I've experienced a very weird sensation today as I walked from the Time Warner Center in Manhattan back to my hotel.
Tuesday, October 16, 2012
Friday, May 25, 2012
School's Out!
So what do adults do on the last day of school?
We put the oldest kids in charge and go out! (Natch.)
Last night (which was odd to do on a Thursday night because it felt so Friday-nightish) Veda and I joined two other couples who are dear friends of ours (and neighbors to boot) and went out for an evening of serious laughter and good food at Aspens.
It's amazing how much fun you can have when you rid yourself of the parent hat just for an evening and remember the fact that you're a human being. You remember how much fun it was (and is) to be part of a crowd, and to share stories, commiserate on trials and tribulations, and just laugh to the point that others in the restaurant really wonder what's so funny.
And why they are not part of such a fun crew.
The beauty of it all ... it reminded me of how blessed we are to have friends we trust, we enjoy, and we even vacation together. That's saying something, considering we have nine kids total amongst the three families!
So here's to a grown-up night out ... may we not wait until next year when school is out to do it again!
Cheers!
We put the oldest kids in charge and go out! (Natch.)
Last night (which was odd to do on a Thursday night because it felt so Friday-nightish) Veda and I joined two other couples who are dear friends of ours (and neighbors to boot) and went out for an evening of serious laughter and good food at Aspens.
It's amazing how much fun you can have when you rid yourself of the parent hat just for an evening and remember the fact that you're a human being. You remember how much fun it was (and is) to be part of a crowd, and to share stories, commiserate on trials and tribulations, and just laugh to the point that others in the restaurant really wonder what's so funny.
And why they are not part of such a fun crew.
The beauty of it all ... it reminded me of how blessed we are to have friends we trust, we enjoy, and we even vacation together. That's saying something, considering we have nine kids total amongst the three families!
So here's to a grown-up night out ... may we not wait until next year when school is out to do it again!
Cheers!
Thursday, February 23, 2012
On My Honor
I was a Boy Scout.
Now my favorite thing about being a Boy Scout was not the jamboree. It wasn't running the timed obstacle course that included either a harrowing rope swing over a real sinkhole or an equally dangerous run around it. It wasn't the camping in frigid weather, or in the monsoon season. It wasn't odd skills like making portable salt and pepper carry-alongs by filling straws and melting the ends. It wasn't knot tying. Learning to flip pancakes in a frying pan without a spatula. Cooking in a dutch oven. It wasn't my canteen, my plate/pan/fork/knife/spoon kit, my compass, or my silver match holder.
Obviously all those things have etched themselves in my mind. But they remain distant from what I appreciated the most.
Helping people.
At the time, it was various projects for others or at our church, Pinecrest Baptist Church in Cordele, Georgia. Our troop was 579. And we had great leaders in Floyde Greene and David Fallin. (Mr. Greene passed away just this month, so perhaps that's another reason why I have been reminiscing about my days in the troop.)
I don't remember all of the pledge. I do remember it started out with "On my honor, I will do my best to do my duty to God and my country." I remember we were supposed to obey the Scout law. To help others. To focus on remaining fit physically, mentally and morally. I'm paraphrasing ... you can see parts of the real thing in the painting.
Now this will not come as a surprise to anyone who knows me, but I was the Scribe of our troop. It was my job to take the attendance, take up any money, and keep track of who had earned what. I had a workbook full of grids and matrices to fill out and keep up with it all. Best "first job" I ever had.
Today, I was reminded of how rewarding it is to help others.
I've been burned in the attempt to help others before, and it's not pleasant. Like the late evening I was dropping someone off at the Hampton Inn across from The Coca-Cola Company, and I was approached (in bright lights and in full view of the lobby, Mom) by a gentlemen who said he and his wife were stranded right beyond the North Avenue exit on the 75/85 connector, and he did not have enough cash to pay for a tow. He was a veteran, offered up phone numbers I could call to verify, and was just trying to get enough cash to get his wife and family towed to the nearest service station.
I can remember how we would help stranded motorists as we drove the many round trips between Cordele and Athens to visit my grandparents. Obviously, times change. I was guarded, and would only crack my window the width of a finger. I gave the man what I had in my wallet, which was a single $20 bill. He thanked me over and over, and set foot back toward North Avenue. I pulled out in the other direction, then decided to turn around and take North Avenue to I-75. Instead, I ended up following this "gentleman" in the dark ... passing him multiple times as I made one loop after another to discover his final destination ... a nearby liquor store. #goodguybummed
But today, it was for real. I pulled into a gas station and was the third in a line of three pumps. The lady in front of me appeared to be helping an older but spry black woman with short, spiky white hair that would put Don King to shame. They seemed to be working out what was going on, so I went about my business. As my tank was almost full, the second woman started to get in her car and the first woman was approaching me asking if I could help a "lady in distress." She was scanning her card and trying to start the pump, and everything was zeroed out, but nothing was happening. (Again, full daylight, Mom, and out in public view with others pumping gas, so I was game to help.)
Apparently, the pump was simply malfunctioning. So after trying a couple of things that the original first responder attempted with no success, I suggested we cancel the transaction and she could back up to the pump in front of my car and we could try again. She smiled and said we could try that, as her grandson was in the back seat proclaiming that perhaps the tank was already full. Ahh, the wisdom of youth.
So she backed up and I helped get her started. As she was sliding her card in the pump, she was saying how her husband had just passed and that he always pumped the gas and "did all this stuff." THAT made my throat swell. She wasn't too sure of her current zip code as she had just moved to the area, so we worked out that puzzle. I asked her what part of Alabama she was from, as I noticed her license plate on her Cadillac was from that state. We talked briefly about her living in Birmingham, and how I knew some places in the city. She had not lived there long, having transplanted from Chicago. Her smile was infectious and her spirit affable considering she said she was having to learn so much after the passing of her husband. Her resolve to "make it on her own" was inspiring, and yet she showed grace and humility during this brief moment when she recognized the need for help.
If it hadn't of been odd and weird, I would have given this sweet lady a hug.
The pump slowed to a stop, and she asked me where the receipt would come from. I showed her how to get the receipt, and she thanked me for assisting. I welcomed her to the Marietta area and wished her a good evening. I got back in my car and watched her wrangle the pump handle back into place, squint at the tiny pump screen, and show a sense of accomplishment as she put her gas cap back on. As I passed, I rolled down the window and said, "Sometimes the receipt prints slow, so just wait for it. I hope you have a wonderful upcoming weekend." She smiled and waved back at me, and raised her hands in apparent amazement as the slip of paper emerged from the machine.
THAT is what being a Boy Scout helped me learn toward being relevant and valuable in this world. Was I going to get paid for this act? Was there anything in it for me, as most folks would weigh out before committing to help? Sure, I got something out of it!
It was an honor to serve. I made someone smile. I managed to help someone feel like they were accomplishing something. I was someone to talk to briefly ... to provide a conversational respite. To prove that love and kindness crosses genders and colors, and is no stranger in the South! I hope the Lord continues to provide real and true opportunities like this one.
Even if it's just pumping gas.
Now my favorite thing about being a Boy Scout was not the jamboree. It wasn't running the timed obstacle course that included either a harrowing rope swing over a real sinkhole or an equally dangerous run around it. It wasn't the camping in frigid weather, or in the monsoon season. It wasn't odd skills like making portable salt and pepper carry-alongs by filling straws and melting the ends. It wasn't knot tying. Learning to flip pancakes in a frying pan without a spatula. Cooking in a dutch oven. It wasn't my canteen, my plate/pan/fork/knife/spoon kit, my compass, or my silver match holder.
Helping people.
At the time, it was various projects for others or at our church, Pinecrest Baptist Church in Cordele, Georgia. Our troop was 579. And we had great leaders in Floyde Greene and David Fallin. (Mr. Greene passed away just this month, so perhaps that's another reason why I have been reminiscing about my days in the troop.)
I don't remember all of the pledge. I do remember it started out with "On my honor, I will do my best to do my duty to God and my country." I remember we were supposed to obey the Scout law. To help others. To focus on remaining fit physically, mentally and morally. I'm paraphrasing ... you can see parts of the real thing in the painting.
Now this will not come as a surprise to anyone who knows me, but I was the Scribe of our troop. It was my job to take the attendance, take up any money, and keep track of who had earned what. I had a workbook full of grids and matrices to fill out and keep up with it all. Best "first job" I ever had.
Today, I was reminded of how rewarding it is to help others.
I've been burned in the attempt to help others before, and it's not pleasant. Like the late evening I was dropping someone off at the Hampton Inn across from The Coca-Cola Company, and I was approached (in bright lights and in full view of the lobby, Mom) by a gentlemen who said he and his wife were stranded right beyond the North Avenue exit on the 75/85 connector, and he did not have enough cash to pay for a tow. He was a veteran, offered up phone numbers I could call to verify, and was just trying to get enough cash to get his wife and family towed to the nearest service station.
I can remember how we would help stranded motorists as we drove the many round trips between Cordele and Athens to visit my grandparents. Obviously, times change. I was guarded, and would only crack my window the width of a finger. I gave the man what I had in my wallet, which was a single $20 bill. He thanked me over and over, and set foot back toward North Avenue. I pulled out in the other direction, then decided to turn around and take North Avenue to I-75. Instead, I ended up following this "gentleman" in the dark ... passing him multiple times as I made one loop after another to discover his final destination ... a nearby liquor store. #goodguybummed
But today, it was for real. I pulled into a gas station and was the third in a line of three pumps. The lady in front of me appeared to be helping an older but spry black woman with short, spiky white hair that would put Don King to shame. They seemed to be working out what was going on, so I went about my business. As my tank was almost full, the second woman started to get in her car and the first woman was approaching me asking if I could help a "lady in distress." She was scanning her card and trying to start the pump, and everything was zeroed out, but nothing was happening. (Again, full daylight, Mom, and out in public view with others pumping gas, so I was game to help.)
Apparently, the pump was simply malfunctioning. So after trying a couple of things that the original first responder attempted with no success, I suggested we cancel the transaction and she could back up to the pump in front of my car and we could try again. She smiled and said we could try that, as her grandson was in the back seat proclaiming that perhaps the tank was already full. Ahh, the wisdom of youth.
So she backed up and I helped get her started. As she was sliding her card in the pump, she was saying how her husband had just passed and that he always pumped the gas and "did all this stuff." THAT made my throat swell. She wasn't too sure of her current zip code as she had just moved to the area, so we worked out that puzzle. I asked her what part of Alabama she was from, as I noticed her license plate on her Cadillac was from that state. We talked briefly about her living in Birmingham, and how I knew some places in the city. She had not lived there long, having transplanted from Chicago. Her smile was infectious and her spirit affable considering she said she was having to learn so much after the passing of her husband. Her resolve to "make it on her own" was inspiring, and yet she showed grace and humility during this brief moment when she recognized the need for help.
If it hadn't of been odd and weird, I would have given this sweet lady a hug.
The pump slowed to a stop, and she asked me where the receipt would come from. I showed her how to get the receipt, and she thanked me for assisting. I welcomed her to the Marietta area and wished her a good evening. I got back in my car and watched her wrangle the pump handle back into place, squint at the tiny pump screen, and show a sense of accomplishment as she put her gas cap back on. As I passed, I rolled down the window and said, "Sometimes the receipt prints slow, so just wait for it. I hope you have a wonderful upcoming weekend." She smiled and waved back at me, and raised her hands in apparent amazement as the slip of paper emerged from the machine.
THAT is what being a Boy Scout helped me learn toward being relevant and valuable in this world. Was I going to get paid for this act? Was there anything in it for me, as most folks would weigh out before committing to help? Sure, I got something out of it!
It was an honor to serve. I made someone smile. I managed to help someone feel like they were accomplishing something. I was someone to talk to briefly ... to provide a conversational respite. To prove that love and kindness crosses genders and colors, and is no stranger in the South! I hope the Lord continues to provide real and true opportunities like this one.
Even if it's just pumping gas.
Saturday, January 21, 2012
Final Score: 30-28
Now today was a nail-biter game.
It was one of those basketball games where the entire time, it was neck and neck. One score answered by another. I don't really think the gap was ever more than four to six points!
Chaz has really improved on his basketball skills over the past three years! He stuck with it through the entire game ... never giving up. He was going after rebounds, playing great defense and keeping those hands up, and always aiming for the goal, even when he felt overwhelmed and perhaps a little disadvantaged.
I think that's how we should approach life as Christians. Stick with it throughout the game. Never give up. Go after the goal ... the prize ... even when we feel like there's little hope in winning. The fact of the matter is, we always carry the advantage with God. And how cool it is to share that advantage and have it accepted by our competitors.
I like it when everyone can win.
But tonight, I was the loser. And I'm OK.
Really, I'll be fine. Just give me a second to catch my breath.
(Is that really as low as our basketball goal will go? Hmm.)
It was one of those basketball games where the entire time, it was neck and neck. One score answered by another. I don't really think the gap was ever more than four to six points!
Chaz has really improved on his basketball skills over the past three years! He stuck with it through the entire game ... never giving up. He was going after rebounds, playing great defense and keeping those hands up, and always aiming for the goal, even when he felt overwhelmed and perhaps a little disadvantaged.
I think that's how we should approach life as Christians. Stick with it throughout the game. Never give up. Go after the goal ... the prize ... even when we feel like there's little hope in winning. The fact of the matter is, we always carry the advantage with God. And how cool it is to share that advantage and have it accepted by our competitors.
I like it when everyone can win.
But tonight, I was the loser. And I'm OK.
Really, I'll be fine. Just give me a second to catch my breath.
(Is that really as low as our basketball goal will go? Hmm.)
Saturday, January 14, 2012
First Princess
It was Sunday night.
Sixteen years ago, this very evening.
As usual, I was up too late and should have been in bed sooner. It was after midnight when Veda came to the playroom to tell me it was "time to go."
And with that, we were on our way to Northside Hospital, in a royal blue 1992 Saturn SL2. (Historical fact that may amuse you one day.)
Approximately eighteen hours later ... we became a family of three.
And my heart was mush.
Your entrance wasn't without a challenge. Lots of trips walking up and down the halls. A rough patch or two for Mom midday, but an epidural put a stop to all that. Then things slowed down. I went to get a bite to eat. Mom napped.
Then you got a little twisted around playing jump rope with your umbilical cord. Things went into turbo mode. They put an oxygen mask on Mom. A doctor calmly told us amidst the flurry of activity that we couldn't wait any longer ... it was time. It was around 6:35 p.m. if I remember correctly ... it did get a little blurry there. But you arrived with much pomp and circumstance. Ten fingers, ten toes. Pink face, a little upset. Some hair on your head. Maybe even a bit of a scowl.
Nothing like the smile you have today.
Sixteen years can travel by pretty fast. Everyone always told us never to wish away the childhood days. But some were tough.
Like the days you were learning to ride a bike.
You cried and cried ... so afraid to keep pedaling. You kept wanting to put your feet down so you wouldn't fall. But you did finally fall, and pretty big. And you pulled off the helmet and went inside, determined you were not going to EVER ride a bike.
I went inside and calmed you down, but wasn't going to let you quit that easily. Because I knew you had it in you. The mechanics were all there ... you just had to see it through long enough to move forward. (Sounds like some of our efforts even as a teenager!) Tears and more tears.
But you finally went back outside. And after a couple of attempts, there you went down the street, squealing, "I'm doing it! I'm doing it!" I think you would have pedaled all the way to the corner and out of sight if I let you.
More tears. But this time, they were mine.
You know more of the stories. The time you accidentally grabbed the volume on the stereo and turned it up full blast. It was like you were being electrocuted ... you couldn't let go! Mom got you into the living room at the front of the house, and you kept sobbing, "It got me, Momma! It got me!"
And of course, the time you kept calling Mom to come to the top of the stairs, even though she was making dinner. When she finally came to the bottom step to let you know she couldn't while she was cooking, you pointed firmly to the ground and declared, "Come! Here! Right! Now!" ... one of the best Veda impersonations I've ever seen.
There are so many "times" that have made us laugh, made us cry, or made us proud.
The time when I silently doubled-back after driving out of the subdivision only to see you in my rearview mirror saying, "Forget something?" (Yes, Miss Smarty Pants ... my wallet.)
The time when I first heard "Butterfly Kisses" on the radio while driving down the interstate (again, you were strapped in the booster seat in the back), and Veda asked me if we needed to pull over and let her drive.
The time when you actually laid hands on my shoulders and prayed for me, when you were probably only about five.
The time in kindergarten when you turned down a marriage proposal on the playground of the private school you went to, because you were "going to marry a Christian boy."
The time when you gleefully shouted that, if we adopted a baby from China, that she could teach you Chinese.
And there are so many "times" ahead. I've been open and honest with you through the years, that there would be times when you didn't like me very much. Fortunately, those times have been few and short-lived. Mom and I have been so blessed to have you for a daughter, and we have said over and over that God "found favor" to give you to us.
You've been tagged by some of your friends as the "Momma" of the group. And that's OK. Many if not all Mommas will tell you it's not the most glamorous position to hold. But it's one of the most honorable roles you will ever hold! You will be relied on for advice, for stability, for help, and for keeping folks out of trouble. Don't ever regret being looked on with that level of responsibility for your friends.
And there will be a time ... one day ... when we have to let go. A day when we put our faith in who you are and the foundation on which you make your decisions as you forge ahead into adulthood. You won't be perfect. (Neither are we, and we're just a little older than you!) But it is our prayer, as we celebrate your sixteenth birthday, that you always seek out what God has in store for you, that you never let go of your faith in Him, that you love and respect others around you, even those who are unlovely and sometimes undeserving, and that you smile whenever you can.
Because THAT'S my girl. Always bringing a smile to those around her.
Happy birthday, Leah B! I will love you ... always and forever, my first princess.
Daddy
Sixteen years ago, this very evening.
As usual, I was up too late and should have been in bed sooner. It was after midnight when Veda came to the playroom to tell me it was "time to go."
And with that, we were on our way to Northside Hospital, in a royal blue 1992 Saturn SL2. (Historical fact that may amuse you one day.)
Approximately eighteen hours later ... we became a family of three.
And my heart was mush.
Your entrance wasn't without a challenge. Lots of trips walking up and down the halls. A rough patch or two for Mom midday, but an epidural put a stop to all that. Then things slowed down. I went to get a bite to eat. Mom napped.
Then you got a little twisted around playing jump rope with your umbilical cord. Things went into turbo mode. They put an oxygen mask on Mom. A doctor calmly told us amidst the flurry of activity that we couldn't wait any longer ... it was time. It was around 6:35 p.m. if I remember correctly ... it did get a little blurry there. But you arrived with much pomp and circumstance. Ten fingers, ten toes. Pink face, a little upset. Some hair on your head. Maybe even a bit of a scowl.
Nothing like the smile you have today.
Sixteen years can travel by pretty fast. Everyone always told us never to wish away the childhood days. But some were tough.
Like the days you were learning to ride a bike.
You cried and cried ... so afraid to keep pedaling. You kept wanting to put your feet down so you wouldn't fall. But you did finally fall, and pretty big. And you pulled off the helmet and went inside, determined you were not going to EVER ride a bike.
I went inside and calmed you down, but wasn't going to let you quit that easily. Because I knew you had it in you. The mechanics were all there ... you just had to see it through long enough to move forward. (Sounds like some of our efforts even as a teenager!) Tears and more tears.
But you finally went back outside. And after a couple of attempts, there you went down the street, squealing, "I'm doing it! I'm doing it!" I think you would have pedaled all the way to the corner and out of sight if I let you.
More tears. But this time, they were mine.
You know more of the stories. The time you accidentally grabbed the volume on the stereo and turned it up full blast. It was like you were being electrocuted ... you couldn't let go! Mom got you into the living room at the front of the house, and you kept sobbing, "It got me, Momma! It got me!"
And of course, the time you kept calling Mom to come to the top of the stairs, even though she was making dinner. When she finally came to the bottom step to let you know she couldn't while she was cooking, you pointed firmly to the ground and declared, "Come! Here! Right! Now!" ... one of the best Veda impersonations I've ever seen.
There are so many "times" that have made us laugh, made us cry, or made us proud.
The time when I silently doubled-back after driving out of the subdivision only to see you in my rearview mirror saying, "Forget something?" (Yes, Miss Smarty Pants ... my wallet.)
The time when I first heard "Butterfly Kisses" on the radio while driving down the interstate (again, you were strapped in the booster seat in the back), and Veda asked me if we needed to pull over and let her drive.
The time when you actually laid hands on my shoulders and prayed for me, when you were probably only about five.
The time in kindergarten when you turned down a marriage proposal on the playground of the private school you went to, because you were "going to marry a Christian boy."
The time when you gleefully shouted that, if we adopted a baby from China, that she could teach you Chinese.
And there are so many "times" ahead. I've been open and honest with you through the years, that there would be times when you didn't like me very much. Fortunately, those times have been few and short-lived. Mom and I have been so blessed to have you for a daughter, and we have said over and over that God "found favor" to give you to us.
You've been tagged by some of your friends as the "Momma" of the group. And that's OK. Many if not all Mommas will tell you it's not the most glamorous position to hold. But it's one of the most honorable roles you will ever hold! You will be relied on for advice, for stability, for help, and for keeping folks out of trouble. Don't ever regret being looked on with that level of responsibility for your friends.
And there will be a time ... one day ... when we have to let go. A day when we put our faith in who you are and the foundation on which you make your decisions as you forge ahead into adulthood. You won't be perfect. (Neither are we, and we're just a little older than you!) But it is our prayer, as we celebrate your sixteenth birthday, that you always seek out what God has in store for you, that you never let go of your faith in Him, that you love and respect others around you, even those who are unlovely and sometimes undeserving, and that you smile whenever you can.
Because THAT'S my girl. Always bringing a smile to those around her.
Happy birthday, Leah B! I will love you ... always and forever, my first princess.
Daddy
Tuesday, January 3, 2012
First Down, Inches to Go
What a festive time of year, as we bask in the afterglow of Christmas and look ahead with hope toward a new year. And resolutions ... we make them, we break them, but perhaps we have good intentions and better habits if only for a short while.
Some resolutions are pretty big. Stop smoking. Read the Bible cover to cover. Lose weight. There's plenty to choose from. Classic resolutions ... fancy resolutions ... healthy resolutions.
But this year, I'm going all out on something I've been putting off and giving up on for decades. It's so dramatic ... so deep ... it requires sharing so I can be held accountable.
It involves my toes.
No, seriously ... I have a goal ... to touch my toes.
[I'll wait for the room to settle down. Let me know when you're ready to continue.]
I know people who can palm the floor, and that's all fine and dandy. I'm not jealous. Much.
I'm just working to make a simple connection between my index finger and a hallux. (That's a big toe. And yes, I looked it up.)
For as long as I can recall, I've never been able to touch my toes. I'm sure did it as a baby, but then again, I think I could put my foot behind my head. Didn't we all do that? No? Hmm.
For years, I blamed my separation of upper and lower phalanges on long legs and a short torso. Hmm ... perhaps that's not it after all. I mean ... I don't really look disproportionate. My beltline isn't at the 3/4 mark between my feet and my head. If it were, I'd be on exposition in a traveling carnival.
And it's not because there's all THAT much to work around when I bend at the waist. A gut is a gut ... I should be able to displace what I have on the way down. So that's no excuse.
I think it's simply a lack of flexibility. An ugly truth. Unfortunate, but there it is.
Funny, I do recall as a kid being able to put my legs (lanky as they are) into a Lotus position. I could even walk around in that position on my knees. I know ... I don't understand why I didn't make it on Star Search either. Course, I don't think Mr. Lotus had that type of mobility in mind when he invented the inverted criss-cross-applesauce leg pretzel.
Now I realize touching your toes isn't a huge requirement in life. It's not on a college application form. It's not a prerequisite for membership in the country club. It's not even necessary for filing your taxes (although I realize some folks feel they are bent over in that process, but we won't dwindle on that word picture.)
Toe touching is just a personal "thing" that I want to be able to say I can do. To myself ... not as a public decree. Frankly, I'm befuddled as to why this is has become an issue. I take the stairs everywhere. I park and walk every morning and evening. I even go to different buildings for bathroom breaks during the day so I can squeeze in activity whenever I can. Just keep moving, just keep moving, just keep moving, moving, moving ... what do we do? We moooove! (Sorry ... Nemo reference snuck in there.)
Somewhere along the line, I became inflexible. Unable to stretch my boundaries ... make ends meet, so to speak. And the longer I let it go, the tougher it will be to reach that goal.
Have you become inflexible over the years? Determined that the way things have always been is the way they will always (or should always) be? Have you been telling yourself that a situation is what it is and there's nothing you can do about it? How many opportunities are you potentially missing due to an unwillingness to stretch yourself ... to reach beyond your current limitation and do just a little more? Even if it means just an increment a day ... it can't be that far out of your reach.
When I first started my quest (I've been working on this on and off for over a year), I could only reach just below the halfway point between my knees and the final destination before I was sure things were going to tear apart. Calves, thighs and back ... all shredding apart. At least, that's what it felt like.
This evening ... I'm pleased to report that I'm LESS than two inches away. And mind you, I DON'T bounce. I heard that can make your eyes cross permanently and cause deafness in one ear. Not to mention, you may not come back up if you bounce. I prefer to walk upright, thank you very much.
At this rate, I may have this resolution done by the end of the month. I'll get to work on the mental flexibility all year long. And then some. We could all use more mental flexibility. Yes, indeed. And in an election year, for cryin' out loud.
What's your resolution? Not too late to make one!
Some resolutions are pretty big. Stop smoking. Read the Bible cover to cover. Lose weight. There's plenty to choose from. Classic resolutions ... fancy resolutions ... healthy resolutions.
But this year, I'm going all out on something I've been putting off and giving up on for decades. It's so dramatic ... so deep ... it requires sharing so I can be held accountable.
It involves my toes.
No, seriously ... I have a goal ... to touch my toes.
[I'll wait for the room to settle down. Let me know when you're ready to continue.]
I know people who can palm the floor, and that's all fine and dandy. I'm not jealous. Much.
I'm just working to make a simple connection between my index finger and a hallux. (That's a big toe. And yes, I looked it up.)
For as long as I can recall, I've never been able to touch my toes. I'm sure did it as a baby, but then again, I think I could put my foot behind my head. Didn't we all do that? No? Hmm.
For years, I blamed my separation of upper and lower phalanges on long legs and a short torso. Hmm ... perhaps that's not it after all. I mean ... I don't really look disproportionate. My beltline isn't at the 3/4 mark between my feet and my head. If it were, I'd be on exposition in a traveling carnival.
And it's not because there's all THAT much to work around when I bend at the waist. A gut is a gut ... I should be able to displace what I have on the way down. So that's no excuse.
I think it's simply a lack of flexibility. An ugly truth. Unfortunate, but there it is.
Funny, I do recall as a kid being able to put my legs (lanky as they are) into a Lotus position. I could even walk around in that position on my knees. I know ... I don't understand why I didn't make it on Star Search either. Course, I don't think Mr. Lotus had that type of mobility in mind when he invented the inverted criss-cross-applesauce leg pretzel.
Now I realize touching your toes isn't a huge requirement in life. It's not on a college application form. It's not a prerequisite for membership in the country club. It's not even necessary for filing your taxes (although I realize some folks feel they are bent over in that process, but we won't dwindle on that word picture.)
Toe touching is just a personal "thing" that I want to be able to say I can do. To myself ... not as a public decree. Frankly, I'm befuddled as to why this is has become an issue. I take the stairs everywhere. I park and walk every morning and evening. I even go to different buildings for bathroom breaks during the day so I can squeeze in activity whenever I can. Just keep moving, just keep moving, just keep moving, moving, moving ... what do we do? We moooove! (Sorry ... Nemo reference snuck in there.)
Somewhere along the line, I became inflexible. Unable to stretch my boundaries ... make ends meet, so to speak. And the longer I let it go, the tougher it will be to reach that goal.
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| Whoa there ... wrong direction! |
When I first started my quest (I've been working on this on and off for over a year), I could only reach just below the halfway point between my knees and the final destination before I was sure things were going to tear apart. Calves, thighs and back ... all shredding apart. At least, that's what it felt like.
This evening ... I'm pleased to report that I'm LESS than two inches away. And mind you, I DON'T bounce. I heard that can make your eyes cross permanently and cause deafness in one ear. Not to mention, you may not come back up if you bounce. I prefer to walk upright, thank you very much.
At this rate, I may have this resolution done by the end of the month. I'll get to work on the mental flexibility all year long. And then some. We could all use more mental flexibility. Yes, indeed. And in an election year, for cryin' out loud.
What's your resolution? Not too late to make one!
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