her bathroom mirror that said “there will come a day when I can no longer do this.Today, is not that day”.

Today, among all the other really good things in my life, I’m grateful that today wasn't that day for me either.

However you celebrate and demonstrate gratitude in your life, do it well.

Random Crap

2008-11-19T01:32:00.004Z

I wanted and actually have tried to write eloquently about what's happening in my life right now, but I can't. I either dissolve into tears or start throwing things. Neither are really acceptable, and the last attempt was around 1am and I quickly found myself scrubbing my kitchen floor, like with a scrub brush, wearing knee pads getting a wicked headache from the smell of pine sol and bleach.

So instead of trying that, I'm going to just say a few things unrelated to anything, because that is all I can do right now.

1. Why the hell didn't someone tell me how good dried apricots are? Cuz, damn.

2. It snowed in North Carolina today. For like 10 minutes. It was pretty and then it was gone. I am just as happy it's gone as I was to see little snowflakes piling up on my dog who was laying on the deck as it came down.

3. I have completely forgotten how to dress for cold weather. This is not good when I have dog training, outside, and it's 38 degrees with 20 mph wind.

4. I think Allison Sweeney is one of the single most annoying human beings on the planet. Why did anyone think she was a good host for a two hour long TV show?

5. I'm going to buy or make a pecan pie for Thanksgving, and eat the whole damn thing. No, you can't have any.

6. I miss my brother.

Angry, Angry Angry.

2008-11-14T23:56:00.002Z

Disclaimer: I wrote what's below over a year ago., I stumbled on it tonight when I was stewing over something that happened to me to today. I couldn't say it any better today than I said I on June 4, 2007, so I wasn't going to try and improve it.
It says all I can stand to say about it.

I live with what I know.
I even live with the dark things that belong in closed off rooms on floors no one lives on, back in the attics and crawl spaces, I live with those things just fine.
I pick them up by the sharpest sides and turn them around once in awhile just to remind myself that I am capable of feeling and causing great pain. I am capable of great hate, great hostility, great compassion, and yes, Pollyanna, great love. That fucker, the ability to love, it creeps around the dark things and laughs at them. It laughs at my desire to shut it out like sunlight on a hungover Sunday.
It seeps in anyway, and Pollyanna, she dances in it.

I'll tell you what I will do.
I'll feel as much, every last bit, of what this heart will allow.
I'll take it in just like I take in air.
I'll take it in slowly like warm rain in August sometimes, and others, I'll let it wash over me like an angry waterfall.
I'll let it fill me.
I'll break it open and look at the pretty pieces.
I'll put it back together.
I'll take care of it.
I'll give to it and I'll take from it what and when I need to.
I'll walk with it and I'll run with it.
I'll laugh at it, and sooner or later I will cry with it.
I will not apologize for any of it.

And that will have to be enough for me. Because that it is all I have.

We can stack up the disappointments like dominoes, kick them over and watch them fall. It will be no surprise to me to discover that all I have isn't enough.

2008-11-09T21:48:00.003Z

Yesterday I drove to Chapel Hill for a latte at some little kiosk called 'Southern Mudd'.

I was supposed to be going to Chapel Hill for a certification trial for my dog trainer. However, there is apparently a Farrington Road in Durham and a Farrington Road in Chapel Hill, and you guessed it, they don't actually meet. By the time I figured out where I was, and had roughly 43 phone calls between my trainer and I, I ended up going the hell home, 84 miles for a stupid latte.

I found a field along the way, and trained/exercised my very patient dog, then swung by the local Petsmart to help a friend pick out a puppy from a local adoption agency. Nothing to take the tarnish off the spoon like wiggly puppies. They chose a little lab-looking girl puppy that the foster mom found in a trash pile with her two siblings. I love it that there are people that will pick three puppies out of the trash and keep them until they are lucky enough to find happy homes. I hate it that there are far fewer people like that, than people that will look away, and try not to see them.

This morning I helped my riding instructor feed the horses at the farm. How anyone can not like horses is beyond me. Standing in a nearby field watching a herd takes the tension right out of me. This farm, is the only place in my life where everything else just slips away. It's a little like magic. After feeding and turning the horses out, I had my riding lesson. At the end of the lesson, we were talking about canter leads, and my riding instructor was promising me that soon enough, I would just know, I would feel it and soon after that I wouldn't have to think about what came next, it would just come. Riding is new enough to me that I always come away from it trying to make it 'fit' into something else I am familiar with and good at. Today it was running. When I run, I adjust, to accomodate the distance ahead, the cramp in my left hamstring I often get when I run uphill, or the unexpected cramp in my right upper ribcage.

Learning new "tricks" at a rapidly approaching 40 years has been humbling. Many have questioned the smartness and sensibility of me learning how to ride a 1500 lb animal and make it jump over stuff at a high rate of speed at this point in my life. I'll freely admit that I have often felt like a sack of loosely tied potatoes perched on a moving vehicle with a mind and fears of its own. I have learned that running and riding use different muscles, and there are even more muscles in my legs I didn't know existed. I have learned that just when I begin to feel confident a more experienced rider will show me how much I have to learn, and that the ground is very hard and comes up to meet you quickly when you aren't fully engaged.

Probably most importantly I have learned, that laughing at myself is still great fun.

Sunny November weekends where I accomplish nothing real trump looking sensible and smart anyday.

I recommend it highly.

It's more than just a hippy thing

2008-11-05T22:49:00.012Z

I smiled tonight as I slipped my key into the front door lock.
I knew what would be behind the door.
My beautiful, hardwood floors were covered in muddy dog paw prints. My white kitchen floor, even worse. My backyard after a solid day of rain yesterday, would be a muddy and unkempt looking, and the holes the puppy I've been fostering had dug would be mud holes. None of this would not stop me from taking my dogs out to play. The sun was out again, and the temperature a perfect 58-ish degrees.

As the youngest child of a large family, I was rarely ever alone. Someone was always taking me somewhere, picking me up from somewhere, watching me, in charge of me, or just plain with me. My mom tells me that I used to be really good at giving friends in the cul desac the slip, and slipping into the house and retreat to my room. Once there, I'd bury myself in a book. I still remember that room in the house on Bing Court, the little room at the top of the stairs with the pink rose wallpaper (this was not my choice, blame my sister, Karen). I'd curl up on my twin bed with one of the Chronicles of Narnia and read..and nap. On many occasions my friends and family would be in an outright panic, trying to locate me once the street lights came on (the get your butt home alarm in my family) and only my mom would think to check my room. It seems even in grade school I was looking for my little space in the world. The one without noise or drama, and apparently, other people.

My first place on my own was an efficiency apartment-thing on a horse farm. It was one room and a bathroom, one closet, one sink, one microwave, and a two burner stove. I was deliriously happy there. It was there I learned that phones are a convenience I pay for, not you the caller, me, the callee. (hush). Here I answered the phone when I was okay with being interrupted. This place was far enough out in the country that there was no such thing as unexpected, drop in visitors.

This expanded when I moved to a condo. In condominiums everyone comes to your door, neighbors from up or downstairs, across the hall, or across the street, kids selling cookies, or kites, or titanium screws, mail and package carriers, Jehovah's witnesses, people looking for "spanish speaking members of the household", you name it. This exacerbated my behavior to include, "if I wasn't expecting you, I didn't answer the door" even if you saw me in my house, through the giant sliding glass door before you knocked on my door. Ever.

The people in my life that love me, they get it. A few told me they couldn't possibly sit through the ringing of their phone and not get it., but they understood enough to know I wouldn't if I was reading, or talking to a friend or watching a good movie. I always return calls.

All these years later, I am much the same, with very few exceptions, I answer the door and phone when it suits me to do so. I return calls when I know I have the time and attention to dedicate to the caller that they would want me to.

I love to lay on my bed in my self painted yellow bedroom on a sunny day and listen to whatever I can hear. Controlling the external static in my home gives me great comfort and yes, peace. I know it's a temporary state. I know sooner or later I will have to deal with all of the things I am putting off, and I will. Just not now.

Right now, I will revel in the peace that I create.

Wherever you find peace in your own life or whatever you have to do to create it, for yourself and for your loved ones, tend it well, never take it for granted, one glance at any internatoinal headline will tell you how blessed you are. Anyone who has survived a home filled with domestic violence can tell you how lucky you are to have a space to feel safe in and everyone, everyone deserves a little more Peace.

Junk drawers

2008-10-11T23:35:00.004Z

Today, I came up close with my junk drawer. The real one in my kitchen, and the one in my head.

To be honest, I have way more than 1 junk drawer in my kitchen, but I TRY to keep one full of all the cords and chargers for the electronic crap I own. Thankfully the good people that make all those cords put the name of the device on the charger making it easy for me to identify what cord goes to what small metal object I can't live without. Otherwise, I'm fairly certain I would have blown up/burned out all of these little electronic things I own.

Rifling through one of them today, I ran across my Garmin. I bought this when I first moved to NC, HAD to have it...and I did use it, for about 3 months. It has a setting where you can tell the garmin how fast you want to run, and it will yell at you in electronic fashion, when you are going too fast, or too slow. I *thought* I would like that, I did NOT. It did keep track of my pace, and my miles per week. I also found, in my drawer, two stop watches and two heart rate monitors.

I closed the drawer without removing any of it, and drove to a neighboring town for my run. I couldn't find my running schedule, but I thought I was down for 4, maybe 5. I ran 6. It was one of the best runs I've had in a long while. The night before I had read an article about negative self talk - the article was about weight loss and self-sabotage, not running, but it applies to running, plenty of people tell me they don't run, because the "can't". I've always wondered where that comes from.

As I started tonight, unfettered by worry about heart rates or splits or even just pacing, I wondered if I had negative self talk ahead, so I let the thoughts roll through.
I always think of Al D. when I run. He was a friend of my brothers and a multiple IRONMAN, Al used to tell me to 'just keep putting one foot in front of the other', as I came up a small hill, my head jumped to 'this ain't no E. Maple Avenue', my predawn running days in Sterling at Chrismas with all those gigantic blow up grinches and santas and the like, the first time I ran 10 miles by myself, crossing the bridge over route 28 and listening to Eye of the Tiger, I thought about my dogs, my family, my potential Thanksgiving plans, realized my tennis shoes matched my shirt and shoes, felt like a dork for matching, saw a cairn terrier on the trail and wondered when Wizard of Oz would be on TV again, wondered how I was going to discreetly dislodge my running shorts wedgie, and realized I left wet laundry in the washer.

I'm no Rebecca of Sunnybrook farm, and I'm fairly certain I've run into negativity when running before. I just can't remember it very clearly. One of my running coaches told me during marathon training to check myself. Lungs ok? Legs ok? Are you hurt? Or is this just hard? Those four little checks are all I've needed. That last one, it's the kicker. Running is sometimes hard, but I *can* do hard things. Hard is not impossible.

I had new music for my run, because there are some electronic devices I can't give up., some of it made me laugh, I believe Pink's "leave me alone tonight" is very possibly my new theme song (that is, if I had an old one, this would replace it) and some of it made me sad, some of it pushed up the hill and to run hard for the last .25 miles. Train like you'll race, Cravey.

There's been a lot of JUNK in my life lately. I've been stressed out, angry, frustrated, tearful, regretful, over-tired, scared, restless, losing sleep, and downright cranky. I am sick of it. I do not now how to deal with most of the things that are working me over like a loser in the UFC octagon. Most of it is unchartered territory for me. I am angry that I am letting myself be so affected by all of this STUFF.I am disappointed that I can't look at the rest of my life, at all of the great, wonderful, fantastic, things and people I have surrounded myself with and AM truly grateful for.

Running usually clears my head and helps me better prioritize my junk drawer, I don't know yet, if that happened tonight, I just know I desperately want to close the damn drawer and walk away from it.

My Beach Ball*

2008-10-10T11:17:00.005Z

This is the chair I took from my brother's house when he died.
I don't know where he got it, or why. I know it sat just to the left of his fireplace directly across from the big chair Mark always sat in. When I would come to visit, or to drop off the dog; this is the chair I always chose to sit in to visit with Mark and anyone else who happened to be there. It's more comfortable than it appears and I always liked the creaky sounds it made when you shifted your position.

I took home to my condo in Sterling, and moved it from room to room, I used it to stand on to reach high places when I was painting. There are still paint spots of institutional white on the lowest rung. I moved it to North Carolina with me where once when I was cleaning I moved it out onto the deck and forgot it about it and it got rained on. It's a bit worse for wear these days. Yet, I cannot throw it out. These days, this chair holds pillows, mail, magazines and sometimes my feet, but I never sit in it like I did when it was in my brothers house.

I am not much of a 'things' person. I don't care if you spill things on my couch, or my clothes, or if your dog vomits in my car. These things will all clean up, for the most part, and what stains remain are just remnants of life being lived around these things. I can't quite bring myself to let go of this chair, though. I don't know if I just see him more clearly as time goes by when I look at the chair, or if I'm just being overly sentimental. Bottom line is, I don't care. It's staying. I can't/don't sit in it anymore, but I did just move it out of the corner of my living room, and I'd be happy to offer it to a friend stopping by for a visit.

*For all but one of you, the title won't make sense, for the one that does - thanks for sharing that story with me.

For Wordsmiths

2008-09-22T11:26:00.004Z

She found the place by accident, needing to sit somewhere, and even though the place was deserted, it looked warm; something she was not. She scoffed quietly to herself when she read the name. The only heroes in this world were sandwiches. The ones she saw on the worn pages of the crumpled, dusty, comic books she found when cleaning out the attic in her parents house didn’t count.
They were her brothers’ old comic books, boxes of them. Next to the boxes of his clothes, school papers, trophies, and all those damn pictures.
If you didn’t know the family, you’d think he was an only child.
She may as well not exist.
She was the one left, the one who took care of the final arrangements for her father last week, saw to it that the bills were paid, cleaned out the attic, and the rest of the house, and finally, today, turned the keys over to the realtor.
After staring stupidly at the blurred words on the laminated menu, the gum-cracking, saddle shoe tapping waitress took her order for ‘just coffee, please.’ She didn’t even drink coffee but it seemed the only way to make the waitress and her scent-shroud of menthol cigarettes and hairspray go away.
The coffee came and she mindlessly dropped a sugar cube in to the cup, stirred.
She watched the street hoping for something to happen.
Something that might tell her what to do next.
She thought about the little pistol. It was weird, discovering her father owned a gun. Why did he have a gun? It wasn’t old, clearly not an heirloom of any kind. Yet, there it was, clean and well protected in its little case.
She took it home the day she found it. The pistol and its pretty little bullets.
Since then, she’d caught herself day dreaming about it. In her mind, the steel glowed, almost too bright to look at, like the face of watch caught in the sunlight.
She could sell it. She should turn it in to the police station. One of those amnesty things. It would be less trouble that way. No questions. No explanations. No admitting that she really might not have known her dad.

She wiped a stray tear away.

She heard someone come in and sit order coffee, like her. She glanced over her shoulder and their eyes met. He smiled, then nodded at her. She tried to return the smile and turned back to her cold coffee.

The waitress returned; asked if anything was wrong with her coffee. She shook her head, and ducked her gaze, as the waitress tucked her bill under the saucer.

She rose to leave, glancing at the newcomer. She avoided his eyes as she passed, but felt him graze her sleeve with his fingertips,
“Young lady? His life is over. Not yours. Get rid of that thing”

His gentle words propelled her out to the street and the tears came.

Finally, a quiz that "gets" me!

2008-09-10T13:40:00.000Z

Your result for Reincarnation Placement Exam...

Reclusive Artist

We think we've found a place for you.

Your answers indicate that you're very fond of the fruits of civilization... for example, education and technology. But, in some twist of irony, you're not too fond of the pressures of civilization... you know, human beings and crowds and working together. We found you a place where you could enjoy an erudite existence, live a life that's intriguing and not entirely secure -- but far from the madding crowd.

Removed from civilization and humanity, yet educated and sophisticated, you'll make the perfect reclusive artist... An eccentric that produces irresistibly attractive masterpieces. Your art will make people swoon, and yet you will despise your audience. Your audience will probably dislike you as well, though they will go on admiring your work. So it all balances out, and your patrons will leave you alone to shape beauty in the wild, dangerous parts of the world where people won't pester you so much. Probably, you will write under a pseudonym, and mutter a lot when a rare admirer comes calling. If you feel really adventurous, you can pursue the role of a political dissident.

As you age, you will grow into the role of an incorrigible curmudgeon.

You artists, you're all the same.

Take Reincarnation Placement Exam at HelloQuizzy

A guy walks into a bar*

2008-09-03T00:47:00.007Z

On July 4th 2004 I quit smoking. On July 5th, 2004 I started running.
The first thing was a simple decision to not die before my mother. I simply did not want to put her through the act of burying another child.
Yeah, that's really why I quit.

The running thing was more complicated, one part distraction from grief, one part the not dying before my mom thing, and two parts wanting to do something that was HARD and a little bit like punishment.
I'm currently still saving for the therapy I probably need to sort that last bit out.

I've been struggling with my running since I moved to North Carolina in Spring 2005. I've had one injury after another, struggled with finding a gym I didn't hate, and had a horrible time sticking to any kind of training program. I promised myself this year to get my act together and train for an event.

My life finally feels like my own here. I'm not sure what took so long, the complete career change, the leaving the life/place/friends I've had for 20 plus years behind and moving somewhere I knew absolutely no one. Nothing in that to make me feel little off-kilter, right?
There is no way I can train to run 26.2 miles when my kilter is crooked.

Just after the first of the year I started planning, and I started with the need to lose some weight that had found me. It's funny how when you stop running 30-35 miles a week and don't stop eating like you're still running 30-35 miles/week - the weight just finds you and hangs around.
Literally, around.

This summer I had an annual physical, and yes, for the person that said "don't you think you should be over that by now" four years after losing my brother I get all choked up when I have to talk to a medical professional about my family history. The nurse practitioner I saw said great things about my health, my blood work, my body weight and actually asked if she could record my heart for teaching purposes (Ohhellzyeahyoucan) I'm approaching "a certain age" and so I heard a lot of sentences that started with "a woman your age should..." I'll be unhappy about this another time, currently I still feel too good about the visit to get all weird about growing older.

Somewhere between that and the weight loss meetings I've been attending, I've been doing some significant thinking about my health.
I think it started with my mom, she'll be 76 this year, still drives from south Florida to North Carolina, Virginia, Pennsylvania and/or New Jersey and Massachusetts about three times a year. She walks about 5 miles a day, and runs around after her two youngest granddaughters almost daily. My mom, she is no slacker. My dad is about a year older, and my last email from him said he had just finished his first book (to be released at the end of September), and is going antelope hunting in Montana and deer hunting in western Nebraska later this fall. My dad, not a slouch.

Both sets of my grandparents were dead and gone before I was out of grade school. Two, I never met, were dead years before I was born.

I have no intention of lecturing anyone on taking better care of their health. None. I smoked for years, and have been known to eat a tub of cool whip for dinner. In college I lived on free donuts the cops brought us, coke, stale coffee, Ramen noodles and Hormel chili for more years than I can to remember.

I do want to say this though, just about an hour ago, my sister Karen called me, to tell me she is a grandma. Her son, Matthew and his wife Erin welcomed their first baby girl, Jodi, into the world tonight. My mom is a great grandma. That little baby doesn't have any way of understanding how many people already love her, but I'm grateful to be a part of a family that loved themselves and us enough to take care of themselves so they could be here long enough to meet her.

For all it's warts, and age spots, this life is not so bad, and I'll take the warts to hear the happy in my moms voice when she tells me about her first great-grandbaby.

*I am tired of trying to title posts - I am using the first phrase that pops into my head when I put the blinky cursor in the title box. Deal with it.

Stolen from Mojo...

2008-09-01T18:57:00.002Z

I've started three blog posts today, and not finished one. So yeah, this is all I have for you.
I hope none of you are laboring on labor day.

You Are a Pistachio

You are funky, freaky, and a total character.
You're very different than anyone you know.
There's no way you're changing the way you are...
Which is good, because no one wants you to change.

a href="a href="What'>http://www.blogthings.com/whatnutareyouquiz/">What Nut Are You?

Balance

2008-08-27T00:25:00.002Z

I never would have made it as a gymnast. I can’t get the balance right. In any thing never mind on 4” of wood suspended 4 feet in the air.

Lately, it’s all I’ve been thinking about. The need for better balance in my life.

I get busy at work and I can’t turn it off - I come home at night and can only sometimes manage to stay away from my laptop, even if I don’t actually work. I have to log in look at it. Review it. Read and email. Something.

I get wrapped up in fixing something in dog training and I do it to death. Training four-five times a day., until it’s fixed, or at least better. Same thing with horseback riding, I start something and I’m relentless, until it’s better, I’m better, until I reach some level of acceptable that I can only identify when I arrive there. Its.. infuriating.

This problem, is getting worse, not better. I am currently stressing about my job, about showing my dog, jumping “my” horse, money issues/the IRS, and some other personal issues I don’t care so much to hash out here. (This is my happy place. It is so. Shut up.)

I am tired until about noon each day, by 9pm I’m exhausted and can’t wait for bed, I get to bed and I’m awake until 1am, on a good night - I sleep til 6. Most nights? 4 am.

I am tired of the Ferris wheel in my head. It’s not even moving fast enough to be exciting, it’s just relentlessly spinning. And someone tell me why I’m stressed about my hobbies. I love these things, why am I letting them bother me?

This is NEW and I do NOT like it, at all. Like brussel sprouts.

Some things don't deserve a title

2008-08-21T03:20:00.004Z

Today, while working in my living room, on a project that’s been plaguing me since April of last year; I had to refer to a document written by a company I worked for about 12 years ago. There on page 2 was the name of a woman I once thought of as my nemesis because she, She had HIM.

I was fresh out of college at that job, still living in my tiny college apartment, and by tiny I mean by comparison, an efficiency would have been palatial. The whole space – max, was probably 10’ x 12’ BUT it was on a horse farm, and it was cheap, and my dog was welcome there.

He was the very good friend of my assigned mentor. They used to smoke Marlboro reds on the front steps of the building, cracking jokes, telling hunting stories, talking to everyone and sometimes about them, as they came in the laboratory doors. They were always together, so I got to know him. He made me laugh a lot, and one day he paid me the most amazing compliment I had every received up to that point in my life. I was speechless and instantly, totally and utterly infatuated.

I used to hang out at the company softball games just to be near him, to listen to his accent, his laugh. I used to imagine him watching me as I walked over to the security area to use the bathroom. I was never sure if he did, but I hoped.

It’s weird, because I remember those things, but I can’t tell you how it happened the first time. The first time we crossed the line, the first time we made plans to see each other outside of work or work-social environments. But we did. And we ended up together, and it was amazing, and fun, and dizzying, and so, unbelievably wrong.

I know it lasted quite awhile, because I moved into my condo while we were still seeing each other. I was crazy, crazy, crazy, mad, wild, sick for him.

I remember one day, being with him in the late afternoon, talking in my bedroom, and he was just sitting there, on the edge of my bed, smoking.

And just like that, I knew.
As clearly as if he had taped a banner to my bedroom wall.
He was going to leave her. And their kid.
For me.

I walked him out to his truck that day. Said goodbye, waved to him in the mirror, and then sat on the steps in front of my building and sobbed.

I called in sick for the next two days, didn’t answer the phone, didn’t answer my door.

I ended it the very next time I saw him. I told him the biggest lie I could think of.

The truth was I couldn’t be that girl. The one he left for, and oh I wanted to be. So badly. I wanted to be wanted that much. I wanted to be enough for him to give up so much.

He quit his job about a week later, said he couldn’t see me every day. That it was too hard. I quietly hoped he’d leave her for an embarrassingly long time after. I hoped he’d be there one day, at my door, in my parking lot, somewhere, someday.

I saw him one more time, just one of those things – in the parking lot at the fair. He ran back to his truck to get something and ran into me in the parking lot. He came over to me and told me he still drove by my place, hoping to catch me outside, not to talk to me - just to see me walking the dog or getting the mail. He made me cry, just a little. I don’t remember saying anything. I remember feeling raw and angry. I knew I had done the right thing, finally, but I also knew that at that moment, I was wishing I hadn’t. Or that he hadn’t.

Staring at that document today, her name was still his name. I remembered all of this in the time it took to read the paragraph of results I was looking for, then, I looked them up. Same addresses, same phone numbers.
He never made it back to Kentucky.

I still don’t know, after all these years, why I did it, or why I ran from it just when it became clear I was going to get what I thought I wanted. I don’t know if he told her, or she found out, or if she knew all along.

I don’t know why I needed such a grand, dramatic, heart-rending gesture to feel like I was ‘enough’ and I definitely don't know how long it will take me to feel like saying I’m sorry is ‘enough’.

Go World! and Thanks

2008-08-15T16:21:00.002Z

I use my automatic timer on my coffee-pot as an alarm clock. This makes one of my not so favorite things (waking up in the morning) much more pleasant because it is one of my favorite noises (the coffee pot finishing its task) that usually jars me from my sleep.

The downside of this is that the buttons on my coffeepot are easily bumped, say when putting the pot back on the burner, cleaning it, or breathing in close proximity to them. This morning, I got out of bed, stumbled into the shower, brushed my teeth, dressed, etc, only to arrive in the kitchen to realize it was about 90 minutes before I even needed to be awake. The really bad part is that this is the second time this week it’s happened because I didn’t fix the damn clock the first time.

Normally, an hour wouldn’t make too much difference, because Granny Cravey, she is in bed (usually) between 930-1000pm but I cannot stop watching the Olympics and I am up late every night. I have watched Archery. And Waterpolo. Things I do not care about it. At All. However, if you throw a couple of flags up I am apparently, unable to turn away.

Oh, and NO I am not tired of watching Michael Phelps win, nor do I hate the women volleyball bikinis, because if I had Kerry Walsh’s ass I would wear nothing but bikini bottoms, EVERYWHERE. Corporate dress code be damned. I also don’t care why divers shower after diving, they are doing incredibly cool, twisty, turny things at the exact same time as the person next to them and I don’t care about much else (why do you?) I also do not know if the Chinese women’s gymnasts are 12 or 16, and either way, I don’t care. Have I cleared that up, co-workers? Excellent, now shut up and either love the Olympics like I do, or go back to your offices and whine to someone else just leave me out of it. I am in love with the Olympics and your bitterness will not taint me.

==============================================================

I want to thank everyone for their kind words about my friend Dennis..
I am frustrated to report that they still have not caught the dirt bag who took my friends life. I check every day and I hope, but so far.. nothing.

Thank you all again for caring about me and about him and the many other people he left behind. It matters to know this.

My friend Dennis

2008-08-08T09:46:00.003Z

I met him early in my freshman year of high school. My sophomore year I liked him more, because he was never afraid of my brother. He was rarely serious, but knew even way back then that he was going to someday be in law enforcement, so he never took a single drink, had a cigarette, or did any of the more exciting illicit drugs so widely available. He was going to be able to answer those questions with a resounding and completely honest No.

Dennis was always laughing or working to make others laugh.
He took me to see the Freddy Kruger movies, and made a fake Freddy Kruger glove that after the movie he used to tap on bedroom window. Should have been terrifying, except he couldn't stop laughing. Dennis didn't laugh like Freddy Kruger. He laughed the way kids playing in sprinklers do.

We were always friends, through all the high school drama, and later, he refused to let go of our friendship even when his first wife tried to demand he cut off all ties with his female friends from back then. He'd just shrug it off, saying 'they are my friends'. We talked less, but he always made time for me when I called to catch up - both of us knowing full well the days of anger and bitterness he would endure from his jealous wife.

About the time I moved to NC I found out he was in South Carolina, remarried, and finally working towards becoming a police officer. That first time, we spoke for hours. There was much to catch up on and we made the time to do so. We laughed a lot on that phone call. Dennis wasn't a part of anything bad in my life. He was always just a a true friend. His mission was always the same, to make you laugh, and let you know he cared. We talked about getting together for our high school reunion, and then neither of us went. We talked about him driving to North Carolina to visit, and hadn't gotten around to that yet either.

Yesterday, I got a call, Dennis had been shot and killed while working late the night of August 6th. I hate the imagery of him dying alone in the front yard of some vacant house. I realize we all die alone - but I hate it anyway.

I read this morning that they haven't found the responsible party yet. I sincerely hope whatever they took from that vacant house was worth it, and I sincerely hope they find you and hang your sorry ass from the tallest tree in the state.

Even here at the beach this morning, the world is a little uglier without Dennis.
We had one of those jokes - that aren't really funny - and no one else really gets, about him telling me the indicator brake light in his car was a reading light - and I argued what the hell could you read by that little light? His answer - Brake.

I miss you Dennis.
Godspeed.

For Seven Days........

2008-07-30T02:03:00.001Z

I'll be here..

http://maps.google.com/maps?f=q&hl=en&geocode=&q=Sand+Road+Hatteras,+NC&sll=37.020098,-78.222656&sspn=64.160835,112.5&ie=UTF8&ll=35.299435,-75.60791&spn=2.107049,3.515625&t=h&z=8

I have been busting my tail this week so that I can leave my job and my house with a clear conscience, and I am happy to report that on Wednesday morning, I should be in great shape to do just that.

I am more excited about this trip than anyone has a right to be. I'm going with my snowboarding buddies, and their families, dogs too. I will likely be the first to arrive, my drive is only about 5 hours, the girls are traveling 8 and 11 hours. I've planned the cocktail menu - and I'm trying to think of something I can make when I get there, so there's something to eat when everyone else arrives., you know something besides peach sangria and beer.

I have no idea what to make. Suggestions are welcome.

There is talk of kayaking trips and hang gliding, Staci will not rest until we are all bruised and (preferably) bleeding. That's just how she rolls.

Although I' m not leaving until Saturday, I am not sure there will be a post before this trip. There will be posts after.. and maybe pictures, too - Staci is an incredible photographer (visit her web page on my sidebar for proof).

I hope you all have a fabulous week.

A lot of dogs and one less Wallflower

2008-07-26T00:57:00.008Z

The friend I got my dog from has a big party every year at her farm in Carlisle, Pennsylvania. For three days people roll in from all over the country with their families and Eichenluft puppies (or just E-pups, as we call them) in tow.

Some stay in local hotels, some at RV camps some camp out at Molly's house. Wherever we go at night, during the hours of 7am and 10pm we are at her place, doing every dog related activity you can imagine. Herding instinct tests, Agility, Canine Good Citizen Testing, Therapy Dog Testing, Search and Rescue demonstrations, Advanced AKC Obedience Demonstrations, and of course my sport, Schutzhund. Molly opens her pool, and we take frequent swim breaks, dogs and people. Yes, in the same pool. Get over it.

A couple of the husbands man the grill for one giant meal a day - hot dogs, burgers, brats, bbq chicken, bbq pork, you name it. We supply the side dishes, water, soda, beer, champagne (yay!) and the obligatory GIANT cake.

It's three days of the best kind of dog party I've ever attended.

Last year, I let my inner hermit talk me out of going. As extroverted as I am with people who know me, drop me into a crowd of people I don't know, and I become the stereotypical wallflower. I won't do much, eat much or even just talk much. I usually am miserable and leave miserable wondering why I went in the first place. I've been that way as long as I can remember.

This year, I almost talked myself out of going because of the ever tightening grip gas prices has on my wallet, and I was sad. I actually wanted to go. I wanted Molly to see this dog she's trusted me with, but the pile of stuff that was going all pear-shaped in my life was getting bigger and the stuff that was going right, was rapidly shrinking. I wanted a get away. Well, really, I wanted to runaway, but thought "a getaway" would do.

At the last minute, a generous friend made it impossible to say no, and so Friday morning, I packed up and headed north. Traveling through Northern Virginia was strange, the area I grew up in and spent most of my life in, has now become simply a place I have to drive through to get where I want to be. Weird. Very Weird.

I got there mid-afternoon, just in time for a lunch I turned down. The wallflower was on display.

She stuck around right until Saturday morning. When I got there on Saturday morning the kitchen was humming, coffee, bacon, eggs, and just the few people that stay at Molly's were around. Molly mentioned needing to get to work - I offered to help - and she offered to let me muck stalls. This may not sound great to you - I understand that, but I am good at plain physical labor - it's easy, and I get to be near the horses, and people, I'm good at being with animals. So I mucked and I brought the horses in and fed them. I got to rub them and touch the foals soft little nose before he ran away and hid behind his mom. Payment received.

When I finished, the sheep herding guy had arrived, and I watched while he brought dog after dog out and 'showed them the ropes' it was fun watching how dogs reacted to the sheep and the sheep to the different dogs. I got a turn and Mojo did well, he was a little insecure, as you can see in the picture below, he took the challenge that wether offered him, but his hackles are up, he wasn't all that confident. He hung in there though, and I know if we do it again, he'll be much stronger.

The day was so full of events, and activities that the pool was looking very good to me, and I knew it had to be to Mojo. So we climbed the hill and I started trying to get him to swim. The dog will do just about anything for a ball, so in the pool the balls went. He circled and whined and carried on, and then I got in, fully clothed and then HE got in., and the fun began. People were outside the pool taking pictures, talking to me, laughing at Mojo and I. I took a break on the steps, waist deep in water, sunglasses perched on the top of my head. I was happy there, watching my dog swim in circles, chasing the ball, discovering the water jets. I was happy and the wallflower was fading, and then out of the blue........SHOVE... and into the water I went, arse over teakettle, sunglasses in the deep end. The 17 year old son of one of the party attendees thought I needed to go ALLLL the way in, so in I went. For just a second, just as long as I was under water, the wallflower was embarassed, horrified even, wondering what people were going to think. Then I surfaced. And just like that, I got the hell over it. In those minutes laughing with those that saw what happened, trying to find my sunglasses in the pool, I let it all go. I wasn't worried about what my hair would look like, or if I had make up running down my face, or if people were still going to like me.

They DID like me.

So did I.

Why has it taken me almost 40 years to get here? Why has it taken me this long to realize that in order to have fun, you have to take part in the fun?

I would have been more frustrated by this and analyzed it to death, but it just would have taken up too much of the precious time left I had at the party.

The wallflower, she is dead.

I had a great time the rest of the weekend and was sorry to see it end. I helped pick up water bottles and fold chairs and put away canopies just to hang out with those people a little longer.

I can't wait til next year.

What have I been doing? Let me show you....

2008-07-23T20:30:00.002Z

Wanna guess who won this little show down?

Heh. That's MY Boy!

More to come.... did we have some fun..ohyeswedid

The gift horse

2008-07-05T20:59:00.010Z

I have been horseback riding almost every morning this week.

The farm is quiet at 7 am. Sometimes, I can hear the new horse in the far pasture scrapping with the mustang gelding who is none too happy that he has competition for the sweet chestnut mare he used to have all to himself. The mustang may be tiny next to the new thoroughbred but he is proving what anyone who ever saw The Outsiders learned from Ralph Macchio. "Mustangs, they're tough" (for the uninitiated).

I can always hear the guinea hens, raising their guinea racket. Often it seems they lie in wait for the right opportunity to jump out of a tree line and startle the herd as they wander around the pasture. Those little hens can start a mighty stampede.

Every once in awhile I can hear a dog in the distance, or John, the caretaker on his John Deere. Mornings like this, I can never tell where John is, the tractor sounds like it’s everywhere all at once. When I catch a glimpse of John through the trees, one-hand steering his way around the farm, I think of my brother on his lawn mower. Mark had stickers on the hood of his and once, he wrote a poem about it, the poem was so popular that he was photographed standing next to it for a possible book cover. There’s no similarity between John and my brother other than the mowers, but I like the reminder, the feeling that if I close my eyes, I can tell myself it’s Mark.

I let myself into the creaky, dusty tack room, pull out my equipment, brushes, fly spray, and treats, and then head for the pasture. Most days I have to stop myself from running, so happy I am to be there. I undo the chain that holds the gate closed, and just twenty feet inside the pasture there is a large patch of buttercups. I stop in the middle, think about twirling, with my head back and my arms out, reconsider, and instead put my hands up to my mouth and yell “HEY BOYS!!!!!!!!” “HEY BOYS!!!!!!” Usually just two times and I’ll see them, Taz in front, moving at a trot, coming right at me. Once I spot them, I usually turn my back, drop my head and wait. It’s hard not to peek, to check and see if they are still coming but patience pays off, and soon, I’ll hear their hoof beats, them blowing through their noses. The rhythm slows, and it will get quiet. Then I’ll feel it. Taz will approach alone, his nose at the level of my shoulder, he’ll rub on my cheek, and I’ll turn. There’s a spot on his neck, up high by his ears that he loves to be rubbed, but just for a minute, and then he starts looking for my right pocket. I never disappoint him. After a treat or two, he’ll lower his head for me, I’ll slip on the halter and we’ll head for the barn. Sometimes I’ll run and he’ll run by my side, in serpentines, straight lines, circles, and then I’ll stop, suddenly, and he’ll stop right with me. Already in sync.

Grooming Taz tells me what he’s been up to since I last saw him. I’ll find tender spots from kicks, bite marks, and fly bites. I’ll know if he rolled around in the pasture. Today there was yellow pollen all over his lower limbs, looks like Taz likes the buttercups too.

Groomed and shiny, saddle on, we head for the mounting block. I mount, and start a warm up. The saddle creaks when we pick up the pace. He stumbles a bit, we go over a small jump or two, and I ask him to pay attention to those feet. We push to the rail, out to the center, increase our pace and slow down. Each exercise is designed to ask him to pay attention to me, to all my cues. The requests are subtle. Pressure from both legs, or just one, then the other, more weight in one stirrup, me rising from the saddle or sitting firmly down. He’s a slow starter, so we take our time.
By the end of two hours, we’ve moved out to the pasture, gone over a few more jumps, turned our pace up; our circles have become figure eights. We’ve crossed water and walked the perimeter of the largest pasture at least three times. I hear the crunch of gravel under tires, horses nickering, it is breakfast time at the farm.

In two hours, I have not thought about money, boyfriends, lawns that need cutting, work deadlines, car repairs, unpainted walls, eating right, working out, or bad family relationships. I have been completely mindful only of myself and him as he gathers under me, fully aware of his strength and power, it's in every twitch, every stride. I know where every uneven spot is in the pasture, because he has shown me. I have not examined much beyond the greenery just past the tip of his ears. I have talked only to the horse this morning, and that is perfectly fine with me.

I always hose him down after a ride. He arches his back when the cold water hits it, moves into the spray. We walk down the road back to his field; it's shadier there then going across the pasture. We share an apple and I thank him again for the ride. He answers only by asking for another bite of the apple. We are not perfect together, but he keeps working as long as I keep asking.

When I return him to his field, his friends are often well out of sight. He’ll spend several minutes with me at the gate. We share a few more words and one more quick rub of the spot up high by his ears, and he’ll turn, listening for his herd, and when he’s heard what he needs to, he heads off, head and tail high, at a trot. Watching that, gives me goose bumps every time.

I don't know if there was something I should have done with my apparent affinity for animals - something I missed. I hope I have not wasted a gift. I am a better listener and a better communicator when it is an animal on the other end of the conversation. I have joked about this for many years. I am not complaining.

I am grateful.

Snake Charmer

2008-06-22T17:07:00.006Z

So when your neighbor rings your doorbell at noon on a Sunday afternoon, what are they looking for?

-- a cup of sugar?

-- someone to keep an eye on their house while they go on a weekend trip?

-- borrow some gas for the lawnmower?

'Round here, it's "hi, sorry about my attire (a blue mumu), but could you come catch the snake in my yard?"

Now, a reasonable woman would say, "um, no, but thanks for letting me know, I'll bring the dogs in."

Since there are no reasonable women here, I just spent the last 20 minutes or so with a couple of recycle bins cornering a snake behind her air conditioning unit, and eventually, shoo-ing him into a bin.

Once in the bin, with the lid securely on, I walked him around the corner and down the street to the woods at the end of my neighborhood. He slithered quickly and (I imagined) happily off into the woods once I pulled the lid off the recycle bin.

The good news is that catching him enabled me to get a good look at him - and he wasn't a copperhead. Those things scare me, not so much for me, but for my dogs, who love nothing more than to chase a slithery critter... and the veterinary expenses for treatment of a snakebite are wicked-high.

So at least I can let that worry go. However, it does occur to me that I should maybe have checked to see if he was of the venomous variety BEFORE chasing him around my neighbors yard.

Next time your neighbor stops by, and all they want is a garden-variety favor. Say Thank you.

A little race, a lot of heart.

2008-06-15T10:03:00.010Z

Race day.
I got up and went to meet my friend, the one I started on the Couch to 5k running program. Three months ago, she selected this day, this race, as her target for running and completing her first ever 5k. She wasn't completely finished with the program, hadn't yet run 30 minutes straight, but she was determined, and in running sometimes, that's all it takes.

She selected the Race for the Cure here in Raleigh. A race this year that registered 25,000 runners/walkers/run/walkers. The environment is wonderful at these races, lots of crowd support, runner support, and the survivors. Wow. If you can't get inspired here, you are a soul-less pit.

We watched the road fill with other runners behind us, for a full quarter mile, women lined up. B lost her mom five years ago to breast cancer. I knew she was battling more than nerves before a race, saw her eyes linger on mom-daughter pairs and couldn't think of one thing to say. I watched as women lined up all around us with names written on them, the names of women lost, women still fighting, women they hope will never have to fight.

Her plan was to run intervals, 10 minute runs, 2 minute walks. She wanted more, but she didn't want to disappoint herself so she set her goals low, and I knew, hoped she'd be able to run every step.

At 7:50, we started, dealt with the massive crowd and then broke out and ran. I knew we were running much faster than she had ever trained 2 minutes into it. I told her to set the pace, and I'd stay with her. She did. At 8 minutes I could feel her losing speed, her breathing getting labored. We walked at 10, about halfway up the first hill. She was winded and as I looked over to check on her, disappointed. We topped the hill, and saw our first mile marker, and our time. I didn't say anything, but mentally noted that were almost a full two minutes ahead of her 'average' pace. We ran again. More hills, and in 5 minutes and at the bottom of another hill, she needed a break. We walked up the hill, ran down it and more. We didn't make the full 10 minutes and I saw her disappointment in herself grow. She said "I didn't want to walk this much". I don't know what got her up again, words of encouragement, the kids with supersoakers shooting at us, the B52's blaring from someones porch, the wonderful volunteers at the water stops, or if she just found something down deep where those things live. Whatever it was, she picked up her head, and got to stepping again.

More hills, more struggle, not enough water, but she kept stepping.

At the last half mile mark, I wanted to cry, she had worked so hard, and I could see the emotion rise in her when she realized we were almost back to the start.

At the quarter mile mark, her tears came but she ran faster, and harder, finishing strong and a full 7 minutes faster than the girl had ever completed 3.1 before.

Here's to you, B, to a run you can be proud of, and for being the kind of woman that sets a goal, fights for it, even when it's hot and hard, and doesn't quite come out the way you had hoped.

Youur mom isn't the only person who's proud of you.

Enlisting help for a friend...

2008-06-11T18:21:00.003Z

Ahem.

Tap. Tap.

This thing on?

Okay, so here it is. My friend over there (pointing to sidebar at right) Canesmojo wants to quit smoking. This is big. Huge. GINORMOUS.

Please would go there and support him in his quest to not die a horrible terrible disgusting death, encourage him to stick around to see his kids have kids and see those kids do cool stuff, like play soccer or football, or ride horses, or pottery, or whatever.

If you all have done this you know putting down the first cigarette is hard, but the next hour, 3 days, 3 months, is even harder, so please stop by regularly.

You have my thanks, and his too once he makes it to the end of this fight.

Summer, Summer, Summer

2008-06-07T01:12:00.003Z

The other day after I cut my grass, in the scorching, all-of-a-sudden-north-carolina heat, I spent a minute or two standing by my mailbox, looking at my yard and was overwhelmed by the smell of summer. The just-cut grass, the melty smell of asphalt, sweat, a grill somewhere nearby, sunscreen.

I remembered the summer they repaved the main road by my house, the way the new asphalt stuck to/melted into the bottom of my flip flops, making me carry around pieces of Hayfield Road all summer.

Later that night I made a grilled cheese sandwich for dinner. Although not the wonder bread slathered in butter, Kraft singles laden sandwich of my youth (soy cheese and sprouted grain bread, thank you very much) I sat on the couch eating it, pulling it into pieces and stretching the cheese out, wrapping it around my fingers, just like Maureen Mulroy and I used to do on the curb in front of my house when were BFFs in grade school.

The pringles I had with my sandwich reminded me of a campground in Ladysmith, Virginia, my brother and I making duckbills out of pringles and seeing how many verses of "John Jacob Jingle-Heimer-Schmidt" we could get through before they broke. He always won.

My mom pulled a leech off my calf that summer. I caught my first fish at that campground. A bluegill.

Tonight I went shopping for essentials (ice cream) and as I walked through the aisles, I saw marshmallow fluff. Another curbside sandwich shared with grade school friends. (We also "ate" powdered Kool-Aid, and no I don't know why).

I made my ice cream tonight and used caramel topping and that made me think of my dad., who used to eat Brach's caramels like they were going to stop making them (did they stop making them?) I remember the bags that had umpteen "regular" caramels and a smattering of "dark" caramels. He loved those the best. I remember I thought those were like black jellybeans, and I avoided them like the plague - something my father probably adored.

I remembered catching fireflies at night in the Brubakers front yard. The color of Chips t-shirt the night he tripped and broke his wrist - goldenrod yellow.

I can't figure out why these things stand out so clearly. I don't recall my dad ever grilling - not once - Maureen and I had a huge falling out later in life and aren't friends anymore, the jar of marshmallow fluff turns my stomach just looking at it, and why is it important to remember that my dad loved caramels that may or may not exist anymore. Chip Brubaker was the neighborhood kid that caught me smoking my first cigarette and told my parents - I was not a fan of his for a very long time after that.

I've had some incredible summers since I was 11. Really I have. I just don't remember them with the clarity I have of my childhood summers that bothers me.
What happens, exactly? Did I just stop paying attention to these little things as I got older? Is my brain so cluttered with gas prices, and bill paying, and stupid work projects, and did I unplug the flat iron, and am I going to be able to get my dog ready for the trial in the fall and, and and.... that I can't hold onto the memories that are happening right now?

I don't know the answer, but I do not like it. I want to remember the way my friends laugh, and the color of their t-shirts, and what we were eating when someone told that really bad joke. I want to remember the way the horse smells after a ride, and the way the top of his neck feels, the part just under his mane, the way a cold beer tastes sitting on a beach with my girlfriends and their dogs, and the bskillion little, insignificant things I haven't thought of yet -- things I won't be able to think of because I won't know what they are until they are happening.

These are the people and times I've created, they should be remembered with the reverence and wonder of an 11 year old with asphalt stuck in her flip flops catching fire flies in a yard on Bing court.

No right-thinking person likes brussel sprouts, SHUT UP. I MEAN IT.

2008-06-03T16:36:00.005Z

So, I am trying very hard this week to work on a project where they want me to discuss in detail that the complete blood count values were normal and within the standard reference ranges and (my favorite part) they want me to "be excited about it"... are you kidding me?
First the fact that they were normal pretty much means there aren't any details to discuss, and that IS pretty much the exciting part.
Yeah, I know, my stomach drops like I'm on a roller coaster too. I've been giving serious consideration to just changing all the periods in this section to exclamation points and returning it.
(Bet the results of that would be pretty exciting.)
So I hate that part of my life right now. It makes my brain hurty and honestly it makes me wish spitballs were an acceptable form of responding to these types of comments

Summer it has arrived in North Carolina as of this week. It is marvelous.

My Dad turned 77 a couple weeks ago, and father's day is just around the corner. Last year when I called him for one of those occasions (I can't remember which one) he responded with "aren't we done with that shit?", this year, I'm just sending cards.

As a kid, I hatedthe brussel sprouts, and spent many a night sitting at the kitchen table refusing to eat them. As an adult my dislike for them is often met with shock, apparently they are wonderful and delicious and good for you and cure acne and hangnails and maybe even mongolian body rot, such things of wonder they are. Soooo.. I tried again. I bought a little net bag full of fresh brussel sprouts and plopped them into a Ziploc steamer bag (if you haven't tried these - you are missing out) with some spices and 4 ish minutes later... blech. they still suck. Now all of you that have been nagging me? Shut up and Get off my back. Someone owes me 5 bucks and something else to eat for lunch.

Awhile ago, a co-worker/friend and I joined weight watchers at work, and I've been teaching her to run, using the Couch to 5k program I started with 4 years ago. Her target race is in two weeks, and I'm so hapy and proud of her, I cried the day she called me and told me she ran 15 minutes straight for the first time. We're doing the Komen Race for the Cure here in Raleigh and since her mom passed away 5 years ago from breast cancer it's especially important to her. Running with her has been great for me, as it's reminded me of all the lessons I learned, and all the mini-victories that I didn't celebrate enough. It's allowed me to recommit to my running and I've picked a target race for my next marathon and I am as excited about it as I was the first one. Although I'm not sure I knew it.. that is what I have been waiting for.

Jaded

2008-06-01T23:58:00.002Z

The flowers pictured here were planted on March 3 – what should have been my brother’s 52nd birthday. Mark was the person in my life who in both word and deed never allowed me to doubt his love. Losing that was indescribably painful and even though I thought it was special, I’m sure now, four years later, that I didn’t fully realize how rare that quality is.

I wonder what exactly it takes to be that kind of person. More specifically, I wonder whether I have what it takes to be that kind of person. It seems in my relationships, I get to a point where I’m straddling an imaginary line. On one side, is expressing my sincere affection and on the other, the knowledge of that affection being used to take advantage. I do remember one conversation with Mark about someone he felt was crossing the line, someone he’d known for some time. He summed up how he felt about letting them know he had reached his tolerance by saying “Shit J. If this is how they are going to be - I’ve got enough friends” – and maybe that’s all there is, when I get “that” feeling, remember that I do indeed have “enough friends.” It makes me sad, though…and it makes me wonder if it ever gets easier, and it brings clarity to the term jaded. I thought I didn’t want to be that.

Shit. at least Jade is pretty.

A Tale of Two Horses

2008-05-24T19:52:00.006Z

A new friend at work got me hooked up with a friend of hers who owns multiple horses and is always looking for people to ride them. So this fellow here, has been my 'other' time killer hobby for the last few weeks. His name is Taz and he' s quite lovely. He's well behaved on the ground and when I'm on his back and he's been a very generous and patient while I relearn how to ride properly. The last time I rode in an English saddle I was in 5th grade - circa 1979. Yeah, it's been awhile. There are something like 6,987 of unused horseback riding muscles in my legs and back and they all want me to know that for almost 30 years of non use, they plan to make me pay. Ow. Ow. Ow.

My senior year in high school, my friend Lace and I used to go out to one of those 'rent a horse' places in Brandywine, Maryland. We spent so much time there that eventually I/we got talked into buying a horse. We paid $600 for this nice quarter horse - Prince - board was $140.00/month. He was a western pleasure horse and worth ten times what we paid.

You might wonder how a 17 year old could afford a horse - I had this crazy job my senior year in high school. I worked for a title company and researched judgements. I got paid by the search, not by the hour. So, if I buckled down and worked hard I could clear 1000 bucks a week. That is mad cash for a 17 year old and what else would a 17 year old spend mad cash on? Lace and I shared him, and he was well loved and well taken care of.

Riding Taz lately has had me thinking about Prince a lot and laughing, first because who sells a horse to a 17 year old and second, we never told our parents. Lace and I owned a horse for a year, and no one knew. Lace and I had a lot of secrets, and while the horse may have been the biggest in size, there are others that will never make the page of this blog or any other.

I told my mom the truth just a few years ago - she was stunned, and after shaking her head a few times, she laughed - and said she guessed if I was going to keep secrets and hide "big" things from her she was just grateful it was a horse and not a cache of guns or a coke habit.
My mom, she's cool like that.

I keep reminding myself I can't really afford another expensive hobby right now but I am enjoying it so much that I have caught myself trying to do the math in my head, the 'figuring out if I can afford it math'. Fortunately, I suck at math, so until I start putting stuff down on paper (or in an Excel spreadsheet) it's all okay.

The day I sold Prince was heartbreaking. I will never forget the woman who bought him hugging me and telling me that "he would grow old with her" - I have always hoped that is exactly what happened.

This time, if I do buy a horse, I think I'll tell my mom.

Cravey Potpourri

2008-05-08T00:25:00.002Z

I got a meeting reminder yesterday, the title of the meeting? US Regulatory Potpourri.
Because when you think of US Regulatory Guidelines, don’t you imagine dried flowers, cinnamon sticks and assorted twigs?
Yeah. Me neither.

However, the theme of things that do not necessarily go together is also the theme of this here post. Lately, I’ve been madly writing posts in my head, and they just never make it to my computer. Yes, I’ve been busier than usual lately, but I have never had the intention to disappear from the face of the blogosphere. Just last night, a friend popped in and made a request for a post, so since I heard a rumor that his birthday is this week, I’m going to throw some Cravey Potpourri on the stove, and leave your kitchen/living room/bathroom/library/whatever smelling all cinnamon-y or whatever that crap smells like (incidentally, I hope it’s not crap).

Saturday night, after a long, hot Saturday afternoon of dog training, and a late evening walk with the dogs, I was pulling for a little sleep-in on Sunday morning. I thought the late walk would be the kicker.

I woke up around 4 am because my puppy was whining. Irritated and still insistent that I get to sleep in (I only wanted 7 am!) I ignored him and went back to sleep. For an hour. The whining again. No! I shrieked in my head, rolled over and went back to sleep. Another hour, and this time the whining is panicked. Sent chills down my maternal-dog-spine. I shot out of bed, and couldn’t figure out where the whining was coming from. Then, in the dim light of the room, I saw brown paws, UNDER MY BED. My 80 pound pup was completely and decisively wedged under my bed. I could only imagine that while lying on his side, he somehow slid under the bed, and the righted himself onto his chest only to find he was stuck. His panic-o-meter was way too high at this point for me to coax him onto his side and slide him out, so I did what any other person would do. I bent over and picked up my queen sized, cherry bed and lifted it while calling “come, come, come, come!” realizing that my panic-o-meter was also well into the red partially due to the weight of the bed, and partially due to the realization that if I dropped it on him I’d probably kill him.

This is no way to wake yourself up on any morning.

He made it out, but hasn’t spent the night in the bedroom since. He may have been stupid to get stuck under there, but he’s smart enough to not let it happen again.

Good Boy.
Maybe I'll get that sleep in next Sunday.

Yesterday, I worked from home, to babysit the other dog, which while I was out riding horses on Sunday, broke into the kibble keeper and ate roughly 7 pounds of dry dog food.

Bastard.

He looked as though he had swallowed a fully inflated basketball, and was sick, sick, sick, sick for two days. A little after lunch, I ran out to vote. Made it to my little polling place and was elated to discover only a half dozen people in line ahead of me.

The first two people in line were an elderly couple; and when I say elderly, I mean older than electricity-old. Hair growing where no one ever intended it to on any man, that shuffling gait that will ever remind me of high dose of Thorazine, and the woman looked a bit too much like a shrinky dink for me to be comfortable trying to imagine her driving to the polling place.

The man appeared disgruntled. Almost as if to prove my point, as he passed me he shouted “Bullshit!”
I admit it. I giggled. I thought this was some senile turret’s syndrome outburst.
I turned my attention back to my place in line, as the old man made it back to the help desk, a few normal bits of conversation ended in the old man shouting
“I have to wait in line again because some idiot can’t read?!!”

I was no longer amused, I was actually a little concerned.

The help desk guy, the old man and his teeny wife cut in line to talk to the first volunteer apparently there was some confusion over the placement of an apostrophe in the old mans name. In the general direction of no one in particular he shouted
“I’ve had an apostrophe in my name since the day I was born!” (sidebar: roughly 1657)
to which the volunteer calmly replied
“Sir, how would I have known that?”
which was quickly responded to repeatedly with
“YOU JUST SHUT UP AND DO YOUR JOB!!!!”

My concern grew.

The third time the old man shouted that another elderly woman (was I at the polling place for retired cast members of Cocoon?) tottered into the community center wearing an apron with a button that proclaimed she was the “CHIEF JUDGE”..she approached the increasingly red faced old man and said
“hey now, let’s quiet down here”

I was almost hiding in the corner at this point envisioning what looked like a imminent rumble, I could almost smell the Ben-Gay, old people feet, and hear the crack of pelvic bones - but it worked - the Chief Judge/old gal pushed all the right buttons and the old man did indeed quiet down.

After all this excitement I could barely focus on the actual ballot. I make a pretty good effort to keep up with politics on the local and national level, but I admit that yesterday on my ballot? There were people running for offices that I knew nothing about. Zero. Had never seen or heard their name before. I handled this very badly. Somewhere our forefathers are spinning in their graves. I selected my candidates by their names. Fred? Oh yes, I have a great friend named Fred, he’s got to be the right choice! and Kristen?, yes she’s awesome, she sold my house in Virginia.

I know I know. I can barely walk around with all this shame.

Happy Birthday Mr. Turkey.

Homecoming

2008-04-14T00:44:00.008Z

Five weeks ago, I went to Plant City, Florida to leave my young dog with this guy. If you go to the link you'll discover he's a multiple world champion competitor/dog trainer in my chosen dog sport.

One of my very favorite things about this sport, is how easy it is to "get to" the people you admire. Say, you or your child wants to be a professional baseball player. Can you just pick up the phone and call Barry Bonds, or Mark Maguire or Derek Jeter and say "hey can I come train/work with you?"

No? Well in my sport, you can, and I did. Just like that. Picked up the phone, said I wanted to come and bang. I was in. What's not to love about that?

So, I took Mojo to the seminar back in January, because even a novice handler like myself was seeing that at 10 months, Mojo was going to be a dog of the wholelotta variety. I worried that I was perhaps, in over my head.

If I tried to compare Mojo to my old, faithful (and first working german shepherd) Apache, I'd tell you they are night and day. Apache lives and loves 'the game', the dog will attempt to turn anything he can, a walk, a trip out to the mailbox, taking the trash out, into a game of some kind. He'll pick up bricks, logs, plastic bottles, and try to draw me into a game of fetch. He loves everyone and everything. He's weathered countless babysitting/visiting dogs, and somewhere around 2 dozen foster dogs traipsing through his home after Hurricane Katrina, he went to work with me when I worked in veterinary medicine, he was a blood donor, and a 'practice' dog for new techs learning to find pulses, veins, and muscles. He did every bit of it without complaint. He loves the sticky hands of the children in my neighborhood, and greets everyone with ears back and tail wagging, especially if he thinks you might be talked into a game of fetch. He is the very best sort of fellow.

Mojo, while no less affectionate or social, is a much more serious dog. He will be more of the stereotypical german shepherd dog. He is/will be more aloof with visitors and much more "my dog" not that he won't be nice, he just won't really care about other people. In work, Apache always looked for my approval, Mojo, on the other hand, barely knows that I'm still there when we're working. He is all business. It is not better or worse, really, it is just different. And different means, I will be learning a lot from this dog. He will make me a better dog trainer and he will likely make a fool of me on more than one occasion. There is nothing like dog sport to keep you humble.

I talked with Ivan last week, and after I processed everything he told me, I have reached the conclusion that I cannot wait.

I leave on Thursday, and will spend the weekend working with Ivan and my dog, and then I'll return home with my dog.

Over the last 5 weeks, I got my running program back on track, dropped 15 pounds, spent time with new friends (horseback riding - yay!), did yard work and organized closets.

It was time well spent, but now, I really do just want my dog back.

The schedule for training sessions will be one early, and then a long break during the hottest part of the day, and then an evening session. The hotel is nice, and I hope to spend some of that long break in the sun by the pool with a book a good friend (who was foolish enough to agree to come along). A mini vacation interrupted by dog training, and I won't even pretend that isn't my idea of perfect.

Creepy

2008-03-24T17:09:00.001Z

Anything with this kind of accuracy just by typing your name in a box - Seriousy Creepy.

What Jenny Means

You are fair, honest, and logical. You are a natural leader, and people respect you.
You never give up, and you will succeed... even if it takes you a hundred tries.
You are rational enough to see every part of a problem. You are great at giving other people advice.

You are friendly, charming, and warm. You get along with almost everyone.
You work hard not to rock the boat. Your easy going attitude brings people together.
At times, you can be a little flaky and irresponsible. But for the important things, you pull it together.

You are very intuitive and wise. You understand the world better than most people.
You also have a very active imagination. You often get carried away with your thoughts.
You are prone to a little paranoia and jealousy. You sometimes go overboard in interpreting signals.

You are a free spirit, and you resent anyone who tries to fence you in.
You are unpredictable, adventurous, and always a little surprising.
You may miss out by not settling down, but you're too busy having fun to care.

What's" Your Name's Hidden Meaning?

Yardwork, a little religion and alot of nothing

2008-03-22T16:35:00.005Z

As promised, yesterday I picked up rocks and sticks and pieces of macerated tree trunks, I got out my trusty leaf blower and a-blowin' I did go., I fired up my red-rider lawnmower, and mowed the lawn for the first time.

Last night, I accompanied a friend to a Good Friday church service. Things in his life are, at best, difficult right now, and he wanted to go, and I think, needed the company, although he didn't ask, he didn't turn me down when I offered to join him either.

I have not attended a church service in I don't know how long - 20 years? Very possibe. I've read the bible (and the Book or Mormon, for what it's worth), and went as a kid, so I know the story/history*, but some years ago, went the non-organized religion route. It's worked for me for all these years, but I'm not one to say no to a friend in need. The service was nice, if a bit bleak (I know, I know, Good Friday is not exactly a cheery occasion); the choir was amazing and accompanied by a very talented string quartet. Best of all, my friend greatly appreciated the company, we had a few laughs (no, not *during* the service, we're not animals) and hopefully today, he feels a tiny bit better. I, on the other hand have some very sore yardwork muscles, which I am loathe to complain about in light of last nights very descriptive sermon.

I am lost without my puppy. I've spent most of today reading blogs and thinking about what I can eat next. The puppy is away at puppy boot camp for another four weeks, and I'd completely forgotten how quiet my life was before him. I think my old dog and the one I'm babysitting for a friend staged a fight** just to see it they could get me off the couch to do more than go to the kitchen or bathroom. This can't continue. This must be why normal people without working dogs have hobbies. I've caught myself considering organizing closets not once but twice today. If next weekend I blog about organizing closets, send help. Please. Before I start washing baseboards.

*no disrespect intended
** no canine was hurt during this blog

Spring is springing.. or something.

2008-03-21T11:53:00.003Z

Today is a company holiday at old company ABC. I always forget this holiday until the week just before it arrives and then I get all giddy at the thought of a three day weekend. Company ABC calls it "Spring Holiday" which I love, because even in the South where winters are far milder than what I grew up in, I love me some spring.

You might remember that I had a ton of landscaping done to my backyard late last year, clearing of trunks and bushes and old, weird structures (trellises? trelli?) and I'm just starting to get a look at what my yard is going to look like without all that junk.

People, it is awesome.

The last few days I've been eating dinner on my new deck while throwing the ball for my big dog. (We aren't very formal at Casa Cravey). I'm spending today blowing the last of the leaves out of the corners of my back yards, picking up rocks and roots and other things left from all the clearing last fall and yes, cutting the grass in the front yard, with my brand new lawnmower.

My joy at this kind of work is a little odd but it's genuine. My little corner of suburbia may not be much, but it is my little corner, and I'm happy to be in it.

I realize for as much time that has gone by I should be posting much more prolificly and profoundly but I'm not. For today, my spring holiday, this is all I've got.

Happy Spring to all of you.

The difference a day makes

2008-03-09T15:28:00.001Z

I woke up very early this morning, glanced at the clock (330 am) and tried to decide if I should try to go back to sleep or just get up and get moving, maybe go into work early. I compromised, got up and let the dogs out, and then crawled back under the covers. Thinking about work is always easier when I’m wearing pajamas and have covers pulled up over my head.

At 530, the light bulb in my head finally turned on, and I realized it was Sunday morning, not Monday morning, and just like that getting up didn’t seem like such a monumental task.

The rear of my house faces east, making my back deck and my kitchen incredibly sunny places, well, once the sun comes up that is. I poured my first cup of coffee and sat on the couch to wait. The sofa in the living room faces the window pane on the back storm door, and the angle and height are just perfect, from the sofa, you can only see trees, no clue that I live in the middle of suburbia. Don’t get me wrong, I like my corner of suburbia, I did pick this neighborhood, but sometimes, I wish that no matter what angle I was looking through a window, there were only trees.

As the sun came up in my window the dogs came in from the yard to invite me to play, they are hard to resist, their brown eyes and in joy in anything that can be tugged, thrown or kicked. The little one is recovering from an injury, so the playtime was short-lived, as that is very simply, not on the list of ‘things to do while your dog is recovering from a soft tissue injury to his foot’. I offered food as an apology and was immediately forgiven, dogs are simple like that.

This week I will start a friend with the same program I used 4 years ago to start running. We’ll be running on our lunch hour – which means I’ll be finding time to work in my other/regular workout either in the morning or in the evening – that ought to be interesting. I figure I’ll either do great, the added inspiration of a new runner will kick my own training into high gear, or I’ll end up injured and whimpering in corner somewhere, mumbling smoothie recipes and reciting training schedules like Dustin Hoffman in Rainman. That will be this weeks worry though, today, my own run, a fully charged ipod, low temps and blue skies are calling.

I’m really glad it’s not Monday.

Potluck - take what you want and move on.

2008-03-04T01:13:00.006Z

So, I went to Tennesee this weekend, just a little bit north of Knoxville. The dogsport I do was having a regional championship and I was asked to lay tracks for the event.

I was a nervous wreck, possibly, probably more so than the actual competitors, who at this level have usually done this a time or two. It was my 'rookie' event. I got a ton of support from some very important people in the sport, and in the end I kicked butt. No way I could have done it without them though, and the best part, is I can't wait to do it again. The wanting to do it again part, tells me I really did love it, the preparation for weeks before, the putting down the track, and then following the competitor back over my track and being able to find my footprints, my corners and my articles.

There was definitely a fly in the ointment, but I've wasted enough time worrying/thinking/wondering about it and I've come to the decision that enough is enough, and I'm just going to let it go. (The emphasis here is to remind me, not so much you).

===================================================================

Work was just awful today - for the first time in almost two years, I had a day that made me feel like a flounder - 30 feet up a tree. I keep waiting for the feeling to go away, and it's just isn't, and I have no idea what to do about it.

====================================================================

When you take a drink of your diet pepsi and discover it's diet cherry pepsi - grab a trashcan, you may very well vomit.

That shit is horrible. Someone tell me why Robitussin is making soft drinks now - eegad.

====================================================================

Today, while I was at work, someone came to my house and planted sunflowers in my backyard for me. Looking at the empty packets on my kitchen table made me cry.
Does anyone else find it really hard to let someone love you or is that just me?

====================================================================

Today, my brother Mark should have been celebrating his 52nd birthday. We should be sitting at the Mongolian barbecue on Van Dorn Street eating and laughing and making fun of each other.

That we aren't and that somehow I've gone four years without him seems criminal, and it just sucks.

====================================================================

I bought myself a GPS thingie for my car, and people, that thing is awesome. I programmed it to talk to me with an Austrailian accent, cuz that is even more awesome. I call her Karen. Added awesomeness is when you are in the middle of nowhere (or Knoxville) and you're hungry, you just push the food button and SHAZAM you get all the restaurants nearby. Best 250 bucks I've spent in a long time.

=====================================================================

I'm working from home tomorrow, making roasted vegetable lasagna and going to dog training.
It's gotta be a good day.

Bitch Session

2008-02-19T22:38:00.003Z

As previously posted, I’m sick, and while I appreciate all of you who encouraged me to say damn the drought and take a bath, I didn’t. I have way too many issues with water conservation to pack it all in for one cold.

The cold is still with me, and with the cold comes the cranky. I am absolutely at my worst when I don’t feel good. If there was ever a litmus test for if someone loved me it would have to be forcing them to spend the length of a cold with me. I’m sure that may be grounds for justifiable homicide.

1. Being a person who immediately fell in love with the handy-ness of electronic transactions I am increasingly frustrated with the 47.2 questions I now have to answer when trying to do my ‘fast ‘ checkout. For the record, I just want gas. I do not need a receipt, a car wash, a shoe shine, or my teeth flossed. JUST GAS.

2. If your job involves being two inches or less from my face – I have one request – breath mints - I mean, I love you, I love the way you wax my eyebrows, I come back every couple of weeks, I way over tip you….would a breath mint kill you? Are you allergic to peppermint?

3. I keep seeing my neighbors ‘walking’ their children. Or more correctly, the parents are walking and the kids are being pulled in wagons. I am not making this up and I do not get it. In this day and age of rampant childhood obesity, would it kill Chad and Muffy to walk around the block? Isn’t the point of sending children outside to make them run around, get tired and stop all that squealing? How can they get tired if you are pulling them? You only have yourselves to blame.

4. Can anyone tell me why there are 657 types of bacon? Isn’t it all just tasty fatty pig parts? I just want bacon. Plain old regular bacon.

5. I am many things, none of them is a meth cook. I am buying this much cold medicine because I am SICK – which should be evident by the hacking cough and the runny snotty nose. I am not supplying my little suburban neighborhood with meth. Yes, you can see my ID, but seriously, put your best-agent-Mulder-trust-no one-look away, I am not impressed or intimidated by you and you super-sleuth skills there.

Being sick sucks and if one more person asks me who I’ve been kissing to get this cold, I’m not only going to punch them in the head I’m calling in TL and her spoons.

I'm sick and that's Sad

2008-02-16T21:56:00.004Z

Someone please explain to me why when things are actually messy every-single-where in my life, I get a damn cold that is making me feel like staying vertical for more than 4 hours is akin to scaling Everest, naked, in stilettos, whilst covered in ky-jelly?

I haven’t had a cold like this in years.. why, dear immune system didja let me down now? I am a Tylenol popping, afrin snorting fool. Oh. , that’s right, you see, I can’t actually take ‘real’ cold medicine. That swill (yes, all of them) makes my heart race upwards around 150-160 bpm and then I can’t catch my breath..or even lie down..so, Afrin, that’s the best I can do. Of course, today would also be the day I find out that apparently Afrin becomes addictive if used more than 3 days in a row… this is not good news, because I have no intention of getting some modicum of relief for 3 days, to go back to the stuffy headed-hearing impaired person I am without it, just to avoid the possibility of a nasal spray addiction. Call an interventionist. I’ll do the time in rehab once I can breathe through my nasal passages full time again..promise.

Everything else, laundry, phone calls (sorry Roo’), dishes, finishing the dang bank robbing book, cleaning out my truck, all that, gonna have to wait. I am miserable and a nap is about the only thing I have the energy for (as if that makes any sense).

On the upside - I love the girl scouts. I stopped at the local drug store this morning to buy a tape for my brand new video camera (!), and there they were, selling cookies. I am almost certain of the medicinal qualities found in lemon shortbread cookies, more research is necessary, but I’ll keep you posted.

So there you go a peek into the action packed-non-stop-hilarity that is my weekend, aren’t you glad you came by?

If you need me, I’ll be on the couch with my blankie and a cup of hot tea.
If not for the dang drought I'd add a steamy bubble bath, but I don't need guilt on top of all this snot, that' d be just plain wrong.

The 10 Random Things I owe to 'Roo.

2008-02-11T03:40:00.000Z

I can't not do a 'tag'... I especially can't not do one from 'Roo. .. my friend who talks to me for hours - just cause, who never makes me feel worse about mentioning Hooters at a business meeting, who reminds that I have much to be proud of, and Roo, our friendship is definitely one of them.

So... 10 Random Things ........

1. I can't wash my face without brushing my teeth, and I can't brush my teeth without flossing them first. These things have to go together, I have tried to talk myself out of this stupid compulsion. I'll make it to the couch after washing my face and I'll sit there unable to focus on anything until I get up and floss then brush my damn teeth.

2. I hate brussel sprouts., and I don't like you very much if you're trying to talk me into liking them, so just stop that crap.

3. When I go on a road trip somewhere, I have to make two lists. The list of things I can do right now (meaning the day before), and the list of things I have to do before I walk out the door. If I forget to put something on the list, I will write it down just to cross it off.

4. One of the things on the list is always, 'buy twizzlers'. My car won't go without them, I swear.

5. I just recently discovered that I love jalapeno peppers.

6. I shoplifted exactly one time, when I was about 13 years old. I (tried) to steal (read: I got caught) a bookmark from a Christian Book Store. (This still makes me laugh).

7. I recently surpised a friend I hadn't seen in over a year. She was so happy to see me she cried. I will remember the look on her face when she first saw me for the rest of my life. I will not wait so long to go see people who love me ever again.

8. I have not been running enough and I *hate* the way the absence of running makes me feel.

9. I don't love the beach... but this summer, I think I'm going to make some of my best memories there.

10. With my tax refund this year I'm buying deck furniture and an automobile GPS Thingie. I figure I'll always be able find my way home, and I'll have an awesome place to sit. If "W" gives us additional money - I'm defnitely going to spend it frivolously, I'm outstanding at that.

Happy new week people.

I too, got nuthin'

2008-02-08T12:12:00.000Z

Brian sent me an email the other day, complaining about my lack of posting these days, his very words were “your life can’t be as boring as mine”.
It is.
Well, except for those items I shouldn’t talk about until I’ve had time in front of a judge.*

Offered as proof here’s how my day went yesterday.

I had a very big, face to face meeting with a client for a new project.
The meeting starts earlier than I would normally go in, so I left early, with the plans of stopping at a nearby coffee place for tea and a bagel.
(me – Me CSG – coffee shop girl)

Me: Hi. I’d like a skim chai and a toasted grain bagel with peanut butter please.
CSG: What size? And you want t a cinnamon roll? They are just out of the oven and still warm, and really good!
Me: a medium please, and no, just the bagel.
CSG: You sure? How about a muffin?
Me: No, thanks, just the bagel.
CSG: ringing up my order, and out of the corner of my eye, I see “muffin” flash across the cash register and sigh.
CSG: What kind of muffin again?
Me: I didn’t order a muffin, I ordered a toasted grain bagel.
CSG: oh dear.. looks around. Makes eye contact with other coffee shop employee (OCSE), he sees the deer in the headlights look and comes over.
CSG: almost wailing… Fix it!
Other CSE: Fix what?
CSG: Well she ordered a bagel, and I rung up a muffin..
OCSE: Did you want cream cheese or anything?
Me: Peanut butter.
OCSE: Never mind, just leave it.
CSG: I’M SO SO SO SORRY.
ME: It’s okay. As my chai is being handed to me by OCSE, can I just get my bagel?
CSG: Oh. Yes. Scrambling to start it.. I’m so so so sorry.
Me: Ok. handing me a bag with (presumably) my bagel. I’m so so so sorry.
ME: okay.

Everyone can have a bad day right? For all I know her cat died and her favorite bra disintegrated in the dryer. I got my breakfast, and that’s all that matters, right?
Almost.
In the bag? An untoasted everything bagel with cream cheese.
Whatever.

So, I arrive at the office ahead of schedule and have not spilled any of my chai on my meet the client clothes. (Bonus!)

This is the meeting where we introduce ourselves and explain what we as individuals do on team PDQ for Company ABC. I am not a fan of public speaking in any fashion which equals I am not a fan of these meetings. No matter how many I attend, about 6 minutes before I have to give my departments shuffle-ball-change-shuffle – I become absolutely convinced that one of the client attendees is going to morph into my 10th grade Geometry teacher and start demanding I explain Pythagorus’ Theorem or calculate the hypotenuse. No, I’ m not kidding, I wish I was. I can feel my heart rate pick up, and my hands get sweaty. I always find myself talking myself into deep breaths and tuning out whoever is speaking. (PS.. this isn’t really a good idea in a meeting; I usually find myself being jolted back to the meeting because someone says my department name and I have to bite my tongue to keep myself from shouting out Equilateral! Isosceles!).

I got through it but forgot to sit on my hands, therefore the deaf population was utterly bewildered by my wild and constant hand gestures. However, I didn’t say shit (or worse) once (double bonus!). The man to my right was my primary contact for my section of the project and he had a great sense of humor and seemed to not find me a gigantic gesticulating idiot (this may have been aided by the fact that I didn't jab him once while flailing my arms about during my speech). I only made one reference to the Hooters down the road** and soon afterwards quicky and quietly made my escape. I suppose I’ll find out today if I’ve been replaced. I hear there's a local coffee shop that's hiring.

Now I’m sure you’re expecting some great finish here. There isn’t one. I came home, worked with my dogs, and made chicken pot pie for dinner.

See? I got nuthin’.

Happy weekend friends.

*Just kidding, almost.
**yeah, really.

The Before and After Post

2008-01-24T11:46:00.000Z

The end of 2007 was a mad dash of home improvements, and being someone who loves the 'before and after' of any makeover show - I took pictures.
FRONT - BEFORE

(Ignore, if you can, the leaf pile) It was the g-d holly bushes. They were pretty for about 2 weeks out of every year, when the berries came out all pretty and bright red. The rest of the year I spent trying to trim them into some kind of symmetric submission, or picking the pointy-ass leaves out of my socks and/or feet.
FRONT - AFTER

Ta-DA! What isn't captured in this picture, is the repainted the shutters, porch swing and the new pretty front door with a oval shaped window in it. Also, no little task was replacing all the concrete edging around the now- empty beds. Of note, I didn't do this very hard work, I paid someone fantastic to do it for me. As my across-the-street-neighbor said to me as we watched Mr. fantastic drag dismembered holly bush pieces to the street "It sure is nice to watch someone else work". Heh.

BACK - BEFORE

This was my ugly deck. It was teeny and while there was room for a grill, a grill and say, a table and chairs was just too much. So....

BACK - AFTER

TA-DA! It still needs to be stained, but ugly deck is gone! I am in lurve with this new deck. I am often wasting time searching for the patio furniture that will soon live here. My boss and co-workers have already started spouting suggestions for low-bush-shrub-flower-things to plant around the edge of the curvy part there, and I am open to suggestions, remember, low-maintenance, hardy, and not holly bushes.

Now, if North Carolina will just get warm enough to enjoy the outside of my house I'll be all set.

You're invited by the way, if you happen to find yourself out this way.

Staci's quote

2008-01-21T18:46:00.000Z

"Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be?...”
Marianne Williamson

One of my sister-friends has this quote in it’s entirety on her web page. I’ve gone to her page to read it once a week now for about a month. I keep coming back to it - there is something here for me.

I’ve been accused on more than one occasion of being “dark and twisty” and I can’t totally disagree. Left to wander in my own mind, I tend to lean heavily towards the dark, the worst-case scenario, even when it brings me to tears, as it often does. I don’t know when this started, or why.

This quote has left me wondering if it’s a cop-out. Is it simply easier for me to think of the downside then to imagine the possibility of the upside?

Aside from the uncharacteristic brutal cold that is gripping my fair home state this week this was a near perfect day for me. The sky was so sharply blue against the winter landscape it looked like it would cut you. There was snow in my yard and on my car when I left the house, just enough to be pretty. My biggest worry was whether or not 7 layers was enough.

At lunch with my dog trainers – my dog and I were complimented, my dog even toasted. The year ahead for him, is looking very bright, and I am in love with the journey. JR said he admired my patience in dog training (if you know me, I’ll wait for you to stop laughing at the idea of me being patient) and wanted to know where I got that. The only answer I had was that I really am enjoying the process. I read my dog well, and when I see him get frustrated, I don’t find myself frustrated, I find myself asking myself, ‘how can I make this clear to him?’. When I see the light bulb go on for him.. I am insanely proud and I catch myself imagining the possibilities. The best ones.

A friend has invited me to run a half marathon with her this spring. If I can just stay injury free, I’m going to make it happen - we are both normally solitary runners. We can and occasionally do run with others which is something I (sort of) enjoy but still feel a little awkward about. Ms. Manners didn’t include a running partner segment in any of her books, and frankly, I suck at being polite when I’m sweating my arse off. This friend though, we are in sync when 900 miles separate us. I have no doubt that running with her will be as natural as lacing my shoes before I start.

Already, there have been opportunities presented to me this year I’ve never even considered. I’m amazed and excited, and yes, a little freaked out, but for the most part, I am happy to see them come my way, grateful for a chance at something bigger than I imagined.

I will not ask for more than moments of contentment with the (scary) unknown things ahead. I’m far more comfortable with my dark side, but this year, maybe I’ll follow some running advice and just “get comfortable being uncomfortable."

If change was easy, it'd be boring.

January 5th

2008-01-09T20:59:00.000Z

Wikipedia tells me that January 5th is the 5th day of the Gregorian calendar, and that there are 360 days left in the calendar year.

Other cool things Wikipedia knows about January 5th include;

In 1757 Louis XV survived an assassination attempt
In 1759 George Washington married Martha Dandridge Custis
In 1909 Colombia recognized the independence of Panama
In 1914 Ford Motor Company announced the 8 hour workday and a minimum wage of 5
bucks an hour. (Don’t spend all that in one place)
In 1940 The FCC got its first taste of FM radio (amen, brother)
In 1970 All My Children premiered
In 1993 Washington State executed a man by HANGING (yes, really in 1993)
In 1997 Russian forces pulled out of Chechnya

Also on January 5th…
Walter Mondale, Robert Duvall, Charlie Rose, Diane Keaton, Grant Young, and Marilyn Manson were born .

All in all, a not totally uncool day.
For me, it’s the day I got the phone call from the Fairfax County Police to tell me my brother had been found dead in his home.

The jack-ass I talked to on the phone that day was almost as sensitive as steel wool. After he identified himself as being a member of the “death squad” (storm-trooper anyone?) and him telling me it looked like my brother had been dead for several days and that his dog had to “forcibly removed from the home” I was ready to kick in his teeth. Just as soon as I found something to fill the gaping hole in my chest.

I remember sometime early on promising myself I wouldn’t memorialize this day. I wouldn’t remember it every year. I didn’t want to do that. Yet, every year since, starting right around thanksgiving - January 5th almost glows on my calendar. I can feel it coming, and I quietly start looking for a way to pass that day.

In 2005, Jan 5th fell on the day of my Team in Training Bon Voyage Party. We were leaving for Bermuda to run the marathon later that week, and the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society threw us a party. I took the whole day off from work, got a sports massage and a haircut and joined my teammates for dinner and drinks. I’d only started running the previous July – and quit smoking just 1 day before I started running. I trained all winter, running my longest distance of 18 miles on December 26th in 18 degree weather.

In 2006, my friends took me out to a place in Georgetown, called the Birdcage. There was no mention of the ‘anniversary’ not a word. They knew, of course, being the same friends that scraped me off the living room floor two years earlier, propped me up, took me to bail the from the Fairfax County Animal Shelter, and somehow kept me from driving into the nearest bridge abutment/off a bridge/into oncoming traffic. These friends cheered for me as I ran around Bermuda the year before. They were there at the finish line with tears in their eyes and water and Corona in their hands, they helped me soak my swollen blistered feet, and they bought me a post race massage. There was much to say, and they said it just by being there.

In 2007, I met some other girlfriends at Snowshoe Ski resort, it wasn’t planned, and these girlfriends had no idea about the date. I remember noting it, and thinking that Mark would have loved to hear about that weekend, the things we did, the laughs we shared, the fried green tomatoes. I remember crying all the way down the mountain at the end of the weekend wishing desperately I could call him and share the weekends stories – I remember the dull thud of realization, knowing utterly and completely that this is what I would miss the most - the inability to share the rest of my life with him.

In 2008, I packed myself and my young dog off to a dog seminar with Ivan Balabanov. One of my very favorite things about the dog sport I do is that working with the man that has won every level competition he’s entered (from local to World Championships) for the last several years is as simple as making a phone call, paying a little money and spending 9 hours in a car. So off I went. This year, I was completely aware of the date. Those people who tell you it gets easier – they are lying. I still feel the cold spot in my heart the way you feel a draft from a not fully closed window in February.
I ran to Plant City, Florida to get warm. It almost worked. I spent two days 12 hours each totally immersed in dogs and training and other people as into (read insane) their dogs as I am mine. I worked hard, I trained hard, and I had fun. Ivan made a point to tell me what a nice puppy I had and what great potential we had as a team. It was overwhelming but felt so good.

I left Plant City at 4:20 in the morning, stopping to get gas and Starbucks and then cried every bit of the 110 miles down I-4 to 95.

I am not so dense as to miss the fact that I am spending this day each year wrapped in the things and people I love. Whatever ability I have to “man up” is obliterated on this day, I am simply, in need.

I am not particularly proud of this, but I refuse to be ashamed.

The James Bond Meme (shaken not stirred - there are no nearly naked chicks here)

2007-12-28T00:50:00.001Z

Brian tagged for the aforetmentioned, Cravey nicknamed James Bond meme - this time, instead of me telling on myself, I had to ask my friends to tell on me., and they were only too happy to oblige - no surprise there. Here's the results:

From Renn:
Cravey is handier around the house than most men, and generally more reliable.

She also doesn't suffer fools.

(Is this Renn, or what? Short, to the point and funny. Me likey)

From The Real Mandaroo:
cravey cusses at loved ones when she sleeps*

cravey likes to drink and watch little kids bust their ass*

cravey is a splitter. she'll split things with you in a restaurant. and she knows that crab cakes and green tomatoes make total sense.

*best friend in a hurty time

*will tell you what you need to hear and not bullshit you.

*has a mad crush on rob zombie. which if you see his movies...makes you say, 'huh?' cuz he's fucked up.

*likes a little righteous violence

*eats desert for breakfast

this is why i love cravey

(love you back roo)

From the double-secret-probation-blogger-formerly-known-as-prince (ok, not exactly but I'm not sure he doesn't want to remain anonymous)

From your blog, you're a Christmas-hating curmudgeon who loves running, German shepherds, close friends, and having your house unmolested.

The less obvious stuff: you are intimidatingly kind and pretty, smarter than most people, easy-going as long as things are going your way, incredibly generous, and you smile all the time.

(hands down, one of the nicest things anyone a relative stranger has said to me, EVER)

From the magnanimous Tiff:

1) you are a hysterically funny woman
2) you have a penchant for terrifically ugly running shoes

I thought of a bunch of other things, but then realized that because who you are on your blog is very much the same as who you are in person, I'd just be saying what people already know.
oh wait.

3) you have stunning green eyes.
4) you know that lipstick is a girl's best friend

Okay, I think I was supposed to have six people respond, but only these guys responded, so that's all you get, and other than typos (Tiff) there was no editing. Really. It appears, these people really do like me.

Which seems as good a way to end a year as any.

Very best wishes to all of you in 2008.

I like you back.

Aha!

2007-12-21T00:07:00.000Z

I found something I like about Christmas!

I like the holiday pictures of my friends and their kids.

I like it that they remember me at this time of year. Some of them pose with their beautiful kids or sometimes it’s just the kids. Either way, they make me happy. I’ve hung them all on my refrigerator and they’ll probably stay until next year or until they fall off, whichever comes first.

Tonight, I was looking at them while I reheated some leftovers – blonde curly haired sisters Gabby and Grace, little Kyle in his Christmas suit; Sister-Staci and Adrian with puppy dog Eesa, and Debbie with her boys; Astin, Max, and Luke.

I love it that my friends know me well enough that they send the pictures, but skip the annoying Christmas update letter. This is one of the small reasons I am friends with these people.

My friends are well and happy, they have had their share of ups and downs this year, but at the end of the year, they took a minute to think of me and to send me a piece of their greatest joy. It’s right there on my refrigerator, smiling back at me. That's the only update I need.

The Awful Truth

2007-12-17T01:43:00.000Z

Last week I had hardwood flooring put down in my living room, my master bedroom and the little hallways in between. It feels like months since I first wandered into home depot and started trying to poking around at my choices of hardwood, pre-finished hardwood, laminate, tile, and don’t get me started on colors. By the time last Thursday got here, I almost leaped out of my skin when that big black diesel truck rolled into my driveway.

Three guys pulled up and started unloading large table-saw looking things, extension cords, air compressors, nail guns, staple guns, and other stuff I didn’t recognize. They came in, looked at the furniture I moved, and the furniture yet to be moved, they took humidity measurements. I had to run up to the office and right before I dashed off, I asked, “so how long do you think this will take?” The answer came back from Jerry, the veteran of the group and I really wanted to believe he was kidding.. “I’m going to say two days.”

“Two days! Two freakin’ days?!#@!!, I didn’t plan for two days working at home! And by the way, why the hell didn’t someone tell me that? I scheduled this like three weeks ago, and NO ONE Said anything about two days! What the hell am I going to do with my dogs crammed upstairs for two whole days, never mind the fact that I can’t even get to my sink, or my stove.. TWO DAYS!!! AAAAAAAAHHHH!!!!”

Okay, so that’s not what I said. What I said, was “okay, I’ll be right back” and off I went to pick up a replacement laptop since oh-so-conveniently sometime during the night I murdered mine, and no, I don’t know how it happened Mr. IT-Help-Desk Person, No I did not drop it, run it over, dunk it in water, or anyway mutilate or mistreat it. I swear. It committed suicide. It hated me. This is something I can live with.

Home again, I worked on my front porch while the banging, clanging, air compressoring, skill-sawing, and my very favorite part, the arguing went on. Delightful. At the end of the day I was stunned at how much I got done under those conditions. I can’t say I’ve ever worked on a porch swing before. I ran out at the end of the day because, well frankly, they were driving me crazy. I couldn’t take their bickering anymore. (Dear Mom and Dad, I’m sorry about all that, I love you.)

I got back and mercifully, they were gone. I almost cried. See, I figured, they’d finish one room, and I could at least put one room back together, you know, find my sink/stove again. But No. This was not to be.
They did ¾ of the bedroom and a little more than that of the living room. This will never make sense to me – and I was very unhappy. I spent that night somewhat miserably chasing the puppy around and pulling pieces of wood, carpet tacking strip, carpet and carpet padding out of his mouth. I had to go out and buy a toothbrush, since my bathroom was 100% blocked by my lovely, comfortable and fully dismantled bed.
I slept for all of 4 hours on my couch.
I was up and had been working (!) for 3 hours when they arrived for Day 2 at 730am. I bolted for the local coffee shop at the start of the first argument. Those first 3 hours were productive. Even over the coffee grinder, espresso maker and the coffee shop girls cheerful welcome to each and every patron. My job being what is, I was doing a lot of hurry up and wait. Hopeful that the large man working on my floor was right when he said they’d be done by noon, I ran home to check.

Only if a dozen men showed up would they be done in an hour and half.
CRAP.

This was becoming a serious lesson in patience and in taming my ADD qualities.
I had no idea I was this bad.
I was a woman on the edge, there were sweaty men and their crap all over my house, and more importantly my crap was all over my house, but in the wrong places.
It was making me nuts. Like Jack Nicholson in The Shining nuts.

My good dogs were shoved in rooms or cages locked away upstairs on a sunny 70-degree December day and I had quite simply HAD IT.
(1pm. Not done) I let the dogs out. I didn’t ask I just did it. We all went outside, we played ball, we had a little lunch..We played ball some more.
(2pm. Not Done) I checked on my work project. I waited some more. I got out the leaf blower I chased leaves. I chased dogs. I even succeeded in not losing my shit all over the large man when I came in from the backyard to discover his grimy paws in my freezer helping himself to ice cubes. I am a generous person, ask and you shall receive, but helping yourself? Not so much.
(3pm. 1 room done – hooray!!). I locked the dogs outside and put my living room back together, I cleaned up after them, I swept, I vacuumed, hung pictures. I moved furniture. Marginally further away from the ledge, I curled up on my couch and got some more work done.
4:30. Equipment starts going out of the house. I think I swept them out of the house with the staples and carpet tacking strips and cardboard boxes. I almost tap-danced. I made my bed. I put my stuff back where it freaking belongs.
Then I took a shower. Then, I looked at my floors, and damn. They. Look. Good.

If someone had told me it would be like this, I would never have gone through with it.
Or, I would have moved out.

You know how every neighborhood has a crazy cat lady?
I think I’m her. Substitute german shepherds for cats and Voila. I'm her.

I'm pretty sure this isn't what my parents invisioned.

Oh, and PS. Kim - I did get that stupid project out - at 5:12 pm.

The end of the year ADD Post

2007-12-09T12:36:00.001Z

I'm not a Christmas person. I'm just not. Deal with it.

Furthermore, I think Christmas music a vile invention. Particularly Barry Manilow singing Chistmas songs, in case you were wondering, but to be honest, I don't like any of it. When I lived in Northern Virginia there was a spoof Christmas song - spoofing Baltimore - that I loved. I can't remember what the name of it was or who recorded it, but it was a mockery of Winter Wonderland, sung by a guy with an exaggerated Dundalk (suburb of Baltimore) and involved things like VD and impregnating your girlfriend. So that ought to give you an idea of my christmas music taste. Oh, and don't even get me started on that Grandma got runned over by a reindeer song. I will gleefully beat you to death with a Christmas wreath if you sing or play that crap anywhere near me.

I love me some Christmas lights though. In Virginia there was a street - Juniper Street - in Sterling, the whole street went apeshit over christmas lights. The houses had themes, cool themes. One had spiderman (Hi Mat!) in lights climbing the side of their house; another had Snoopy on waterskiis behind santas sleigh; one house had the grinch on their front lawn stealing a real, decorated christmas tree, there were many more, it was a big street, but those were my favorites. They also had a large donation box for a local charity, and the week or so before and the week after the holiday, they gave out hot cider and cocoa for the people walking around admiring the lights.

I looked forward to going down that street every year. I took everyone I could think of with me. Of note, this was not always appreciated.

When I started running, this street was always included in my routes, no matter how out of the way it was. (P.S. those big, inflatable, floaty character things are a little creepy during daylight hours, but at night, or pre-dawn? totally creepy) I swear you can feel them watching you.

Every year, I think I'm going to decorate my house with pretty white lights, and every year I don't do it. I go look at the lights, I imagine what it is I want. Then I realize with my luck I'd probably overload a circuit and burn my house down, and well, somehow I think that would not help with the fact that I'm not a christmas person.

I'm glad the rest of you do it though, it's truly one of my very favorite things about the end of the year, and since the end of the year usually finds me just wishing it would get on with it and over it already, I try to make the most of the few moments I find myself enjoying the current moment.

The turning of a new year always motivates me. I have some internal device that kicks in and tells me to make this year better, brighter, just more (Staci) than the last. Of course I run through the standard list of telling myself that this year, I will: clean baseboards, balance my checkbook, give more to charity and rotate my tires on a regular basis; and no, I never actually do these things. I'm not a new years resolution-er either. Generally those people bug the crap out of me. Especially the ones that join the gym -- because all of a sudden there 4457 more people in my gym and I can't accomplish what I need to. I KNOW I should be more selfless and encouraging but quite seriously, by mid-February 4455 of them have given up, and I'm just glad I can use the chest press with-out a 90 minute wait and a need to run for a snack.
Go ahead, call me selfish. I'll wait.

This year I may make an exception on the new years resolution thing. If not, I'll likely need to call on friends to stage an intervention (sidebar: I may also need an intervention from the show Intervention which is likely a whole 'nother kind of sickness I'm not ready to face, so hush) because I have a problem. It's name is E-bay, and I am an addict. Where is my Jeff VanVonderen when I need him? Last night after paying for my 6th auction win in 28 hours - that's right I said 6th - I found myself researching leather sofas on E-Bay. This is not good. This is not good. This is not good. Oh, and this? All the fault of the Redneck Scottsdale Princess, I'm just not sure which personality I need to blame.

If I am able to avoid the e-bay bankruptcy, I have trips with friends, more intense dog training, the start of competing with my own dog, family weddings, and just maybe another marathon in the works. If I'm really lucky I'll get to meet some new people and make some new friends along the way - there's a Bruce Springsteen fan in Austin I'm dying to meet, and a chance I'll be in Austin next fall. And then there's the best part - there's stuff I don't have any idea about that's coming.

Squeeee! it's like Christmas......er.. um.. huh.
Now there's a new way to look at things.

The return of an old friend

2007-12-04T00:27:00.000Z

For the last few months, in the back of my head I've been reminding myself on a daily basis that I ran a marathon in 2005. That not only did I run 26.2 miles, but I did everything that goes along with the actual race, ie the training. FIVE MONTHS OF TRAINING.

This fall was going along nicely. I was training for the Raleigh half, I was working through the umpteenth injury of year, but I was still putting them down. Then the stupid toe thing happened and it blew my long run mileage off the map, and I was out for the race. The "toe blow" wasn't just physical in fact, it's what it did to me mentally that had had me chanting the marathon mantra. It was really getting me down. I missed running. The first frost came and my brain immediately went to how much I love frosty early morning runs ...and I was quietly snarky about the runners I'd pass to and from work each day.

Last week, I went for a run. Three miles after work one day. It was rocky. I felt rhythm-less in breath and pace, and awkward (feelings I usually reserve for dancing). Friday night I ran again. It was awful. Painful. Breathless. Slow. N.e.v.e.r.e.n.d.i.n.g... and it was only 3 miles.

Tonight I laced my shoes and set IPOD playlist and hit the road. Just three miles was the goal. Running normally clears my head. Not tonight. The thoughts came as fast as Rage Against the Machine's Township Rebellion and with it the 2 mile mark. Two more RATM songs and I'm at 3 miles. I'll just run til I hear Lenny Kravitz tell me he can't breathe without me., that's worth running a few more minutes, so is hearing my favorite song lyric ever - 'first one to complain leaves with a blood stain' .. yeah, I'll just run to the end of this song, I love running when Christmas lights are up, man my hair is getting long, I wonder what 2008 will bring, I really wish I had some pie at home, okay, just one Manson song, how do you *not* run during 'The Beautiful People'.. and then there it was the 5 mile mark. Enough.

My pace is slower than it was three months ago.
It was only 5 miles.
But I found it again, the reason I love running.
Running doesn't let me take it for granted. It gives me what I give it. No more, no less. It kicks my ass but leaves me feeling stronger. There's a new challenge on the other side of street even when it's the same street day after day. It never changes, but it's always different.

It's good to be back.

Like The Foxfire 5 joke, or playing "ketchup"

2007-11-23T12:55:00.000Z

For a couple years before I left Virginia, I made an attempt at my own Thanksgiving tradition -I hosted a 'girlfriends' Thanksgiving. I invited my single friends over and started serving margaritas at 10am. I made a pot roast for Jodye, who doesn't like turkey, and home made macaroni and cheese. Dawn came and brought venison and other "Pennsylvania delicacies".

Everyone spent the night, and the next day we went to brunch and had mimosas and toasted our birthdays (early, but we only saw each other a couple times a year, so we had to optimize our time together as well as maximize the damage to our respective livers.)

When I moved here, Thanksgiving weekend happily became home improvement weekend. Last year, I painted my bedroom. This year my plans were far more ambitious. So ambitious in fact, I needed professional help. I had 11 unruly, pokey-leaved-holly bushes ripped out , and little odd looking trees chainsaw-ed down.. old stumps were removed, two bottles of round up went onto the odd-potentially human eating plant growing in the southeast corner of the yard. Other things on the list include replacing the front door and the back storm door (arguably the most important door in the house, as it's the one with the dog door in it) a hole in my bedroom wall will be patched and painted, a new light fixture hung over my kitchen table, new window blinds will go up in all the windows in the front of the house and some old, unused wood structures in my backyard were torn down. Grass seed will go down, mulch too. Also, I bought hardwood flooring for the living room and master bedroom. I've been getting estimates on a new deck for the backyard.

Pictures, they will be a-comin'. Those of the before and after variety.

If you're thinking I got carried away, you're probably right, but hush up, okay?, because I'm really happy. My non-traditional spending of a very traditional holiday leaves me pleased as punch.

For my birthday frivolity, I took the advice of the lovely Redneck Scottsdale Princess and went designer handbag shopping on E-bay. I came away with two Coach purses and one Coach wallet. I also blew more than a few bucks at L'Occitane. That's frivolous, and fabulous, and just what this girl wanted for her birthday. The actual birthday will likely be spent doing yardwork..because the paying of someone else to do the big stuff leaves the little stuff for me. Of course, I could always wake up on the day and decide I want to eat pie and wear my pajamas all day and make the yardwork wait. It's been known to happen.

I've been completely unable to finish a blog lately. I start them and then my brain turns to mush. I'm blaming it on my productiveness at home and at work which has been leaving me busier than the proverbial one-legged man in a butt kicking contest.

As usual, the end of the year always leaves me feeling like I can't catch up, but I never know what exactly it is I'm trying to catch.

Right now, though, I'd settle for 8 hours of sleep.

Ala Mandaroo, it's Trash Day.

2007-11-18T13:35:00.000Z

I dreamt last night that I invented a new Barbie, her name was Freaky Varroom, and she was stylishly dressed (if this were 1980 something) in a black denim jumpsuit and trench coat.
I have no idea yet am somewhat afraid of what this means.

I am overwhelmed this fall by a sense of urgency to just get to the end of this year. I just want January to get here, and I have no real reason to feel that way. I keep catching myself looking at the calendar and wish I could flip the page, hang the new runner’s world calendar and get on with it.
Get on with what, I don’t exactly know.

I just heard on the news that Triple A expects this Thanksgiving to be the heaviest travel year EVER! Is it just me, or do they say this crap every year? Do you ever wonder if it stops anyone from traveling? Stop wondering. It’s probably going to stop me. I am not proud of this fact about me, but it is true that I often find myself praying for a fully automatic weapon when surrounded my mini vans loaded down with luggage and DVD watching children that want me to wave at them.
This probably makes me not a very nice person.

After reading the story of the 14 year old girl that killed herself after a MySpace relationship ended - a relationship that turned out to be a cruel joke played by A FULL-GROWN ADULT – the mother of a child that used to be friends with the dead teenager, I am even more convinced that having children should require a mental examination, and a license of some kind. Just because you can reproduce, doesn’t mean you should. This whole thing makes me ill. I’m pretty sure we should all stop with the “what’s wrong with kids today?”, and start asking “what’s wrong with parents today?”

After my disappointing seminar in Atlanta a few weeks ago, I couldn’t help but be a little happy (or maybe, a lot) at the fact that the woman who taught the seminar did horribly (for her) at the National Championships a few weeks ago. I’d like to say this was her Karma – but it’s probably just me being a small person.
I can totally live with that.

I spent a large portion of the day yesterday with a leaf blower in my back yard. It took me the first hour to teach the puppy that the leaf blower is not an evil thing trying to kill me, and he really shouldn’t bite it. I’m pretty sure I had more fun blowing leaves than anyone else on my block yesterday, well anyone but the puppy.

On a more together day, I probably could have written an entire post on any of these topics. Instead, I took a cue from Mandy, and left the clutter in my head out on the curb with all those leaves.

Like Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny, They Do Exist....

2007-11-14T01:40:00.000Z

I went to a wine tasting/art show a few weeks ago. The wine was way better than expected, and the art was, well art, which I’m pretty sure isn’t my thing. I often look at art hanging in public places and usually, it leaves me wondering; a) why someone was compelled to paint/draw/sketch that particular scene, and b) who thought it appropriate for the lobby/hallway/room of the building I’m in.
I usually never get either question. It’s just not my thing.

I had a great time though; the artist was pretty much every artist stereotype you can think of, including slightly drunk and overly affectionate to complete strangers; BUT, she was funny and gracious and it was very endearing. I hope she does well (and I hope someone was driving her home).

There was a funky guy playing guitar and singing everything from Patsy Cline and Willie Nelson to Green Day. He was far better than the average guitar-player-in-a-bar, but I remain quite sure the only person who should be singing Patsy Cline IS Patsy Cline.
It should be a rule.
Maybe even a law.

It was a quick date, but it was the date of my high school dreams.
He was on time, dressed nicely, and complimented me. He was charming and thoughtful, he opened doors for me and introduced me to the people he knew and I didn’t, he held my hand and stole kisses on the elevator.

I admit to being a little sad when he kissed me good night at the door, not because of anything that happened that night, but because it took me this long to find someone who treats me like this.

I've made plenty of bad calls along the way, sure. It's just that tonight, I'm equally sure that all of them together don't add up to not deserving this.

Thanks T.

A little happy

2007-11-08T00:07:00.000Z

This morning I got stopped on Main Street in downtown littletownIlivein.
Stopped by a police officer, who stopped traffic going both ways, then helped a guy push his broken down car across and down the street to the mechanics shop.

Everyone stopped, not one horn honked, and I saw the police officer and broken down car guy smile and shake hands with each other when the task was done.

Have I mentioned lately, how much I love living here?

Wordnerd Made Me Do It

2007-11-02T00:47:00.000Z

A Thursday Thirteen that is… and I wasn’t off today and I’m not eating dove chocolates. I do however, have a bunch of random crap rolling around in my head and lack the drive to focus on just one of them and turn them into something meaningful.

So.. that means if you’re up for some meaningless drivel, you’re in the right place.

1. I saw/talked to one of my ex-boyfriends yesterday. Other than starting to lose his hair, he’s exactly the same person he was 10 years ago, and for that, he should be ashamed.

2. For the first time in I don’t know how long, I wanted to give out candy on Halloween and by the time I got the store to buy some, the cupboards were BARE. Everyone was disappointed.

3. I did get to see a ladybug, a cheerleader and a little red devil. Those kids made me happy.

4. The teenager lurking around my neighborhood dressed like the grim reaper almost made me pee myself.

5. The dogs had the same effect on him, though - that’ll learn him to walk up behind a girl in the dark with TWO German Shepherds. Heh.

6. I spent a ridiculous amount of time looking at thermometers and rain gauges online today, cause I secretly think they are cool.

7. I love pygmy goats.

8. I want to leave a bag of flaming dog poo on my across-the-street neighbors’ doorstep.

9. A friend told me today she’s expecting a baby in the spring. Her joy was infectious.

10. Next summer my best girlfriends and I are renting a house on the coast of North Carolina – I have the distinct feeling this will be one of the best weeks of my life. I’m already excited.

11.The only couple I ever set up is expecting their first child in January. I don’t think I’ve ever known two people more perfect for each other.

12. I want to buy something ridiculously extravagant and utterly useless for my birthday this year.

13. I’m taking suggestions for #12.

Happy Friday and weekend all.

The ongoing dialogue

2007-10-27T20:00:00.000Z

If you look for it, there is an abundance of advice out there in the world for someone who’s recently lost a loved one. I don’t remember intentionally looking for it or reading it, but I could probably recite it if someone asked. Things like, "don’t make any big life decisions for at least the first year after the loss".

In my case, I waited one exactly one year and started making plans to move. I heard that little snippet of advice in the back of my head every time I got closer to my goal of leaving Northern Virginia. I knew ‘a year’ was intended to be an average. I knew I was probably rushing things. I didn’t care. I couldn’t live there anymore. It was too much, being there without him. Driving past the Van Dorn Street exit on 95 made me cry, every time, so did 5 Guys, and 3 buck Chuck from Trader Joe’s. I knew I’d never be able to, or even want to sit in the bleachers at Hayfield High School and watch a football game again. So I ignored the voice and kept on keeping on.

Later, I saw a grief counselor who told me I should write Mark a letter; tell him all the things I was thinking and feeling – just “anything I wanted to say”.
I never did this.

I knew if I started, there’d be no end. There was nothing unfinished between Mark and me. I loved him and he knew it. He loved me and I knew it. There weren’t any harsh words, or ruffled feathers. This should be good news. In the case of the letter writing though, it’s not. How do you write a letter to someone who you told everything to? Even when you don’t want it to, your life keeps happening. You keep meeting people, and if you’re lucky, you make some new friends.
Things keep happening in the world, things you want to talk about. Books and movies keep coming out.

It’s the worst insult. Never having a conversation with him again. Never sitting across from him in the living room, with the fire burning behind me and the dogs sleeping on either of side of him, talking about crazy, brilliant, funny, troubled high school students, or broken animals made well again, or family strife, or exchanging Monica Lewinsky limericks.

A letter? Never mind not knowing where to start, there simply would be no end.

I ran from the ghosts to North Carolina, thinking it would be better, and it was. It is. It still is. I have new people here, a home that he should have seen, a new puppy, and these are things he would have loved.

That wasn’t the worst of it though. The worst of it was when I realized I was in love. In love with a man who makes me think I’ve never been loved before. A man I can’t believe I finally met and a man I would have been proud to take home to Mark.

His opinion was always the only one that mattered. Even when I knew it wouldn’t be a favorable opinion. I took them anyway. Often, their reaction to him was the beginning of the end of it with them. They didn’t know it, but I always did.

It feels petulant to say ‘it’s not fair’. It feels juvenile to scream it.
I want to do both and I probably will.

The dogs won’t tell.

I miss you Mark.

OFF

2007-10-18T01:49:00.001Z

So, I'm off to Atlanta tomorrow.

I'm going to an obedience seminar that is being taught by a woman I've been watching compete for oh....10 years now. Watching like, on the edge of my seat, can't believe how amazing she is, watching. This is as close to star struck as I get. I got into this seminar at the last minute - and almost completely by chance. Too good to turn down.

My wild thing puppy, for all my bitching, is exactly the right kind of pain in the arse for the sport I'm aiming for., and that being said, I have very little clue what the heck I need to do to get him from point A to point B. So, I forked over the cash and called in the professionals.

I'm honestly hoping I don't say something astronomically stupid, trip over my own feet, or spit on her in the likely very excited talking I'll be doing. I would really prefer my pup do all the embarrassing for me. He's young and I can totally use that as an excuse. My excuse would only make me sound like a demented stalker and I'd prefer to avoid that, as that is no way to get invited back.

So, if you have a minute over the next 3 days or so, send a wish for smart, coordinated, articulate, non-spittle-spewing Cravey to show up in Atlanta.

Also, like a child who it "takes a village to raise" it takes a village to get me out of town. So I'm going to say thanks here, to Tiff for lending me a super-duper cooler and T. for taking care of my old-man-dog. You gotta love friends that love hanging out with you as much as they love helping you go off on your own and do your own thing.

Worth more than words, that.

Things to come

2007-10-15T00:43:00.000Z

It’s Sunday evening, and I’m watching an episode of Star Trek. The original one, when William Shatner was young, lean, and kinda hot even in day-glow yellow polyester and jack boots.

Yesterday I had a wicked headache for most of the afternoon, so the only thing I managed to do was clean out my truck. Late last night, I finished reading a book that I wanted to like more than I did. I kept hoping it would get better, right up to the last few pages. Earlier today I cleaned my house, did laundry, went grocery shopping, ran, did some dog training, and cleaned out my refrigerator drawers. I have nothing else on my ‘need to do list’ (shut up - I like lists.)

There’s really nothing wrong with all this, but something happened tonight that made me think of the person I was in my twenties. *That* girl wouldn’t have spent a weekend like this unless she was dying of some Mongolian body rot. That’s not to say I was the ‘belle of the ball’ by any means, but I was busy. My last semester in college I took 28 credits, worked 25 – 30 hours a week and I did my volunteer rotation hours where the director of my program told me to - for another 15 hours. I was quite literally, on the run, constantly. One of my roommates at that time was living the same life and getting divorced. We also had a crazy alcoholic roommate who was either drunk, getting drunk, passed out and pissing on our couch, or passed out and setting the kitchen on fire. (Yes, really.)

After graduation in May, the drunk roommate went to rehab, the other roommate moved to Arizona with her biker boyfriend and I moved into a little guest house on a horse farm. My full time job never went over 40 hours and I had NO idea what to do with all that free time. By fall I was back in college, taking Tae-Kwon-Do, and exercising the horses in the morning before work. Two and a half years later I had to leave the horse farm. I bought a condo, changed jobs, gave up Tae-Kwon-Do, got ‘serious’ with a boyfriend, started racing motorcycles, and got my start in dog training.

When I look at all that, it gets me wondering what happened to all that energy? motivation? Where did it go exactly and when? And how did I miss it leaving? Shouldn’t something that big require an announcement? a parade?, at least a trumpet? Maybe “Taps” would have been appropriate.

Is this how balding men feel? They just look in the mirror one day and suddenly the comb-over is not only an option, but the only option? And they’re all “it was just here yesterday.”

It’s no comb-over, people, but I do not like the look of this.

Reason Number 8,987

2007-10-10T01:36:00.000Z

why I love my friends.

Because randomly on a Tuesday afternoon they will send me emails with pictures like this attached.

Making the snotty woman in Texas who tried in her very proper way to ruin my afternoon *poof* D I S A P P E A R.

Oh yeah.

I'm it.. or the SEO Meme.

2007-10-07T23:59:00.000Z

Dagnabbit. Renn Tagged Me.

This is the latest meme that’s been all about the ‘net lately. I just spent the majority of this weekend working (boo! hiss! boo!) so this is the first opportunity I’ve had to scan the blogs and here I am.. tagged.

So, I’m supposed to link to 3 of my very own most favorite posts, and then tag 5 more people to do the same.

I’m taking KF’s advice and picking my own favorites.

First things first, those that came before me:
Revellian dot com - SEO Keywords For Beginners, Content: The Kings Illegitimate Stepchild, Tales of Blogger-X Illusion Mariuca - Wishing On A Falling Star - Love In Disarray, In Love With A Dream

The Good Client Mariuca’s Perfume Gallery - Perfume Shopping Spree, Defining Beauty, In Full Splendour

Speedcat Hollydale Page - Rocket Boy in Hawaii - DC9, Speedcat’s Death Ride into Terror!,
he Boy Inside All Men

Terri Terri Quite Contrary - Just How Immature Are We?, Finding a Voice, So Much More to See than the Game

Mahala- Uncle Huberts Custom Cows, Pray for the Child at Big Lots, The Legend of Saushie's Crotch

Tiff - How am I like Ron Weasley, A Social Experiment, Absolutely Boring Entry 101

Renn - Mum, Horror Story, Die, Frau, Die

and mine..
Cravey - One Foot in Front of the Other, Madline, A Wee Confession

and My Tags.

Her Rooness, My friend the Princess (when you're hot you're hot baby!) No Celery Please, Roy, and my newest runner/blog crush friend over at JustRunJustLiveJustBe

Have at it.

Oh, and Happy Monday.

A bad day and a cute (& helpful) puppy

2007-10-05T00:30:00.000Z

This morning, my brand spanking new coffee pot, did something horrible, the water stayed trapped up in the filter/coffee area, and it didn't acutally FILTER into the pot - being as this is it's only job on the freaking planet, you would think this is not so hard. It disagreed, making me surly at best... I should have just gone back to bed, right then.

But no, some part of me, said "it will get better".. Silly silly me.

This day went down hill out of control - like an epileptic on rollers skates at the top of a ski jump.

In short. It just plain sucked.

I was amazed I didn't get hit by a cement truck driving home.

One of my friends used to encourage me to find one good thing that happened in the course of a bad day. I did have a moment. You see at about 6 am this morning my puppy stepped on my little toe. While this doesn't at first blush sound like a good thing, and it hurt like crazy for about 12.8 seconds, it seems to have fixed the problem. How, you ask? I think all along, my toe has very possibly been dislocated, not broken. No joke - it's all better. I even RAN on it during my workout today.

So yeah. I'm running again. Oh.Yes.I.Am.

I have no idea how I'm going to work out the rest of the crap that happened to me today - but at least I'm going to run through my frustration. Oh.Yes.I.Am.

How's YOU?

Fifty-Fifty

2007-09-27T00:51:00.000Z

I am abundantly annoyed about my stupid broken toe. It has been two weeks and while the bruise is gone, I still can’t walk without a limp, walk for any period of time without being miserable, and there certainly isn’t any running going on, and I’m watching my goal of a fall half-marathon slip away.

I’m also annoyed that once again, I’ve completely forgotten that I have to actually pay personal property tax by the end of the month. I don’t know how I manage this, but every year when that bill shows up, I am surprised, and not in the happy surprise birthday party kind of way. More like the discovering maggots in your trash can kinda way (Hi princess!)

Then there’s the stupid ticket I got on Monday. I can’t even adequately articulate just how stupid this was, turns out I was just lucky enough to meet the cop that was either a) so new he didn’t actually know the law I supposedly broke or b) just so hell bent on writing a ticket he was going FIND a violation to write me up for one way or the other. Why do I say this (you ask) because it took him 15 minutes of rifling through his little police officer manual to figure out what law I actually broke. Shouldn’t there be a 10 minute rule or something? If you don’t know what I did wrong, should you really be allowed to write me a ticket? I think NOT. A 50 dollar violation, which will cost me 170 bucks to pay it and get over it, or 300 bucks to hire an attorney to fight it for me. GAH!

On the other hand, my mom comes this weekend, and my puppy is doing really well and today, it was nearly perfect outside; warm but not hot, low humidity, pretty blue sky and an abundance of sunshine. I drove home this evening with the windows down, Sheryl Crow’s C’mon C’mon blaring from my radio. I sang along, loudly and badly; (because Cravey doesn’t do things half way) and I did not care when I saw fellow commuters laughing at me; in fact Mr. Honda Accord, you made me turn UP the volume, because you Sir, need to seek out a support group for those that cannot UNCLENCH. No way should you be walking around like that.

My sister Staci and her boyfriend are always reminding themselves that “life is good” and someone gave me the sticker that carries that slogan for my car window. Mine has a little yellow dog roasting a marshmallow over a campfire. I think Staci, Adam and the little yellow dog are right. Stupid annoyances aside, Life is Good.

I’m still pissed about the ticket though.

They aren't golden, but they are MINE.

2007-09-20T00:34:00.000Z

Everything I’ve been writing lately leans heavily to the dark, serious and twisty side of me. While clearly, that's how I’m feeling - I don’t wanna feel that way, so I stole this idea from lil-sister ‘Roo, who never fails to make me laugh, in print, on the phone, and especially in person.
Thanks ‘Roo, I owe you one.

Rules of Cravey.. also in no particular order.

I’m going to have to start with one of Roo’s because I couldn’t agree more.

If you are a stranger to me, there is NO TOUCHING THE CRAVEY.
Do not put your arm around me, try to hug me, touch my face, or any other part of me. THIS is simply not okay. I honestly believe that when friends of mine got pregnant and told me that strangers were constantly touching their pregnant stomach - STRANGERS, like, people on public buses were TOUCHING them. It sealed the deal on pregnancy for me. I feel confident that if you laid your hands on my pregnant stomach you would draw back a bloody stump. This is probably not the best temperament for a mother-to-be.

If you are mean to an animal or a small child in front of me, I will get in your face and I will embarrass you and I do NOT care what your story is. I have recently stood in the entrance of a Wal-Mart waiting for the police with a man and a sobbing child with a hand-shaped welt on his face screaming “you are not my father!” That man easily outweighed me by 100 pounds and had 6 inches on me. He did not get past me and he definitely wanted to. It’s my belief that people that hit children or animals are cowards at heart and confronted with anything that looks like real courage they crumble like dry dog excrement in the sun. I’ll accept that this may backfire on me one day. It will still be worth it.

If you say “Irregardless” to me I will instantly dislike you. It’s not a real word (in dictionary talk they call it “nonstandard”) and it’s stupid. So stop saying that.

I can’t wear white shoes. They just look wrong to me. Also, Capri pants. Many many, many people look great in these, and make them look cool. I have tried on about 457 pairs of capri pants, every time thinking they will be fine. I put them on, and all I can think is “my pants are too short”. Not a single pair has ever made it out of the dressing room.

I think if there were more men like Dr. Phil, there would be more lesbians.
This has little to do with anything – it just needed to be said.

I am generally a happy person. I am more content with my life in the last 3 years than ever before. However, this does not mean I walk around with a toothpaste commercial-style smile on my face. Nothing is wrong. This is just my face.

I think because I was so sports-oriented as a child/young adult I have trouble when I feel like people aren’t being fair. I know that life isn’t fair. I expect the people in my life to do their level best to be fair in their dealings with me. I give what I get. No referee required.

That’s all for tonight, and really.. isn’t that quite enough?

Since this sorta turned into a Meme.. I’m going to tag.. So, No Celery Please. Hit the ‘sphere up with some rules, and the celery rule is a given; no need to repeat.
Also, I need to hear from the Princess – because I *know* she’s got some good ones. And anyone else that wants to pile on, feel free.

Who's that knocking on my door?

2007-09-18T01:32:00.000Z

So, since moving into my house in NC, I've discovered a plethora of critters that live in and around my house..black snakes, garter snakes, skinks (love me some skinks), the ladybugs previously blogged about, tons of toads, and this morning, when leaving my house, these dudes.

Um, Is that the biggest slug you've ever seen? Cuz it's freaking huge by my standards, and totally geeked me out this morning. I went into the office and hit up a manager who also happens to be an entomologist to make sure I shouldn't be worried about the fact that they were climbing up the side of my house.

Note: Slugs are not bugs. The entomologist was NOT amused.

He was kind enough to tell me that I had nothing to worry about after pointing out the above fact. But seriously? That thing is BIG, right?

OUCH!

2007-09-13T22:27:00.000Z

You know how you live somewhere for 2.5 years, and you THINK you know where your furniture is?

Yeah... BIG mistake.

)(*&%$!!!!!^%$#@@#$$%!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

What are you doin' for the next 57 years?

2007-09-10T16:42:00.000Z

According to this, that's how much time I've got left.

I need more hobbies.
F A S T

A Farmer's Market Surprise

2007-09-09T12:34:00.000Z

On the heels of my very industrious Friday came the perfect Saturday. I was up early for coffee with a friend, and out to my little town’s farmers market. I’ve been meaning since JUNE to get out to this market, as it’s brand new this year, and I’ll take shopping under sunny blue skies over shopping under fluorescent lighting any day, all day long.

One of the ‘vendors’ at the farmers market was a town representative. She had a little survey about what other things they could sell, information on the existing vendors and recipes. Two of those recipes quickly became my shopping list. I bought everything I needed for Shrimp and Veggie Stew and Corn and Tomato Casserole right there in the town hall parking lot. Including the best smelling spicy Basil EVER. There was a frappe/smoothie/fair trade coffee stand, a fresh fish stand, a fresh herbs stand, a skin care stand, a raw honey stand and the cutest little old man who called me ‘little missy’ and sold me okra, tomatoes, squash and jalapeno and banana peppers. There was also a big hairy dog named Alice who didn’t sell me anything, but let me scratch her blonde head and wagged her tail for me.

It doesn’t get any better.

I pretty much skipped back to the house to start chopping vegetables for my stew, and right there in my kitchen, is where things got a little freaky.

First order of business on the recipe was to marinade the shrimp in fresh lime juice. I measured the lime juice and poured it into a ziploc baggie – and reached for the shrimp, peeling and deveining ahead, I thought. While not my favorite cooking task, I was completely unprepared for what lurked in that bag. You see, I have never seen shrimps with their heads still on. They have big bulgy eyes, and long LONG antennae things.. and they were looking at me, all prehistorically angry and accusatory. I almost couldn’t do it. I seriously considered throwing them out. It took all of my concentration to slice off their little (freakin' huge!) shrimp heads - while being very careful not actually touch those creepy, bulgy eyes, cuz EW.

In fact, pretty quickly I decided the only way I was going to get through it was to do get rid of those heads (EYES) first. Things got a little better after that, but I spent the next several hours while the vegetables sat in my crock pot debating on whether or not I would be able to actually add the shrimp “just before serving”.

Six hours later, I got over it and added the marinated shrimp.
Not long after that, I was completely over it, because that stew, creepy headless shrimp and all, was awesome.

Busy Season

2007-09-08T01:55:00.000Z

Fall is coming. Okay, I know, it’s still hitting the 90’s (even the high 90’s) here in North Cackalackey, but fall is coming. Sept 1st the humidity around here dropped by 20% as quickly as if someone dropped a curtain. A few days later it was 63 when I got up at 5:30 to take the puppy out to play. The grass was wet. My feet were a little cold standing in the grass playing. Fall is coming.

I like the way fall air smells. I like the way the light changes. I like the smell of a distant fire. I like the cool mornings and evenings, with the warm day jammed in the middle. I have ten times the energy in the fall. This is the time of year my intended short runs are inevitably extended by two to three miles, just because it feels too good to stop. This is the time of year I can’t get anything done around the house, because I just want to be outside; doing anything. I predict the addition of a puppy this fall, will make that much worse. I simply cannot wait.

It seems that the tiny bit of fall that leaked into the last 7 days leaked into me too.

My list of things to do today included the following:
Freezer delivery
Flooring estimates
Doctor’s appointment
Drop off fundraising money for friend B’s kid

Oh, and also, I had to do this little thing called WORK. This was not a day off.
Holy crow, that’s a lot of crap for one little day.

In the interest of fair and honest reporting, I did reschedule the doctor’s appointment, but I quickly filled that slot with mowing my lawn. A very good friend, after making fun of the ‘wheat’ growing in my front yard, dropped off a lawnmower (a brand new one at that) this afternoon, showed me how to operate the thing and then left me to sink or swim. I thought I was only going to do the front yard, but I was enjoying it so much; I went ahead and did the back yard too. I’d love to know how come no-one told me that shit was so much fun (Staci-sister, I’m looking at YOU). I’m not going to say there wasn’t more than a little sweat on my brow (and other places too) – but in my book that’s all good too (see the little running habit I have).

I’d probably write about the joys of pushing a lawn mower, but I have a list to make. A list of all the things I’m going to do tomorrow and Sunday too. I’ve got a lot to do because fall is coming, and I am not planning on spending much time at home in the next few months, at least until its cold enough to need slippers and hot chocolate with a dash of vanilla stoli.

You're all invited.

Proving that I AM a lemming

2007-08-30T00:35:00.000Z

This post was completely inspired by Tiff's recent stroll down memory lane. I could not resist this particular bandwagon.

First up, one of my all time favorite pictures, not because it's particularly good, but you gotta dig the 1970's feel here. Plus, I'm totally cute in this. Of course, about 2.4 seconds after the snap of the camera, I'm fairly certain Nate and I were right back to trying to kill each other.
And No, we never outgrew that.
Next up, one of my favorite past times, right up until I discovered Jack Daniels, which I covered in a previous post. And this, clearly taken before I discovered that I was "worth it"..

Shortly after this, came the discovery of L'Oreal hair color and apparently Stevie Nicks type-dresses. The best thing about this photo is the girl on the right. That is Lace... you've read about her here before. Hopefully, she won't kill me for posting this. Heh. This very night Lace and I got into more trouble than you could possibly imagine. Someone got expelled, someone tore a door off a hotel bathroom, someone went traipsing through the woods fully believing a serial killer was stalking them and someone had sex in front of a group of people. Yea, people, this was HIGH SCHOOL.

A little out of order this one, but I had to throw in my High School Marching Band Photo too - got keep up with Tiff. And yes, I'm really in there, I was not however, a hand-waving poofter, here's a hint. I'm in the first row.

The Usual Suspects. This is where L'Oreal gets out of hand. Apparently in high school, my goal was to appear as close to dead as possible. The three people are Lace (she totally looks like she'd fit in your pocket, doesn't she?) Dee, and Dennis. This was the night I graduated from high school. The rest of the night was liter bottles of California Wine Coolers wandering around Huntley Meadows Park in Alexandria.

And that is pretty much it. I feel like I should have posted a picture to prove that I did indeed realize my own hair color was just fine, and that looking like a corpse really wasn't that cool.

BUT I didn't so you'll just have to trust me.

Thank you for playing.

A little off the top

2007-08-29T01:07:00.000Z

Welcome to my 100th post.
I was expecting flowers.

Stress seems to be the theme of the month, or maybe two months. Everyone around me is traveling a rocky road right now. Some of the stress is less dramatic - things like starting a new job (Roo, I’m lookin’ at you); kids back in school/kids growing up; new job challenges; new relationships; new issues in old relationships; and some are bigger - like divorces; or getting a letter from your kids school discussing your child’s music teachers summer, which apparently included a sex change (and no, I’m not making that up).

While I’m in the middle of some of it, and have a bit of my own going on, I generally feel more stressed by watching everyone around me bear the weight of the trouble in their life. I am no Florence Nightingale, but when it comes to the people closest to me, I want desperately to just ‘fix it’. Which generally leads to me making cupcakes and home made soup; because that is what I do when I can't do anything else. What I want all you friend-people to know is how much I appreciate what you do for me, just by being in my life, and trusting me to share your burdens. And for the friend with the music teacher issue, I'm sorry, but I so needed *that* particular laugh.

Speaking of friends - please go visit my friend - 6 Truck (link to the right). He’s got a brand new baby blog - it needs love and encouragement, and, um, milk – or whatever it is that makes baby blogs grow. Mr. Truck and I went to the same high school, and as far as I can tell, he tracked me down just to make me laugh and tell me stories about my brother, something I’ll ever be grateful for - much like my silent friend in Texas who’s grateful that Bruce and the E Street Band are coming out with something new.

Take your gifts where you find 'em right?

2007-08-27T00:53:00.000Z

As a general rule, I try very hard to avoid shopping, especially in places like Wal-Mart.
However there are times, (like today) when my “list of stuff I need” reads something like this;

socks
Twizzlers*
contact lens solution
two small kitchen appliances
dog biscuits
paint brushes
one avocado
windshield washer fluid

(*shut up, I do so need these)

So, (insert sigh) Wal-Mart was the place.

As far as I can tell there is no good time to go to Wal-Mart, and if there is, it’s definitely NOT on a Sunday afternoon, the day before all the traditional calendar schools start, so I acknowledged that this was not one of my better decisions and prepared myself to be annoyed, I just didn’t anticipate being half way to pissed off before I ever reached the front doors. Apparently the known chaos that is Wal-Mart is now leaking into the parking lot.

1. If you are going to drive the biggest SUV on the planet - Learn to park it between the lines, cuz lady, it’s simply not anyone else’s fault that you are driving a vehicle that
a) you can’t really manage and
b) should have its own orbit.

2. I’m not a parent so I hesitate to criticize, BUT if your child is still in diapers, a t-shirt and no shoes, should said child really be running in between the row of cars a full row AWAY from you? I’m sure that conversation is very important, but surely less so than “junior” getting backed over or decapitated by a rapidly opening car door, right?

3. I’m sure being the ‘cart-retriever’ guy is a suck part of the job, and probably this weekend, with the back to school thing and the near 100 degree temps, the suck factor increased exponentially, but here’s the thing., trying to bring in 6,897 carts at one time, may be a good idea in theory, BUT if some part of this endeavor creates the scenario where the cart-train-thingie is diagonal across the row completely blocking the flow of traffic, it’s really not a good idea. Really. NOT. Next time? Two trips m’kay?

Surprisingly, the tour through the actual store wasn’t nearly as awful. Other than the volume of parents and children alike – what is that all about – when did it become okay for kids to scream for their parents? That kind of behavior was the stuff that made my dad say, “Scream my name one more time and I’ll give you something to scream about”.. Where’s the old man when the Wal-Mart patrons of the world need him?

On a final note, is there an extreme shortage of mirrors in the southern united states? What on earth are you people thinking when you walk out of your house?
Gentlemen, please, I don’t want to play “Gee what did he eat for lunch?” based on the stains on your shirts. Is it asking too much for you to throw on a clean shirt before going out?
Ladies, two things:
1) BRAS are your friend, and
2) just because it says ‘stretch’ does not mean you should tempt that fabric to give way.
I already know exactly what every stitch, stripe or polka dot is on your underwear (or *ahem* in some cases, the lack thereof), I do NOT need the, uh, expose (pun intended).

Seriously.

Note: the picture has nothing to do with the post; he's just cute.

Mayberry

2007-08-24T17:50:00.000Z

I pretty much forget how small my little town in NC is until a reminder is kindly taped to my door.

That something, this time, was a handwritten note Cindy at the Town Government telling me I had mailed my water/trash/recycling bill in a timely fashion, however I neglected to actually enclose a check. (A pretty smooth move if I do say so myself.)

I called the number on the nice little handwritten note, and:

Cindy: Town of Bladdey Blah, can I help you?

Me: Hi, This is Cravey, and I…

Cindy: Oh hi Cravey! You got our note then?

Me: (thinking she recognizes my name?) Yes, I guess I forgot to include the check.

Cindy: Oh don’t worry honey, we all do that sometimes! (me thinking we do?)

Me: Um, okay, can I just come by tomorrow and drop off the check?

Cindy: Of course! You know where we are?

Me: Yes, I think so.

Cindy: Great, see you tomorrow then.

This morning I ran by to drop off the check and:

Desk lady: Can I help you?

Me: Hi, My name is Cravey and I....

Desk lady: Oh Right! (laughing) You forgot your check!

Me: Writing check – wondering what happened to the nameless faceless bureaucracies I’m USED to.

Desk lady: Thank you honey! Have a nice weekend.

People.
I am from Washington DC.
I lived in the same condo for 10 YEARS.
I never even knew my neighbors last names.

Where the hockey puck am I ?

Kingsbury Road

2007-08-23T14:42:00.000Z

Today is the birthday of the girl, MM, that was my best friend throughout grade and middle school. She and I were inseparable; I used to go to church with her on Sunday just so we could hang out that day, too. One of my clearest childhood memories is sitting on the curb in front of my house with her eating peanut butter and marshmallow sammiches, or eating Kool-Aid Powder because we weren’t allowed to walk to 7-11 and buy Pixie Stix. We were going to grow and be kindergarten teachers together. We were the best of friends right up til about 8th grade. When we met a group of boys.
(I know boys ruin everything, right?)

She was taken with CT; arguably the center of that group, the funny guy, the one that knew all the lyrics to all the songs, and always had a quick comeback. They dated for awhile but for him, it got old quickly. I don’t remember him saying anything directly to me, but I remember seeing the signs that he wanted out. It was painful to watch, her clinging to him (often literally) and him looking like he’d just stepped in road kill.

It did fall apart, and it wasn’t pretty. Especially, when not too much later the “new” friend (CC) in our little group of neighborhood friends starting dating CT. CC was the real deal for CT. He was stone-cold crazy about her – even I could see it. That new relationship fractured the childhood friendship in a big way. I remember the drama, the tears, the angry notes passed between classes. I also remember thinking it was Stupid. Maybe that was harsh, and maybe it was easy for me because I hadn’t yet felt for somebody the way MM said she felt for CT; but either way, I thought it was Stupid. It wasn’t something she ever got over. In her eyes, I had betrayed her by being friends with the new girlfriend. To say I disagreed, would be mild, the ‘new’ girl hadn’t done anything wrong. She didn’t steal CT from her, and MM’s clingy behavior was downright embarrassing. We eventually became friendly again, but I never trusted it, and neither did she.

CC and I became great friends and got into plenty of average high school trouble together, not to mention drank a whole lot of Jack Daniels together. (I realize that may not be ‘average’ high school behavior, but it seemed so at the time). MM still made appearances, and eventually started up with another guy in the group, JR. I feel like that was off an on for years, I feel pretty confident of that, because I can easily recall at least two other friends that dated JR.

JR, I think, looking back was the one guy I think that I should have given a chance. From 8th to 12th grade, people were constantly pushing him at me. His older brother’s girlfriend, every chance she got, CT, when drunk enough, and even in my own mind I knew how he felt. I remember him giving me a rose one night, under his deck in his backyard, and then walking me home. He always walked me home. I remember one year in high school he took me to homecoming, just because I wanted to go. So completely out of character for him, he showed up in a TIE (albeit with a Jack Daniels tie tac) and took me to that stupid dance. We were quickly bored, and we walked back to his house, me carrying my dyed-for-the-occasion heels. He was a very good guy. I don’t know why I never gave in and I don’t know when he gave up. I’m sure I hurt his feelings; probably more than once.

CT and CC eventually broke up; it was heart-rending. She went off to an out-of-state college, and he stayed right where he’d always been. I think they tried to keep it together for a year or so, but it just didn’t work. I drifted away from the group when she left, and became the one that showed up randomly, I think they were always happy to see me, but so much had changed; it never felt the same again.

JR, eventually married and had children with MM. CT married the little sister of someone who was also an occasional member of the group. Both couples are still married today, and CT still lives about 3 miles from where I first met him, and where we all made these memories.

I’m still in touch with some of these people. One or two of them come here from time to time and read and comment.

If CC sees this, I bet her memories would be altogether different, but no less true.

Generally speaking I don’t have any regrets about the decisions I made along the way. I do, however, think about these people and these years more often than any of the other people in my history, about the choices we made, and the ones we didn’t make. I wonder for all of us what would have happened .. If…

To MM, I hope you're having a happy birthday.

To the rest of you, thanks for everything.

Catch up Post

2007-08-21T13:37:00.000Z

I know, I know, I’ve been absent lately. I don’t have any really good stories about the ‘why’ either. I’ve been busy at work, sure, busy with my puppy, sure., but the truth is I keep starting posts and half way through can’t figure out where I was going with it, and so I give up and go make cookies or something.

What follows is a pathetic attempt to make up for lost time - all requests or inquiries for suggestions of *real* posts will be at least entertained if not attempted.
Seriously folks, cuz I got a whole lotta not much these days.

=========================================================
Trolling the ‘net this morning – I stumbled onto this horoscope…

Have you been experiencing some bizarre dreams lately? Don't worry -- they aren't predictions of your future. They are simply signs that you have an extremely active subconscious right now.

This comes as somewhat of a relief, considering I’ve been dreaming about John McEnroe making potato salad and Spanish-speaking, kiwi-eating skateboarders zooming around my childhood home.

==========================================================
I helped a friend grout the tile walls in a bathroom the other day. Not something I’d ever done before, and I guess technically, he grouted and I, uh, ungrouted(?) (aka rinsed/cleaned up after him. It was far more fun than I had imagined something like that would be, but then again, I love painting, and leaf blowing, so maybe not such a surprise that I had a good time with this as well. I’m fairly sure the company had much to do with it.

=========================================================
My laptop died a week or two ago. The helpful helpdesk guy told me it “would just take an hour or so.” Fast forward to 6 hours later and helpful helpdesk guy bringing me a brand new Thinkpad. When I bust something, I do it right. I think this computer transition is what left me unable to comment on blogs for some time, and for that I’m sorry. You people got all funny and verbose the second I lost my ability to say anything in return. NCP, your comment on my maggots/magnets story still makes me laugh out loud when I think about it. And also, EW.

=========================================================
A week or so ago, I added a movie to my netflix queue; recommended by Neflix (supposedly based on my previous reviews) I think I will be spending a serious amount of time trying to figure out what I reviewed that made Netflix think I would enjoy a movie about two boys that were sexually molested by their baseball coach. One grows up to become a gay male prostitute and the other believes he was abducted by aliens. While not a bad movie, that rape scene will *never* be completely erased from my memory, no matter how many bottles of Pinot Grigio I drink. It was, far more disturbing than the Jodie Foster/Accused rape scene which I didn’t think would ever be topped.
DAMN.

=========================================================

My 20 year high school reunion came and went without my attendance. I was going to go, but with work etc., I just couldn’t make it happen. I did end up on a class mailing list, which landed a bunch of pictures in my in box one day. I must have looked at 75 pictures. My only thought – Who are these people? Judging by that, I don’t think I missed much. Maybe I‘ll try to hit the 25 year one. Maybe. Not.

=========================================================

And that is it from the Cravey.

Thanks for playing. Perhaps on your next visit, I'll have something funny, touching or otherwise entertaining for you.

Huh? What's that dearie?

2007-08-15T12:28:00.001Z

I didn't sleep worth a damn last night, I was awake every couple of hours, just crazy dreams (John Macenroe apparently makes kick ass potato salad) and my crazy insomnia thing that happens from time to to time.

My 6:00 am alarm (aka 5 month old puppy) went off as scheduled.
We played ball before coffee (note: do not try this at home, the manufacturer and our attorneys do not recommend this) I somehow managed to not get bit or step on either one of them (major accomplishment!)

Finally I get to sit down at my kitchen table with my first cup of coffee and log on to company intranet. First order of business - timesheet due by 3 pm today.

The TV is on in the next room and I find myself completely distracted and totally nauseated by the breaking news story that there has been a massive toy recall due to the discovery of "Maggots in the toys"..

I spent an hour trying ot figure out how maggots got into toys - don't ask where my mind went, it's not pretty - then decided I had to know and came out to listen to the whole story. There are "MAGNETS in the toys".

I'm sure magnets are bad.
Maggots are worse.

Pass the coffee pot,
and very possibly, a hearing aid.

Time Travel

2007-08-11T12:24:00.000Z

On my trip to Pennsylvania in early May to pick out my puppy I was struck by how familiar the landscape felt as I drove away from Harrisburg Airport.

I was born in Johnstown PA - about two hours from Harrisburg - but I didn’t live there for long, my Dad's goal was to get his family out of coal-mining country, having promised his dad he would never go into the mines.

I spent a lot of time traveling back there to visit relatives, strapped into the backseat of the family Chevy Suburban, listening to my siblings argue, playing Punchbuggy!, or trying to catch bits of my parents conversation about my 'Crazy Aunt Betsy' (another post, another day).

It was surreal to be the driver this time, surrounded by the landscape of my earliest memories.

My satellite sister-Daisy called me when I was about an hour from the airport, downright giddy about my arrival. Daisy is the kind of friend that can get over-the-moon-happy about a dandelion growing in the corner of her yard, but somehow it doesn’t diminish the joy she feels over bigger issues. Her joy is the infectious kind; and so utterly genuine you can’t help but get caught up in it. That’s a special kind of happy in my book. I don’t own that kind of happy, and it feels really good to be a part of it even just for a few hours.

It was a whirlwind trip for me, we spent a few hours with the puppies, had dinner together, and after a little more visiting, I drove back towards the airport to find a hotel closer to the airport; no one should have to get up at 4 am to catch a flight that isn’t actually ON the flight.

I’m lucky enough to have friends like this, scattered here and there around the country, people that will drop everything to spend a few hours over a cold beer or a litter of puppies just to see me and catch up.

I imagine when I drive into Pennsylvania I’ll always feel my father’s presence, hear the noise of a Chevy Suburban packed full of kids, the CB radio squawking under the dash in between my mom and dad. I like it that my first Pennsylvania memory as an adult involved these friends, puppies and a landscape that reminds me of how I was able to leave, who I owe for that, and that I could make it back here, the person I am today.

Top Five Signs

2007-08-02T14:23:00.000Z

(that you're working too hard and sleeping too little)

1. You pour your breakfast cereal into your dogs food bowl.

2. When making coffee, you fill your cup almost to the top with creamer and add just a dash of coffee*

3. You forget to take your socks off before stepping into the shower

4. You reach for the pencil behind your ear and it's not a pencil, it's a Twizzler.

AND

5. You call your Project Manager and when you go to hang up you tell him "I love you".

*Mandy, this proves your people that need coffee shouldn't be making coffee theory.

Carry on people.