The Lake People (Homo sapiens lacuna) - H Craig Wilson

This past Saturday, it was rather quiet at The Property after the previous weekend’s encounter with, what I shall euphemistically name: The Lake People or Homo sapiens lacuna. Are they the missing link? Are they an additional subspecies to the extinct Homo sapiens idaltu or ‘elder wise man’?

Nothing was amiss the Friday night of our arrival but there then appeared two rather large blue cocoon-like masses at the lake’s edge to be joined by three smaller pupae. One was a garish orange, seemingly designed for ease of egress but not camouflage; another was elongated and of various shades of blue-grey but with a translucent top , perhaps to allow entry of cosmic rays; and the third was by far the most complex. It was a dusty yellow but with an intricate construction design that must have put its larval inmate under great stress.

It was with bated breath that I waited to see what might emerge the following morning. To my delight, a beautiful, elegant creature emerged from the blue cocoon and I immediately recognized it as the female of the species because it was both radiant at an early hour and industrious. It was only later that I was able to observe the male-like drones emerging in various degrees of dishevelment and alertness. Had an attack been imminent from a predatory lake turtle or fire ant, they would surely have perished unless saved from the ravages by one of the early rising princess. But, to their credit, once they had imbibed a strange smelling beverage from a cooled can, each male, in his own way might have taken on the world and slayed a thousand turtles.

What really set them apart from the subspecies, Homo sapiens sapiens and denoted their aquatic ancestry were their foot fins. These appeared to be frayed strips of leather or modified skin that encased their feet and enabled them to perambulate on land, albeit slowly. I had observed a similar subspecies early last year when on a visit to Austin and had put this down to the fact that it is an island city where seemingly liberal minded and educated individuals had beached themselves, seeking sanctuary in an otherwise inhospitable ocean of Republicanism.

I spent the day taking copious notes in my journal and trying to interact as little as possible so as not to influence their behaviour in any way unlike Margaret Mead. I excerpt a few examples:
1) They ate rather strangely in that the foodstuffs of preference were all healthy with whole nuts and 2% milk to the fore, even fresh fruit was consumed instead of the proffered candy.
2) Coffee seemed to be used as a stimulant to augment or counteract the strange smelling beverage but the instant version was shunned in preference for an elaborate infusion drained through a prized tribal possession that was granted ritual status and kept in the sole possession of a loquacious male.
3) On a night hike, admittedly something way out of the males’ comfort zone (They hunt and fish by day) as evidenced by the cacophony of squeals that shattered the otherwise peaceful quiet of the woods, one fearless female seemed to engage in ritualistic snake riding as if surfing a serpent from the deep.
4) Fireworks seemed unknown to them as these were ignited in any number of ways and I have never seen rockets and roman candles fired off with such gay abandon while being hand-held, and exploded above, below, on and in the water. Their skin must be much tougher than it looks or they are protected by some divine power that decrees that water is stronger than fire.
5) When I was lost in the woods with two individuals, although close to death they retained their composure, talked through the problem, remained rational and used the sun, a device on the wrist of one of them and common sense to extricate us from our dire predicament. They obviously have tremendous reserves of self control and would never resort to recrimination. They respond well to a gin and tonic drink with lemon although it was a drink previously unknown to them.
6) The males appear to have a ‘defense-defense’ paranoia rather than ‘fright-flight’ response to perceived danger. Their acute auditory senses allow some of them to ‘hear’ non- existent intruders whereupon they grab flashlights and patrol the inner perimeter of their encampment asking the intruder to reveal him or herself. Ever alert, this behaviour has undoubtedly allowed the survival of this subspecies and should be studied further.
7) In the heat of the day, sensibly, they would congregate in small groups for discourse that would centre on weighty topics such as climate change, recycling issues, global warming, tree hugging styles etc. Of course, none of this is purely altruistic, for as a threatened subspecies, they are more at risk since their very way of life is threatened. By comparison, Homo sapiens sapiens (Thinking man?) is equally in danger but seems oblivious to any threats and, despite itself, will reap the benefits of Homo sapiens lacuna’s efforts on their behalf, however unwelcome.

This was a fleeting encounter and I feel privileged that these fine representatives of Homo sapiens lacuna would be brave enough to visit and share their unique talents and insights with a mere mortal. We wish them well. As they left no visible traces behind and there are no pictures, I now wonder if this was all only a figment of my fertile imagination…

~ Dr. H. Craig Wilson

I love cigarette butts

Little things make me happy, and cigarette butts are pretty darn tiny. Actually, I think cigarette butts are one of the vilest creations on earth, they drive me up the wall, their putrid stench lingers, and they seem to be asexually reproducing, but fighting back against them makes me smile.

Yesterday was a great day for karma building (and I didn’t even plan it that way, it just happened which should get me bonus karma points…but then I’ve probably had a few deducted for bragging about it…sigh). After work I cycled (note: didn’t drive) to the library to return a dvd (note: checked out instead of bought).

Then I went back to work to store my bike, grabbed my yoga year and a book, and strode off to “my” bus stop (note: not driving AGAIN). “My” because I’ve official adopted it through Capital Metro’s Adopt-a-Stop program and the trash can proudly bears a sign with my name on it. So there I was on the side of South Congress picking up cigarette butts by the handful, with cars whizzing by wondering why this normal looking girl was groveling on the ground, and it struck me that I’m happy. Nobody will notice that for one afternoon this particular bus stop was cigarette butt free, there’s a pretty slim chance that anyone will notice my example and pickup a butt on their own or not put it there in the first place, but I don’t care. I saw something was wrong, I took action, and when my bus pulled up and I wiggled my way onboard I left a clean bus stop behind.

And the afternoon kept getting better. There was a gaggle of flustered looking ballerinas on board, and one of them whispered to the other one that none of them knew where to get off. I overheard, asked her where she was going, and told them exactly which bus stop to get off at.

After a relaxing yoga class I headed back to the office, grabbed by bike, cycled over to Barton Springs to meet John for a run. While I was waiting I noticed lots of bottles/cans in the trash cans RIGHT next to the recycling bins. Brushing bees aside I bravely picked them off the top of the can and put them in their rightful place. John’s always late, so I made it to 7 or 8 trash cans and saved dozens of misdirected recyclables from an unfitting end by the time he came for our run. My efforts were duly noted and John’s going to take a bag with him to his next meeting since he’s always been dismayed by the amount of recyclables his colleagues throw in the trash but never stood up to offer them another option.

And karma paid off, I got to end my day with a relaxing 3 mile run, good conversation, swim in Barton Springs, and bus ride home where I got to read instead of worrying about traffic.

Three cheers for cigarette butts! …now where did I put that hand sanitizer?

A picture’s worth a thousand memories

Well actually a good memory is probably worth more than a thousand pictures, but recently I’ve needed pictures to help me remember anything at all. Who needs a photographic memory when you’ve got a digital camera? I do, since I don’t remember to take it every where with me.

Today I was driving and trying to work out why I felt like I needed a nap, so I decided to think back over the week.

Sunday – photo with Rachel & Sarah at Hippie Hollow (must have been swimming and taking photos all day)

Monday – no pictures (ahhhhhhhhh catching up on chores after a long weekend of fun)

Tuesday – photo of Jim, Doug, & Saraya out at Pace Bend (so that’s why odd muscles in my body ache, I left work a couple of hours early to rock climb and splash back into the lake…it’s starting to come back to me now. I don’t have a photo of it but we went to Polvo’s afterwards and I had a refreshing margarita and veggie enchiladas with tomatillo sauce and then made everyone laugh when I put my leftovers in a reusable container I had in the car, good thing I had a trigger for that memory.)

Wednesday – photo of a huge crowd around a big xylophone at Barton Springs (crazy hippies dancing and swimming at night always makes me smile, how could I forget?)

Thursday – photo of friends board members working on the McKinney Falls SP amphitheater (that explains the white paint on my arm)

Friday & Saturday – nothin’ no photo….WAIT. Did I stay in on a Friday night in Austin? Can’t be…….must check outlook calendar. OK, I read for Angela Howard after wrapping up work for KAB but nothing’s scheduled after that. Pause. Rack brain for what feels like hours. Whew, thank goodness I haven’t fallen in senility just yet. Well maybe I have considering it’s only Sunday.

Friday & Saturday (without the aid of my camera):
Friday - After “working” for Angela for a couple of hours I took my bike over to Doug’s place and we cycled to Blue Dahlia for dinner. There was a cool breeze and somehow the roads were incredibly quiet. We cut through Rosewood Park, and I impressed myself by popping the front wheel over the curb without looking like a total girl (sadly Doug was in front so I don’t think he noticed my super cool tomboy move). We sat in their back garden section with an overhead fan, candle light, and a guitarist gently playing in the corner. I had a four cheese salad, candied walnuts, basil pesto, and fresh bread on the side. I forgot to tell Doug that one of the slices of bread had olives in it and he made an awfully funny face when he bit into it (the first time I cooked for him I asked for a list of foods he didn’t like and one of them was funny bread with olives in it). After dinner we cycled over to Club DeVille to meet Holly Vandrovec, a friend from the Nacogdoches Swim Team who I hadn’t seen since she graduated in ’97. We sat outside in front of what’s one of the coolest stages in Austin with a limestone cliff backdrop and listened to three bands while trying to catch up on 10+ years. She’s been married for 6 years and is a lawyer!

Saturday - Slept in for a little bit (a luxury I rarely allow myself since I’m normally jumping up to go volunteer somewhere). Played around in the garden, watering, re-potting stuff. Went to a VERY relaxing yoga class at Ruta Maya. At the end of each class you get to my favorite part, lying on the floor and letting your body go. After a few minutes the instructor always asks you to slowly bring the senses back to your body, and I did not want to. I would have been happy lying there and slipping into sleep. I managed to pull myself together and make it home for a nap. Everything was going well with my day of relaxation when BOOM my bedroom door slammed shut. I had my bedroom window and the living room open and a storm rolled into down, yeah for rain, boo for shocking me out of sleep. Then it was out to Lake Travis for an afternoon of rock climbing. I’d improved by leaps and bounds from Tuesday, and we had a quite a crowd this time. Doug, myself, Ralph (who was sooooooo stubborn and burnt himself out on one climb that he just couldn’t master), Wilson, Alex, & Jim. There were a lot more folks out at the lake, so big waves kept bashing us up against the rocks when we were starting our climbs. I was happy though and had a great time diving off the cliffs (not the top, just little ledges), “climbing” (one day I’ll be able to get rid of the quotation marks), drinking a couple of beers we found floating in the water, and saving stray fun noodles that kept floating off. After that, I drug my tired body into the shower, dressed, and headed up north for Amanda’s 30th birthday party. We all had name tags on that described how we knew Amanda in 3 words or less. Mine was “16 Girl Co-op”, Angela W’s was “West Mall Bump.” Amanda gave herself a streak of purple in her hair for her 30th birthday and was a very fun drunken b-day girl.

And sleep.

Colonialist

I seem to have wasted valuable time questioning myself, going through the unoriginal mid -(I’m not giving in quite yet to the word “late”…wait until July) 20s vicious cycle of who am I and who do I want to be, and after visiting Gran and Grandpa it came to me. Forget all those classes about the destruction of cultures and ecology by those dastardly British conquering the world, I am who I am, and the only thing a girl with a grandmother born in British Guiana can be…I’m a colonialist.

Now there’s no way I want England to take control of China and a few other small countries, or any way I want to excuse years of chaos caused by ruling thousands of folks who’d managed to rule themselves quite well for centuries before we brought “order” to them, but the colonialist mentality sure explains a lot.

I don’t need to choose between wanting to travel the word in search of adventure with being perfectly content staying at home to try out a new recipe. For generations family members have set off to live, work, and travel through exotic lands, and have still made it home in time for tea or pre-dinner drinks. After all, what’s a dinner party without a story or two about encounters with a lion or plans for the next adventure?

So I gladly surrender myself to my family’s past, it is genetics and who can argue with science? (Ok, point taken, science it practically all about debate but that’s beside the point.) The next time I sit on the banks of the Chobe, or start filling my notebook with family recipes, or spend the morning learning some bizarre new international dance I’ve taken a fancy to before having friends over for dinner I won’t need to justify it to myself or feel like I need to focus on one over the other. I am who I am, and this is who I want to be (for now).

Analytical or Artsy

My fondest memory of my Auntie Eli was driving through the countryside as she grilled me to find out what I thought made a good friend. I think after going round and round about for a couple of hours (mainly in conversation, but maybe a little bit with navigation) we’d finally sorted it out, and I’d started to understand how I have such a diverse group of people I care about. After a certain stage a lot of it just comes down to the caring.

But what drew us together in the first place? I realized recently that I’ve gone through a stage of spending a lot of time with engineers and hadn’t even noticed it since we aren’t talking about engineering when we spend time together. (I like renaissance engineers. Engineers by day… rock climbers, theater buffs, painters, salsa dancers…by night/weekend.) So why do I feel so at ease in the crowd? My immediate response was that they were analytical, but what kind of a response is that? Am I attracted to people who like to question and try to find reason out of chaos or once you get to a certain level of analysis, create chaos out of reason?

But lots of my closest friends are artsy and guided more by their hearts than their heads. Maybe the recent trend towards scientific minds has been because I’ve just been run down lately and look for comfort in the known and similar?

Does it just reflect who I am? Someone who struggles to balance the security of a bullet pointed plan and goals with the need to throw caution to the wind to tackle mountains and search for sea turtles?

Control

Some days are just crap. People are mean, they say hurtful things, work’s overwhelming, personal life’s overwhelming, sometimes, and it is just too much. But how much control do we have over stopping the spiral or even preventing it from starting? Can we put the troubles of the day (or past month…as the case may be) on hold, just simply press pause, and decide to create a wonderful day?

To say the past month has been a challenge would be an understatement. Back to back weeks of overtime, finding out Grandpa has advanced cancer, Gran going into hospital, Laura undergoing yet another treatment in the hopes that one of these days something will work, pulling back/neck muscles, not being able to play tennis/do yoga/load my bike onto my car, postponing the trip to Kilimanjaro…I’ve felt a little drained.

So I said enough. Enough of feeling the weight on my shoulders, what I need are bubbles...lots and lots of bubbles, and let’s throw in some weightlessness for good measure. So on Sunday I woke up, got out of bed, drug a comb across my head, bum, bum (man I’m easily side tracked these days).

Anyway…I woke up with the sun, put on my new running shoes, and went for a long jog around the lake. There’s something extra special about Sunday morning jogs around Lady Bird Lake. It’s so quiet, and the only other folks out and about are other long distance runners who respectfully acknowledge each other in passing, always with a smile and often a friendly “good morning”. During the workweek you always see folks who seem to be there to show off for each other like some bower bird mating ritual but on Sunday it’s just those of us who run for ourselves. I ended my eight miles (which I would have been happy to stretch even further) by bounding up the stairs to Congress Ave two at a time, just me, my breath, and swinging arms to give me that added umph.

After a bit of post-running r&r I pulled out my camping propane stove to roast red peppers in my apartment. Camping stoves are cool regardless of the situation, but try balancing three red peppers on one in an apartment in the middle of the city and challenge yourself not to smile. That’s got to be damn near impossible. Soon my place smelled like a real kitchen and I spent an hour or so coaxing a few ingredients into becoming a creamy roasted red pepper risotto. It was my first time to attempt risotto, so I was pretty careful about sticking close to the recipe but couldn’t resist throwing in some sherry to round it out and to transport myself to Gran’s kitchen in Childswickham where a touch more brandy, wine, or sherry seems to enhance every dish.

Not having anyone to answer to and my appointment with bubbles hours away I lazed around napping and chatted on the phone with Angela.

Bubbles time! Yup, I’d made myself an appointment for a scuba refresher course. I fully believe in scent being the most powerful link to memory because as soon as I walked in the dive shop I felt like I was in 5th grade again running around Diver’s Depot after school, picking out anklets, eating junk food by the pool, swimming, talking about boys... I made it through dive tables and such without much problem, and then got to get back in the water. It’s been about 10 years since I’ve been diving. When did time start moving so quickly and how could I have lost so much time that I could have been underwater? I knew the course was a great use of time, when the instructor needed to grab some stuff and told me just to hang out and blow bubbles, how great of an assignment is that?! We whizzed through clearing mask, retrieving regulator, removing bcd & weight belt, buddy breathing, emergency ascent, and it all came back so easily. Finally when we’d finished running the drills he said I could go, but I didn’t think I should be penalized for being a good student so I asked if I could just play around in the pool until my time was up. I got to spend the rest of the time throwing an underwater football, blowing bubble rings, and my personal favorite just floating upside down to get a different perspective on the world. I left the dive shop with an oh-so-sexy mask mark on my forehead, blood shot eyes (man they’d gone overboard on the chlorine), chemically overloaded hair, and a huge relaxed grin.

Then it was off to lay out on a pic-nic blanket in Zilker Park with friends and let my self get lulled into the rhythm of Shakespeare’s Much Ado About Nothing. A friend summed it up, “Sunday night is a reason why Austin is such an incredible place to live… a warm night, Shakespeare, plus great food & company!” There really is something fulfilling about sharing things you love with other people. I’m a pretty independent person and would have been content enjoying the weather, play, and risotto by myself…but to be able to share it with others who might have otherwise just taken care of grown-up errands or watched tv on their Sunday night is indescribable. Sharing food and laughter has got to be one of the keys to happiness.

See what happens when you take control? And, who could ask for anything more?

Thump

It’s there…thump…pause…thump….listen for it…thump…an actual heart beat. A tiny, only audible in the exam room, heart beat, but there’s no denying it, it’s there. Yesterday, my co-worker showed me her first sonogram of my 6 inch pseudo niece or nephew. Thump. Yup, that was my heart being taken (who are we kidding? freely given) away. I’m bigger so I get the thump with a capital T.

She and her husband don’t know it yet, but I’m going to be a pseudo aunt (it’s a practice I’m increasingly falling into since I’m afraid the reality of actual blood related nieces and nephews is years away). You can’t have too many cool aunts to help baby sit right?

It’s startling how quickly things fall into perspective when you’re looking at a fuzzy black and white image of an inexplicable miracle. Yes, I was a bio major…I know how babies are made, I’ve taken evolution and genetics…but those don’t come close to explaining this stirring spark of life.

In the past few weeks while we’ve been obsessed with spring projects, a couple of cells have quietly grown into a being with a heart and even a profile (although we can’t tell whose nose it has yet).

And as I try to imagine Grandpa as child, I can’t help but smile.

10 Weeks

That’s it, not 10 weeks and 2 days, 10 weeks give or take 10 years, 10 weeks and 2 minutes…just 10 weeks.

10 weeks.

70 days.

1680 hours.

Thousands of miles, an ocean, and a 6 hour time difference apart. 10 weeks without treatment maybe, just maybe, a year with treatment.

How can a doctor sum it up so simply? Where’s the equation for how long someone has left and why, why am I here instead of there? How do I convince Gran & Grandpa that I should be with them instead of carrying on?

How do I write my weekly letter to them? Do I carry on, ignore the c word, and tell them tales of my exploits and include them in my life that they helped create and will always influence? Do I send the tear stained letter begging them to let me visit? Do I reminisce about the last meals we had together and accept the fact that even though each time I leave them I think it might be my last goodbye that maybe this time it really was?

Waiting to Exhale

I can’t even remember the main plot lines of that movie, but I feel like that’s what the spring is for me and all of a sudden I got to let go. My yoga instructor sometimes has everyone exhale together and then suspend the breath so we all sit together, lungs empty, not holding our breath because we don’t have anything to hold on to, just sitting.

In elementary school I’d hold my breath and fight against the urge to breathe as a I tried to race underwater to reach the far end of the pool without coming up for breath sometimes imagining that a shark was chasing me because of course then I’d be able to swim faster than a speeding bullet. Finally I learnt to embrace the water around me, keep my eye on the end goal, but to admire the beauty of the ripples of light dancing across the bottom of the pool as I pushed forward.

OK, this is starting to sound a bit hippy-ish, so let’s back it up a bit. Exhaling…

On Thursday the pressure of mounting work responsibilities and feeling like I’ve prioritized work over family was draining me, so I left. I was joking with a friend about it, and then all of a sudden something flipped in my brain and I left and it was so simple. I just walked out the door, went home, changed into a swim suit and flip flops, threw essentials in a bag (towel, sun lotion, books, beer), left my cell phone, and went to McKinney Falls. I spent the rest of the afternoon primarily alone: napping in the sun, taking pictures of rocks, having my sore muscles pummeled by the waterfall, and just letting go. After several hours I strolled back to the car with that semi-comatose feeling you get from lazing around in the sun.

At home, I threw open all the windows, took a long hot shower, danced around the apartment by myself, and threw on heels and a dress for the ballet. Instead of fighting traffic downtown, I parked at work and as everyone else was just heading home after spending much too much time in front of a computer I strolled across the Congress Ave Bridge looking at the water with the wind gently swishing my skirt. (One of the main reasons I enjoy being a girl is the feeling of a walking outside on a beautiful night in heels and a soft skirt…little known fact.)

I met my cousin Dorothy there and was thrilled to walk into the new Ballet Austin studios to find our seats were front row center. I could hear the dancers breathe, see every sinew, and practically feel their excitement of performing in such an intimate setting. At first I was a little distracted by the over the top costuming, but was quickly whisked away by the almost tribal musical score, the humor, and sensualness of the performance. It was truly what art is meant to be where people gasped, laughed, and everyone had something to discuss and not in a stilted I’m so cultured I go to the ballet and opera type way, but the type of conversation that flows and everyone excitedly pitches in their thoughts.

After lots of discussion and several hugs good-bye I strolled back across the river, and maybe did a few sashays and twirls here and there.

Sounds like a phenomenal day right, the kind you should only be allowed one of in a week?

Saturday
I spent Friday night renewing my love for salsa dancing, and woke up Saturday morning a little sore but content. Rode the new love of my life, Eva, from my home to the Gus Fruh entrance of the Barton Creek Greenbelt to help with “It’s My Park Day!” Due to a pulled back muscles I ended up checking folks in and out, answering basic questions, putting band-aids on kids, giving out t-shirts…instead of my normal gung-ho workdays of removing invasive species and hauling rocks. At first I was a bit disappointed to take a back seat to the action, but as I sat in the sun chatting with people and finding so many connections I didn’t see coming I began to really enjoy it.

When we wrapped up I had a leaisurely ride home, took a long nap with the breeze blowing over my bed, and headed out to meet some volunteers who’ve been kind enough to water 300+ trees that fell in my lap.

I got to the Austin Biodiversity Greenhouse a bit early, and strolled through rows and rows of trees that by this time next week will be distributed throughout Austin to new homes in public space. I only meant to stay 15 minutes or so to snap a few photos for a newsletter, but had such a great time talking with Jeri & Rene that I ended up watering trees and dreaming about future possibilities for almost an hour.

Now this is when the day gets really good. While whiling away the time at Gus Fruh I’d called a friend to see if I could use him for his hot tub (selfish I know). Thankfully he’s not as selfish and said of course, so once I wrapped up my volunteer time I drove up to his place and had one of the most relaxing evenings I’ve had with no pretenses, no drama, no expectations just conversation, hot water, music, laughter, food, and calm. When I got there instead of rushing off to jump in the water, relaxation should never be rushed, we got caught up on what’s been going on with each other for the past couple of months while laying on couches sipping fresca. Then we headed down to the hot tub and almost turned into prunes as we alternated between the churning hot water and the calm cool pool less than a foot away. Having only known each other a few months it’s almost eairy how comfortable we are, almost like immediate family, alternating between teasing and serious topics. Eventually, I tore myself away from the water and we headed back upstairs and I read while he cooked an impromptu dinner. As we shared an ottoman as our table and enjoyed pasta with vodka sauce, garlic bread, and French fries he thanked me for coming and said that I make it feel like home. Maybe it’s having such an amazing family and home growing up, but to me I think that may be the nicest compliment I’ve ever been given. After strolling around outside for a bit to see if we could see the shuttle passing over (I think we were late) we took a brief nap on couches, had some lemon tea, and went our separate ways. He went to join a friend’s celebration over a new job, and I drove along the Capital of TX Hwy looking at the stars before crawling into comfy pjs and getting the best nights sleep I can remember.

...and suspend the breath.

“You Don’t Have a Ring on that Finger”

a stranger remarked as he passed me on the Lady Bird Lake trail during my lunchtime walk. True. I don’t have a ring on “that” finger or any other finger as a matter of fact.

Does that preclude me from walking on the trail or should I throw myself at his feet and beg him to make me the happiest woman in the world and please pretty please put something sparkly on my finger?

I didn’t even know that men look for wedding rings on women. After a certain age it’s the first thing a girl looks for on interesting guys, it’s a crucial survival strategy to avoid getting into sticky situations. You also look for a ring tan line which is worse than an actual ring, and should send a girl sprinting in the opposite direction as if her life depended on it.

My response to this unusually observant comment… “Nope, just an umbrella.”

THIS Is Why

I’m not a lawyer, or a doctor, or an entrepreneur. THIS is a 60+ hour work week. When it’s Monday night and you realize you’ve already put in 20 hours and you’ve still got five more workdays ahead of you, you know you’re in trouble.

What could possibly motivate people to do this on a regular basis? Folks talk about 80 hour workweeks and that just doesn’t seem humanly possible, do people really do that? There’s no way that they’re doing it just for money. It would mean that you really have sold your life, maybe not your soul but definitely your life.

I LOVE what I do and the flexibility that it gives me. Plus I get time and a half for every worked over 40/week so I’m looking at a good 4 days of paid leave thanks to this spring craziness, but that didn’t stop the tears that spring from pure exhaustion and questioning of choices.

Last night I left work to walk to a 2 hour meeting at City Hall for yet another advisory committee I volunteered for (well had arm twisted and gave in), and as I was walking back to the office for another couple hours troubleshooting the tears just started flowing. It was a beautiful spring night, the downtown skyline and the moon reflected in the lake below me, couples strolling along, and all I could think was that I’d inadvertently become a nun.

I’ve always been drawn towards being a nun, but there are a few big obstacles in the way, mainly not being born Catholic and wanting kids (but that’s a whole other story). As I sat in a fancy meeting room with a bunch of middle aged men haggling over wording to amendments, I looked out the window and saw girls my age in beautiful clothes laughing on their way to dates at fancy restaurants or maybe out salsa dancing and I’ve really got to question my priorities.

I devote my work and a lot of my free time towards trying to make the world just a little bit better, but have I sacrificed my future for it? When did I marry public service or at a minimum move in together? Now that I’m trying to get back into dating, how do I find someone who’ll understand the value of my commitments but help me ease out of them so one day I could conceivable spend a Sunday in bed? Inconceivable…I know.

Cheese comes in 120 ct.

Above is an actual first sentence from an email I got this morning. The week before an event all of the big strategic planning has been taken care of, obvious issues have been dealt with, my cell phone’s charge and ready to trouble shoot, and it comes down to the details. Do we order 600 slices of cheese or 960 or more? We’ve got 4,000+ people pre-registered for the event but how many will actually come to another location for a party and of those how many want cheese on their burger? Is this what program management comes down to, and heaven forbid we run out of cheese…will I face an inbox of hate email next week?

“Screw Touching Hands”

she told the girl who’d delicately asked her if she’d just hold her hand since she was having a bad day. Yup, that’s Ara for ya. This is one of the MANY reasons I love her so much. Someone asks for a little bit of affection and gets that in response, quickly followed by a lingering bear hug. Why give a little love when you can give a LOT?

Barefoot Waltzing

is surely the way to world peace. Well barefoot waltzing, plus friends cooking for you, plus wine, plus a trampoline, plus a real life wandering minstrel to strum a country tune about Buda & Jesus sitting in a tree, plus beautiful Austin weather, plus a dancing partner, plus friends who laugh but don’t judge. Mid-week contentment comes from strange and wonderful sources.

Enough

Is it possible to ever feel like you’re enough? Good, brave, strong, faithful, devoted, caring, fun, athletic, adventurous, giving, patient, knowledgeable, … When is enough, enough? And how can I feel content one day and other days feel like I’ve come up completely short? If I look at any of my friends I’d say they far exceed enough but when I look at myself there’s always something more I could have/should have/would have done.

Today is was brief portion of an email, “What needs to be done in the South East area of Austin???? Being that this is what your KAB does, if you could throw some ideas my way, that would be great.”

It’s a small church group that wants to get more involved in their part of town, and I’d give a lot to have the time to meet with them for coffee like they asked, go out to the site, scout out projects, train them on how to rally the community, help find funds for the projects,.but I can’t. There simply isn’t enough staff time to keep all of the programs running and have this level of involvement with a group that’s just starting out (and as unfortunately my experience has shown only handful of these enthusiastic groups keep the enthusiasm up through completion of projects). I have this almost overpowering urge to offer to meet with them on my personal time (like I do all too often for my own good) to encourage them and get them started, but I’ve been trying to cut back on this since I’m already overcommitted on volunteer projects and want to have time to spend with my friends and myself. So in the end, I end up feeling selfish (which everyone tells me is irrational) because I tell them no I can’t meet them after work because I need to do things like laundry and pay bills.

I feel like a failure and unworthy.

If I hadn’t watched Dancing with the Stars last night, just maybe...maybe I could have been enough today.

Tell Me Lies

But only if they’re sweet and pretty or wait don’t tell me any at all? I’m reading this book about a man who tries to interpret the bible literally and applies all of the rules to his life for one year, but how much interpretation is too much and how do you decide? What’s a white lie, an omission, a flat out evil manipulation of the truth,…

I was just outside on my lunchtime walk enjoying the clear blue skies, sunshine, ..you know the typical Austin end of February day, when I walked by Hooters (not my normal route but I needed to drop off my utilities payment) when 3 guys in army uniforms called out to me.

-Excuse me miss?
-(Internal dialogue: Ignore them and keep walking? They’re probably going to make some stupid comment anyway just keep going. No, it’s a pretty day and you shouldn’t judge them based on where they ate lunch…be nice) “Yes”
-Have you ever thought about joining the military?
-no, laugh, absolutely not!
End of discussion

Then the rest of my walk by Lady Bird Lake was spent analyzing if I lied to them or not instead of just enjoying the thrill of being away from a computer and phone.

Have I ever thought about joining? Well, not about me myself and I joining. I did think about being a civilian teacher employed through the armed services…does that count? And I’ve thought about the topic about joining the military quite a bit. Why do people join, are recruitment tactics fair, what are the advantages to some people who wouldn’t see the world any other way or have access to education, why did my grandparents join, how are people perceived once they join, should recruits believe in the current battles, and the list goes on and on. So clearly I have thought about it and lied to them when I said that I hadn’t.

Do the three guys care? Chances are that the few words we exchanged outside Hooters were not top of their conversation list on the way back to base, so didn’t I accomplish the goal of communication and save them time trying to recruit me when they could be targeting someone else?

Next time I’m going to just stick with “not interested”. That’s honest right?

FOMA

Finally a diagnosis...Friday one of the Rouge Running trainers put a diagnosis to my disease, FOMA (Fear of Missing Anything). It has a name, and I’m not alone.

Everyone else seems to be content to do a couple of things a week, but I love variety and feel like I’m missing life if I say no to an opportunity even if it means that I miss sleep and down time. Yesterday ran 8 miles, hung out at Barton Springs for several hours, read a book, talked others into joining me at the springs, went to mass, out to the Oasis for dinner, and then almost got roped into going to Momos for music. Just looked at my workweek schedule and outside of work: Monday (it’s Presidents Day and I have it off) – running, Barton Springs swim, violin lessons, yoga (maybe dinner with friends), Tuesday – run 3 miles, Capoeira Angola class, Wednesday – run 5 miles, yoga, play “Death and the King’s Horseman”, Thursday – run 3 miles, play “Beat Voices”, beers with friends, Friday – collapse? (or get talked into whatever someone throws out there).

So am I embracing life or just racing through it?

Friday night I had dinner with a new friend and he described his life as a canvas that was being wiped clean of memories every time he goes into work. That increasingly those things he thought he’d always remember and didn’t need to take pictures of or write about in a journal have simply vanished, but somehow the blank canvas has become soothing. My life right now seems to be a bright canvas and my workweek only adds to the color, which seems good right? Then he pointed out that often beauty comes from simplicity.

So do I guide my life toward becoming a garish abstract, an elegant and focused study, or something in between? If the color added compliments the overall work and in the end all of the little dots merge to create a lasting and cohesive work of beauty then doesn’t that show that we can have it all and embrace the journey?

Eliana

It’s a widely known fact that little girls grow up talking about names for their future kids that they may or may not have. Some girls get so attached to the idea that using “their” name can cause a very dramatic end to the friendship. I was never that involved in the game, and along the way have used the names I used to talk about with my little elementary school friends on foster animals. Natasha was given to a beautiful calico with stunning green eyes and Nadia was a sweet mutt. See not that passionate about the game, but then Eliana hit me.

I was reading “Three Cups of Tea” about a mountaineer who grew up at the base of Kilimanjaro and spent his adult life building schools in remote regions of Pakistan and his daughter’s middle name is Eliana. Here’s why it’s perfect:
-It’s a Swahili word which translates into Gift From God, which is my name too. Since I was born on my mother’s birthday my father’s students named me Mmpho-ya-modimo…English translation, Gift From God. Trying to spit that mouthful out would be a curse for any kid growing up outside Botswana, so the Swahili version it is. It would be like having a Jr. but with a fun African link, and be a way to honor my mom too.
-Can be used as Eliana or Eli or Ana
-A few years ago my Auntie Eli (one of my Dad’s sisters) passed away, meaning that my paternal grandparents lost 2 out of 4 children before their time. My brother David’s named after my Dad’s brother, and this way both of the lost siblings could be remembered. Auntie Eli was the person who literally gave me a sense of direction in life. When I was 15 she plunked me down in the car, handed me a road map, and went wherever I told her. It didn’t matter if I made a mistake, we’d just turn around and sort it out and there were definitely a few life lessons learnt along the way.

So there it is. I’m no where near having kids, but I’m going to hold onto this name…just in case.

1 Month

How can it be the end of January already?! Remember when you were in elementary school and each year really did feel like an eternity? Everything could change in the 6 weeks between report cards, and by that time you barely even remembered who you’d been 6 weeks before.
I think I still manage to pack lots of life into my time, but it seems to zip by at an ever quickening pace and I’m not sure if it’s that I’m finally becoming an American or just older (maybe a bit wiser…but don’t hold me to that).
So since I last found time to sit down and write I’ve:
-picked my oh so lovely brother up from the airport
-enjoyed having a crazy swimming buddy again (see above) who’s willing to jump into Barton Springs, McKinney Falls, our lake…in December
-spent a week back in good ole East TX
-went to Beth & Matthews wedding (and danced with both the bride and groom, not at the same time)
-hiked up to the highest point in TX
-camped in below freezing conditions with very limited camping supplies
-made s’ mores with x-mas tree peeps
-transferred all my work webpages from one site to another, organized a rappelling cleanup, and realized I’ve already got projects that I’m working on for the fall
-done 2 live broadcasts and 3 other tv interviews (and just a bit of bragging time…was told by one of the camera men that I should consider a job in pr)
-joined the Capital Metro Citizen Advisory Committee
-had the flu
-gave my number to a good looking stranger in a bar, and went out on a date (shocking I know)
-volunteered at 2 tree plantings
-and tomorrow I’m running another half-marathon
Of course I also managed to fit in lots of live music, dinners with friends, and time in coffee shops but somehow I want more. That’s not normal, is it?