Take a Little Trip

Next to me on the nightstand is a collection of sorts. A half eaten Milky Way, a partial cup of old coffee from breakfast, a plastic water bottle with a quarter remainder of water, an apple, and a pile of books with one of my favorite magazines. It is 11 AM and I have not showered. I rolled out of bed at 8:15 to throw on some clothes and get a bite to eat before they started putting away the continental breakfast. This is not really a typical representation of the way I conduct myself.

I am computer-less and therefore journaling in a traditional way, pen to paper. Thinking it might be nice to peel myself away from the cable TV, I turned to the back pages of my planner and here I am. This feels like a total day of indulgence without an agenda, and a television full of programs that we no longer have at home. I am even considering going back to sleep after I write this.

My location is Marietta, GA, and I came here for a variety of reasons, all which involve an element of fun. Wednesday I woke up, taught my 5:10 AM yoga class, showered, packed, went to work, purchased a house warming gift, and drove to Acworth, GA for a brief stay with my good friend Anna, from nursing school, and her husband. I had not visited her house before this and it was surreal. Last time we hung out we were both in Missouri with very different lives. We spent weekends in her college apartment with our friend and her roommate Nikki. We were unmarried and overstressed with the burden of a nursing school schedule. But here I was now, in the south, in her house, with her husband, and all of the time has passed so quickly.

Thursday morning I woke up again to see what I refer to as "ridiculous hours of the day", to battle five lanes of congested Atlanta city highway traffic. I could envision the ends of my nerves unfraying as I was mushed between semis and trapped at a standstill with cars with blinker signals cutting in front of me, just barely enough room to avoid rubbing metal to metal. I was trying to make it on time to a place I had never been for a yoga conference. Knowing that a time or two the GPS had led me astray, I was praying for accuracy that morning.

As if the early morning hours were not a large enough source of irritation, I arrived at the conference location to discover that the parking for the day would be $15. I begrudgingly pressed the button for my ticket, imagining my true rebel wish where I just ram through the mechanical arm with my car, coming into fruition. With a very conservative exterior, I instead took my ticket and politely drove through, maintaining the safe and courteous speed limit.

I love yoga, learning about it, sharing it, meeting others who love it, so the fact that I enjoyed the conference really is unnecessary to say. It was in a beautiful Hilton Hotel with spacious conference rooms for the different workshops. The master trainer was a true inspiration with her smorgasbord of a resume including hula dancer, Licensed Massage Therapist, ballroom dancer, and degree in kinesiology (it makes my own multi-interest life seem less irrational). Anyway, I learned many new ways of using props and modifications to be able to bring yoga to a greater range of age groups.

My favorite part really came at the end of the day when I left the parking lot. A line of cars began accumulating at the toll booth. After a few moments it became evident that one thing or another was malfunctioning. The woman at the front of the line stepped out of her car and started pressing buttons. With one hand on her hip and the other on her forehead, she scanned the lot looking for solutions. The arm was not moving, it would not let her car pass. In a few minutes, an employee arrived to provide assistance. After pushing and prodding the system, he could find no other solution to, wait for it...REMOVE THE METAL ARM FROM ITS BASE! In shock I smiled, eternally grateful that my $20 remained in my lap as I passed him, smiling and waving like a fool in a parade. Ha, I said to that rail. Ha, I thought to that hotel and their crazy expensive parking rates.

Driving to my hotel that night, I encountered more traffic. Exhausted and hungry, I had little reserve left for kindness. The person at the check in desk refused to let me have the room we had reserved under my friend's name, as she and two other friends would join me the next night. After arranging that bunch of junk, she handed me a key, room 120, and gave me verbal directions. Following these directions, I pulled around to the breezeway and parked, all odd numbers on the doorways. Ick. I looped around the building, cursing my own inability to solve the mystery of the missing even numbered rooms. Back up to the counter, I tell her I can't figure it out. She shows me a map. Ah, yes, the bit about how the even rooms are on the interior side of the building would have been nice, thanks.

The saving grace of the night was a Cracker Barrel, right next door to the hotel. Eating at a home style chain away from home always does something good for me. I had never eaten at a restaurant by myself, but at this point had almost lost sight of caring. They sat me at a corner table, next to a window, with my own kerosene lamp lit, shedding a soft glow of light onto the nighttime view. The gift shop entrance had been warm and welcoming, decorated with fall and Christmas items. I ordered the usual, hot chocolate and eggs-in-the-basket, over hard with turkey sausage (always a treat with a pork allergy) and that oh-so-comforting cheesy hash brown casserole. Feeling full and more composed, I shopped around the Cracker Barrel store, smelling the candles, playing with the toys, enjoying the company and presence of strangers.

Inspired

The first time I put ads on my blog I found they were advertising things like products for refinishing furniture, cooking websites, and local furniture stores. Today, I log on, and the first advertisement I see is for ADHD medication. Seeing as though the other ads were topic related to my blogs, has the blog decided to acknowledge the fact that I am so all over the place, I might have ADHD? I don't know. I do know that when my grandmother came to stay with me this summer she labeled me as hyperactive. I think all around we might be on to something here. My mother told me that as a small child I was "busy". Busy, of course meaning bad. Also meaning hyperactive. I like to refer to it as well-rounded and productive.

Watching the news this morning I heard the local newscaster announce that she had been keeping her windows and sliding glass doors open at night because of the cooler weather. This just didn't seem like the best thing to me to announce on public television. I often feel at home here watching the news because they are about on the same page as KQ2.

I am feeling alive and awake here this morning due to the caffeine and beginning the day with a yoga class. When I wake up at 4:30 A.M. I think to myself, "What is going on here? I really hate seeing this time of day". When I get to the gym and my students show up, I am not only feeling optimistic but also enthusiastic. I cannot believe that other people would willingly join me at that time of morning. It is so refreshing and inspiring. I truly love to teach and adore the thought of helping other people relax and appreciate themselves and their abilities, right where they are. The concept of letting go of competition and feeling challenged yet successful is revitalizing. I am continually blessed to be able to teach.

One of the things I love most about coming home at that time in the morning is the coffee pot. I try to set it the night before so that when I walk through the door I can smell it and feel like someone just did something really thoughtful for me. I am, however, drinking my coffee through a straw this morning in response to a comment from my dear, sweet husband. He doesn't really like the idea of coffee anyway, so I think he finds little moments to put negative thoughts about it in my head. We went to the beach this weekend and in the car he turns to a smiling me and pauses, fixes his gaze on my teeth. Maybe being somewhat self-centered I think to myself, "Okay, prepare for the compliment, you have beautiful teeth". Instead Jacob asks me if I brushed them this morning. I said, that was a gross question, of course I did. He followed it up with a, "Well, they just look kind of yellow today, maybe it's from all of the coffee". We of course exchanged several phrases after these comments, and today I am drinking my coffee through a straw.

The last thing I really wanted to comment on was a book I just read called "Angela's Ashes" by Frank McCourt. It was full of beautiful detail, a gripping memoir that won the Pulitzer Prize. His living conditions at various points in his life in Ireland are less than optimal, usually bordering on dismal. His father is an alcoholic that drinks away what little assistance they receive from the government. At one point, they are even ripping up floor boards for firewood for warmth in their tiny apartment. The lavatory for the entire street is right outside their kitchen windows. Again and again, he is rejected for respected positions in his town such as altar boy because of his economic status. Close family members even ridicule him, never forgetting to remind him that he is no better than his drunken father. He does not lose sight of his goal. He is resourceful, he supports his family the moment he is allowed to go to work.

There are so many other wonderful things to say about this book. It is just remarkable the circumstances he is exposed to and the level of responsibility that is placed on him, even as a small child. What touched me the most was the reminder that having a full belly and decent bed to sleep on is a luxury. So far removed from true poverty, many of us are in pursuit of items that are far beyond the title of basic necessity. I know that personally at times I have felt sorry for myself not being able to afford a certain brand or buy an extra TV or piece of furniture for the house. The reminder that this reality is so different from the reality that many many others in the world are facing was necessary for me. This book presents the concept of resilience from a circumstance that is probably unimaginable or unthought of from most American's perspectives. It was a struggle and a joy to read.

Let's go out into the world today and live and appreciate.

Hello Fall

These pumpkin cupcukes can help you experience fall wherever you may be. It is still 90 degrees here most days. I made the pumpkin cupcakes and what happened? Boom, instant fall, right there in my kitchen. Honestly, though, they are very simple, and they taste delicious. The recipe comes from a Real Simple Magazine that came out in Fall 2009.

1 18.5 oz box yellow cake mix
1/2 tsp pumpkin pie spice
15 oz can pumpkin puree
2 8 oz bars cream cheese, softened at room temperature
2 cups confectioners' sugar
24 pieces of candy corn

Heat the oven to 350. Prepare the cake mix as instructed on the box, substituting the amount of water required for the can of pumpkin puree. Line the muffin tins with paper cups, filling each 3/4 full.

Bake for 18-22 minutes, when a toothpick inserted in the center comes out clean.

For the frosting, use an electric mixer to beat the cream cheese and powdered sugar together until creamy. Top each cooled cupcake with the frosting and piece of candy corn. Voila!

The longer I sit here, the more I am thinking about that ridiculous topic on the news about "Toasted Leg Syndrome". Did anyone else here about that? There was a woman that said she spent 5 hours a day or something crazy like that on her laptop. She ended up with this condition. I guess it is similar to a sunburn. It is caused by the heat that the computer generates and blows out the bottom to try to remain cool. I just keep thinking to myself, "Why don't you just find a flat surface besides your legs? If your legs feel hot, move the computer". I think that, and then I realize that my own legs feel a little warm. If end up with Toasted Leg Syndrome I will have to admit that my common sense has expired.

There has been a little bit of mold behind the faucet of my kitchen sink for weeks. I kept saying I was going to take care of it, but it took me awhile to get around to it. By the time I finished with all the day to day cleaning, I would stare at it, and go sit on the couch. I should have received avoidance points. Avoidance points for that, cleaning the oven, and wiping down the top of the refrigerator. Once those things get done, you realize it wasn't so bad, but for me, they are always the chores I stare down, think about, and turn away from. Anyway, the mold problem was so pleasingly simple. I soaked four or five cottom balls in bleach and lined them along the back of the sink. I let the bleach soak in the area for a good 20 minutes. I removed the cottom balls and wiped the surface to reveal a clean and polished looking sink. So very easy.

We are making our way to the beach today for the "Music, Seafood and Wine Festival" at Panama City Beach. R.E.O. Speedwagon is performing as musical guest. I could not be more excited. This time last year Jacob was at SERE for three weeks, so, I am treating all of these events like precious gold. I bought pumpkins at the Commissary for us to carve. Ours sat out on the porch last year, sad and lonely little pumpkins. This fall is a beautiful new season.

Carry on Regardless...

This past weekend I went to a yoga training session in Pensacola, FL. I got up at 4 A.M. or something ridiculous like that to make it there on time. Usually when I travel around this area, the GPS tends to take me on some one lane country highways. During the day, I love these scenic routes, I find them relaxing. When it's still dark outside, it's another story. There are so many deer just standing up at the side of the road looking at you. On the way there, I flipped through some radio stations, settling on something that I felt was upbeat and helpful for keeping me awake. As I start to sing the words, "ah, ha, ha, ha stayin' alive" looking out at the several sets of glowing eyes along the highway, I laugh at the irony. As if that wasn't bad enough, I drove home from Pensacola in the dark as well. I kid you not, the song "Stayin' Alive" came on again and there were just as many if not more deer.

In a reminiscent moment, Michael Bolton's "Said I Loved You but I Lied" was played. I was transported back to childhood in my mother's Ford Topaz when nothing could have separated her from her Michael Bolton cassette tape.

I am feeling a little less than inspired this morning.

1. We have no coffee creamer. There is 1% milk in my coffee and it is nothing short of awful. I sprinkled some cinnamon on top. Now I have cinnamon on top of awful.

2. I am worried about the success of this class I am teaching at 5 in the morning.

The class is early, intended to be a PT option. I have been lucky enough to have two people show up the first day and three show up today. The two mornings I have arrived, I have been a nervous wreck until I've seen some faces. I have been practicing and praying for this opportunity to come along. I just want to make it something good. We don't get a full hour, but I do feel blessed to have the time in there at all. It's just one of those things that I built up in my mind and looked so forward to, and now that it's here, it's not what I thought it would be. It's probably another exercise in patience, another lesson in humility.

Haven't you ever felt like that? I am sure you have. You have all this energy and excitement behind an idea, and it just falls a little bit short of the grand scenario in your head. I guess the most important part is how you carry yourself moving forward. Maybe it's a morning for some Van Morrison "Carry on Regardless".