moments ii

A couple of weeks ago I was driving on 55 South. I approached what I can only assume was a recent accident. An overturned vehicle was on the side of the road. The driver’s legs were hanging out of the window. I had never seen anything like it.

“Moments” I thought to myself as I turned off the radio. I drove the rest of the way in silence.

I sat with that experience, mainly because I wanted to see if my thoughts about it would change after time...nope. There will be moments when we realize that it is too late, that the opportunity has passed us.

My aunt had every chance in the world to spend time with my grandmother during the final years of her life. For some reason unbeknownst to me, she never capitalized on that opportunity. She never did anything until it was too late. It was only after my grandmother was confined to a bed in a nursing home that she started to visit her regularly.

Part of me wonders how much of this was out of genuine compassion.

Part of me wonders how much of this was out of guilt.

Be smart. Spend time with the people who love you. The experiences that you share with them are the most valuable gifts you can give them.

Come on Irene

Hurricanes on a first name basis...

According to the Atlantic Oceanographic and Meteorological Laboratory (AOML) the first use of a proper name for a tropical cyclone was by an Australian forecaster early in the 20th century. He gave tropical cyclone names after political figures whom he disliked. By properly naming a hurricane, the weatherman could publicly describe a politician as 'causing great distress' or 'wandering aimlessly about the Pacific.'

Later, during World War II, US Army Air Corp and Navy meteorologists named Pacific storms after their girlfriends or wives, just like pilots had done with their fighter planes

From 1950 to 1952, tropical cyclones, including hurricanes in the North Atlantic Ocean, were identified by the standard radio names (Able, Baker, Charlie), but in 1953 the US Weather Bureau switched back to women's names. Then, in a politically correct move in 1979, the WMO and the US National Weather Service (NWS) added men's names.

Choosing names for cyclonic events, like hurricanes, that are potential international disasters takes the work of an international group. A committee of the World Meteorological Organization approves names for these storms. There are six lists of hurricane names. The names are reused every six years. Variations are made to the list only in the event of a particularly devastating hurricane. In that case, the name will be removed from the sequence. Katrina, for example, has been retired.

Here is the list for the 2011: Arlene, Bret, Cindy, Don, Emily, Franklin, Gert, Harvey, Irene, Jose, Katia, Lee, Maria, Nate, Ophelia, Philippe, Rena, Sean, Tammy, Vince, and Whitney.

my road

It was a beautiful day...sunny, warm, but not too humid. I refer to these days as “Montana Days” because they remind me of summer time in Helena.

Coffee in hand, I hopped online and made my morning rounds. Many people on facebook were commenting on the gorgeous weather. I paused for a moment of thankfulness, never forgetting how fortunate I am.

I worked for ten years on a longitudinal research study at Temple University. My position was eliminated at the end of data collection and I became one of the VERY many unemployed. It wasn’t exactly the best time to lose my job, but then again, when is?

I spent the first couple months trying to figure out the direction in which I wanted to take my career. Then I thought about whether or not I even wanted a career at all. I’ve never been overly ambitious when it comes to work, never envisioned myself behind a desk or in a 9 to 5 job. The amount of money in my paycheck is of little significance to me.

I picked up a summer job at a ropes course. It paid $10 an hour, but I went to work every day with a smile on my face. Through the fall and winter months, I sent out countless resumes, which got me nowhere. Then one day I received a call about a research position that was opening at Temple. The study was similar to the one I had previously worked on; the only caveat was that it was part-time.

It was feasible. I accepted the position. Working twenty hours a week is right for right now. It affords me the flexibility to do things that most people daydream about while they are sitting at their desk.

It was a beautiful day. I hopped in my wrangler, top down and popped in a Van Morrison CD. Then I drove to the shore and walked on the beach. I played pinball and ate pizza. I took the long way home, thankful for the road that I was on...my road.

Kafka

I don’t particularly enjoy reading. Maybe it’s the fact that I am a perpetual student and have had no choice but to read numerous textbooks and journal articles. Maybe it’s the fact that I have the attention span of a goldfish.

I’ve done well with short stories and memoirs. Books like Naked (David Sedaris) and Running with Scissors (Augusten Burroughs) have kept me engaged, one a chapter at a time.

A couple months ago I was talking to an academic. At the end of our exchange, she commented on the existentialist nature of my thoughts and beliefs. So, I looked it up...enter Franz Kafka (one of the first literary authors important to existentialism).

I picked up a copy of “Franz Kafka: The Complete Stories." I’m working on it, slowly, but frequently find myself at the end of the page, wondering what the hell I just read. Perhaps this is a contributing factor...

Some sources have claimed that Kafka possessed a schizoid personality. His work, they claim, not only in The Metamorphosis, but in various other writings, appear to show medium to low-level schizoid characteristics which explain much of his surprising work.

"The tremendous world I have inside my head. But how [to] free myself and free it without being torn to pieces. And a thousand times [I'd] rather be torn to pieces than rather it in me or bury it. That, indeed, is why I am here, that is quite clear to me."

a thousand words

The clock read 1:30AM. The clock read 2:30AM. I rolled over, convinced that my body was in a battle with that clock. It was almost as if it wanted to say “If you intend on waking me up at 4:30AM then you got another thing coming to you. I’ll just stay awake. Take that.”

And it was 4:30AM before I knew it. And it was dark.

I entered the kitchen and poured some coffee. My bag was already packed. I jotted down a few notes on a piece of paper (my GPS and trail map) and headed out the door.

There was a stack of unmarked cds in the glove compartment. I randomly selected one and inserted it into the cd player. When the first song (Even the Streets by Matt Wertz) played, I knew exactly what would follow...and I allowed myself to remember, which is something that I try not to do.

I arrived at the parking lot shortly after 7AM. There were two cars parked in the lot. I laced up my vasque breeze trail shoes and packed my yellow camelbak fourteener, which included an extra pair of socks, trail mix, an apple and my scarpa boots, just in case I had a change of heart after a few miles. I have learned from experience that dry, comfortable feet can make or break a hike.

I walked across the parking lot toward the (steep and rocky) red dot trail. It was 7:15AM and I was excited about the prospect of being the only one on the trail. The last time I completed this hike was in November. At the time, I was dealing with several health issues, which made for a difficult climb. All of those problems have since been resolved and I am healthy for the first time in nearly three years. I am very thankful for that.

After reaching the summit of Mount Tammany, I briefly followed a blue trail, which lead to a fire road that followed the ridge. It was overgrown (as in knee high grass) and wet (as in my shoes and socks were soaked).

As I walked, I took it all in...the sights, the smells, the sounds.

I saw the bluest bird I had ever seen. When I reached for my camera, it flew to another branch, as I turned it on and zoomed in, it flew to another branch, almost as if to taunt me. Unfortunately, I didn’t get a picture, but I did find out that it was an indigo bunting.

Two deer crossed my path, which scared the shit out of me and I talked to them until they were out of my sight. It made me realize how vulnerable I was out there, alone, on the trail.

It smelled really really good. At first, I didn’t think anything of it, but then I started to look around and realized that I was walking through patches of blueberries.

Walking for what seemed like forever, I became nervous as to whether or not I was going the correct way. What if I wasn’t on the fire road? Just then, a weathered sign that read “heli-spot” appeared to my left. I breathed a sigh of relief, knowing that I must be on some kind of trail.

Not too long after that I saw the turquoise trail (personally, I think that is kind of a random color for a trail blaze) and turned left onto it. That trail took me off the ridge and down into a wet, rocky area, which crossed over a stream and went back up. It was there that a small, orange lizard came one step away from meeting his demise. Lucky for him, I had looked down at the precise moment our paths intersected.

The turquoise trail was narrow, rocky and overgrown (but not as bad as the fire road). I followed it until I reached Sunfish Pond. I had not seen a single person yet, but could hear voices in the distance and met with two hikers at the intersection of the Turquoise and Appalachian trails.

I encountered several more people who were heading north on the Appalachian Trail. One man took a moment to chat with me. He was in the process of hiking a section of the trail, but said that he had hiked it in its entirely several years ago. I told him about my upcoming trip to Maine and asked whether or not I’d see any thru-hikers completing their journey at Katahdin. He said that it would only be possible if someone had gotten an early start.

The Appalachian Trail hugged the shore of Sunfish Pond and brought me to my favorite spot on the hike.

Just past this section, there was a large area of trees that had burned in a forest fire last summer. The burned forest sat to the right of the trail for the remainder of my walk around Sunfish Pond, where I met two men who had just arrived via the Dunnfield Creek trail. This was the trail I had intended on taking back to the parking lot. I changed my mind after they told me about the knee deep stream crossings they had encountered.

I continued south on the Appalachian Trail, politely saying “hello” to several other people along the way who were making the trip to Sunfish Pond. I always shake my head a little bit when I see people carrying a single, small bottle of water or wearing completely inappropriate hiking attire.

When I returned to the car, the parking lot was full and people had started making their own parking spots wherever they could find them. I grabbed a change of clothes and entered the not so clean port-o-potty. After a quick stretch, I hopped back in the car for the ride home. The coffee in my travel mug was still warm. I took the long way, on scenic country roads, which felt miles away from the places I see every day.

They say that a picture is worth a thousand words. These are my thousand words.

F.A.Q. (The Remix)

Q: What kind of shoes are those?

A: Vibram Five Fingers.

Q:Where did you get them?

A: REI

Q: Are they comfortable?

A: Yes, they are comfortable. I would not wear them if they were uncomfortable.

Q: Do you run in them? What are they for?

A: Well, personally, I don’t run in them, but there are people that do. I wear them mainly during weight training, to strengthen my feet and improve proprioception.

Q: My husband has a bad back. Do you think those would be good for him?

A: I don’t know and I don’t care. Can I get back to my workout now?

Q: I have flat feet. Do you think I could wear those? Do they have any support in them?

A: I don’t know. I have high arches and they feel fine on me. Can I get back to my workout now?

Q: I bet they’d be really good for running in the sand. Did you try those out on the beach yet?

A: No, I think if I had sand filling the toe pockets of these things it would be quite uncomfortable. Can I get back to my workout now?

rollin' on thirties (millimeters that is)

The Start

Half way point

Family Photo

Post-Ride Recovery

Yeah, it was a good day.

sequence

The cardio equipment at the gym faces the parking lot. On long interval days I have a decent amount of time to kill so I tend to notice things...

A woman rolls into the parking lot in a large SUV...the SUV idles for several minutes, and then she puts the driver’s window down...she sits in the car for several minutes, smoking a cigarette...the cigarette is finished and the butt is thrown out the window...she reaches for her inhaler and takes a puff, pauses, then takes another puff...the window is put up and she gets out of the vehicle...she enters the gym for a cardio workout.

Yeah, that makes sense to me.

Resiliency

Six months ago, I lost my best friend.

It hasn’t gotten any easier. The first few sunny days of spring made me sad to the point where I couldn’t even go outside to enjoy them because those were the days when we’d play until the sun went down.

There are mornings when I wake up thinking it was still just a bad dream.

There are nights when I wake up because the dreams haunt me.

I have discovered a new passion in cycling. And, for once, I can understand how it can be used as an escape. In fact, I’ve found it quite ironic that the only time I am able to forget everything is when I am on my bike.

Over the past six months, my path has crossed with so many good people. It is amazing how when one door closes, another one opens. I can’t help but feel fortunate, like someone is looking out for me.

Someone whom I’ve shared my story with called me resilient. I suppose that is a compliment, but I know no other way to be.

just a few things

This is the reason why a quick trip to Trader Joe's can go from $16 to $68...

commentary on commentary

My flight from MCO to PHL was delayed last Monday evening. Thankfully, the Orlando airport has free wireless. I fired up my netbook to help pass the time. Having spent the weekend out of town, I decided to check the local news. I came across an article about a “flash mob” that took place in Center City (Philadelphia) on Friday night.

The thing that I found interesting wasn’t the article itself, but the reader’s comments that followed:

“These crimes committed by minors will end the day a judge docks $200 a month from the welfare check of the perp's mother. When a child's misbehavior is made to hit the parent's pocket, suddenly the parents pick up the job of teaching the little devil how to behave in public.”

“The black man is having difficulty gaining the white man's trust. Sucker punching defenseless white women, dropping out of school, fathering numerous children and supporting none of them and committing violent crime at nearly 10 times the national average will go a long way to help alleviate that. Why are so many black kids acting exactly as the racial stereotype white racists have of them?”

“My idea is simple - start a program to pay young girls and boys to get sterilized. It won't help the problem now, but if we can prevent more unwanted children from being born, maybe we can save the future. This all boils down to people who shouldn't have kids having them.”

Comments like these were followed with feedback from other readers, many in support of what was being said.

I realize that everyone is entitled to his or her own opinions, but wow...some of the stuff being said was just scary.

Of course, all of the posts were somewhat anonymous in that they could not be linked to an individual, just a screen name/alias like “phillymom.” It seems pretty easy to hide behind a computer and say hateful things. I wonder how many people would be saying these things if, after their comment they were required to give their full name.

From 04462 to 33859

Last weekend I was supposed to go to Maine. I had been planning the trip to Baxter State Park to hike Mt. Katahdin for over a month.

On Wednesday night, I spoke to a close friend who had some bad news about her health. She said that the doctor wanted to bring her in immediately for a medical procedure. It was to take place on Monday morning. She was nervous. She was scared. She was alone. The only two friends she felt comfortable enough to accompany her were both busy on Monday. I told her that I would be there if it weren’t for my trip.

On Thursday morning, my hiking partner left work with a sinus cold, which got progressively worse as the day went on. Because of a heart condition, she was unable to take any medication for it. On Thursday evening, our trip was canceled.

Immediately, I hopped online and booked a flight to Orlando on US Airways. I was greeted at the airport with a warm smile and a hug. We didn’t do anything extraordinary during my visit, but the time spent together was special. My presence helped to keep her mind off of things.

Looking back, I probably should have made the decision on Wednesday night to cancel my trip to Maine. I’m fortunate that things played out the way that they did. Being there for her was the right thing to do.

letter to no one

It is finally over.

In all honestly, I never imagined that things would go down the way they did, not only losing my best friend, but all of the nastiness that followed. I never intended for any of this to happen. It’s just not who I am.

The truth of the matter is that I didn’t even show up on June 22nd. I never envisioned it going that far. All I wanted was to make sure that things would be in order for June 1st. That seemed to have been taken care of on the 31st of May. I don’t know why it was drawn out for another month.

I never wanted your money. I still don’t. All I wanted was to make sure that this would be over with so I could try to move on with my life. Those four months were a living nightmare for me. Every single day was a struggle. It still is.

It was my decision not to show up on the 22nd. It was my decision to write that check. And, while my choices weren’t understood or supported by many of the people in my life, they were mine to make.

There is not one person that I could share this with that I think would understand. That is why I am writing this letter to no one.

the "what if?" question of the week

There is a game that I like to play with some of my friends. We call it the “what if?” game and it’s usually fueled by our observations of interesting people...but it also could come from a random spark of creativity. For instance, what if you went to use the bathroom at my house and when you shut the door, there were all these hair extensions hanging from a hook on the back of the door?

This week, my favorite "what if?" question came at the Phillies game. I have seen some really bad tattoos this summer (between softball and the gym). The ball park is the perfect place to revel in the misfortunes of others poor (ink) decisions.

Question: What if you hadn’t seen me in a year and we made plans to get together for lunch and I rolled up with a big tattoo on my neck that says, “it is what it is”?

From Urban Dictionary...
It is what it is: Used often in the business world, this incredibly versatile phrase can be literally translated as "fuck it."

Well, taking that into consideration, I guess "it is what it is" isn't all that bad.