Legacies

If you've been reading my Facebook status updates at all, you'll know that Noah has taken a very sudden and surprising interest in learning to play the guitar.  The electric guitar, specifically.  Our house has always been filled with music and music runs in the family on all sides.  All the men in Matt's family play at least one instrument and are quite good at it, and in my family, all my siblings and I have played at least one (in most cases more than one) instrument and love to sing.  Our house is filled with instruments, too-- four guitars, an ukulele, a keyboard, a trumpet, and a number of harmonicas.  Surrounded by all this music, and Noah has never once showed a genuine, self-originating interest in playing any of it until now.  Until this past Thursday at the Kaimuki Christmas Parade.

I was just trying to explain to Charlie that it doesn't matter to me whether this evolves into something bigger.  I don't care if he never starts a band or even loses interest in a couple weeks.  What utterly floors me is the genesis of an idea.  Who can explain how Noah found inspiration at the parade?  I've asked him several times, and he has no good answer.  All he can say is that during the parade, he thought about really trying to learn to play his keyboard, but then changed his mind and decided he wanted to learn the electric guitar.  He hasn't said what it was specifically that happened at the parade that made him think about this, and I can't begin to guess, either.   As I've mentioned, plenty of music!  My family frequently has these kanikapila sessions at camps and various other get togethers, charlie and I sing and play together all the time!

My kids' interest in playing guitar plays a bigger role than they can even comprehend right now.  I hope that they continue to learn and grow in music so that they might be able to bridge any gap that may exist between them and Matt's family.  It is their legacy, after all.  Big Durel taught guitar lessons to kids, and his kids picked up the musical torch.  Have you heard of Suplecs?  That's little D's band (they have cds out!  You can also check out their Facebook page if you wanted).  It's hard to explain to someone who hasn't had similar experiences, but it really warms my heart to think that my kids have something in common with the other side of their family that they haven't seen in 6 years.  They have something in common with their dad... whom they haven't seen in 6 years.

It also, of course, touches my black little heart that my kids want to play guitar.  After all, didn't I always fall for the guy who could play the Doors or the Black Crowes on a 6 string?  Didn't I aspire to be one of the few chick musicians when I grew up?  This totally rocks!  Noah has just been picking up a guitar and practicing!  PRACTICING!  Without being told!  You don't know what kind of breakthrough this is for my lazy (it's the truth) son.  I've been waiting so long for him to show genuine interest in ANYthing, and he's doing it.  Other recent interests?  He says he wants to join the cross-country team next year so that he can prepare for high school athletics.  He now CHOOSES to join band again next year.  He chooses to read a book instead of watch tv!

So I write these things down, not to impress my miniscule audience, but so that I can look back and remember the awesomeness of the genesis of this, my son's musical interest.  So that I'll remember that he couldn't wait for Charlie to come home so that he could not only show him how much he's been practicing Crazy Train, but so that Charlie can teach him MORE.  Charlie literally jumps to accommodate Noah's teaching requests because he says he'll take any opportunity to be the hero for the boy, especially when he's nearing the age where he may not want our company at all.  Every day I get teary-eyed when Noah picks up that guitar and practices the opening to that song (the song I've never liked, incidentally, and now hear almost every moment my kids are awake).

And I have the Kaimuki Christmas Parade, held on Thursday, December 1st, 2012, to thank for it.  The very same parade, I might add, that gave Lucy occasion to walk in her first parade and show off her poi ball skills.  The parade where I got to hang with Ami and Maya after such a long time, and where I got to see some old friends I'd not seen in years.  I have much to thank the Kaimuki Christmas Parade for, if only I could wrap my mind around the mind-blowingness of it all.

Thanks For Nothing

While looking a spray can of Halloween hair color:

Me: I wish these things had a picture of the actual hair color on them.

Stranger Lady, pointing to a different row of cans than the one in my hand: The tops of the cans show you the color.

Me: Right.

Charlie: Except this brand, all the caps are black.

Me: My point.

Now, I have three issues with this woman butting in, showing off her point-out-the-obvious muscles.  1- She was wrong.  The bottles we were looking at all had black caps no matter the color of the spray.  So by her indication, the bottle advertising blue spray would be as black as the bottle advertising red spray.  Hmmm.  2-  I HAVE EYES.  And a brain.  I can figure out that the pretty caps indicate the color contained in the can.  3- The cans with the color-indicative caps, I would assume, would look different on your hair than on the bottle cap.  I think the colored caps simply say to the consumer, "I'm yellow" or red or blue or pink.  I don't think they're trying to tell me, "Your hair will look exactly like this color on my cap, " and I care more about how it will look on my head than on the bottle.

And to wrap up our beautiful experience at Longs this afternoon, I believe I was overcharged for a witch hat I bought.  I was really pissed off about it, but decided not to make a big stink over a dollar or 2.  After all, I'm a witch, not a bitch.

An Open Letter to Parents, Guardians, and Other As Written From The Perspective of Another Parent

Dear People,

Please remember that volunteering to chaperone a field trip does not mean "hang out with your child."  If you enjoy spending time as a family at the zoo, theatre, aquarium, etc, might I recommend doing so during your free time.  Field trips enhance curriculum.  What benchmark are you meeting by allowing your child to wander from the group to go buy a soft drink at the snack bar?  Yes, that's what I thought.  You might think it's wonderfully independent of your child to take her thirst into her own hands, and you might be right.  But getting lost during school time in this popular tourist attraction isn't independence, it's trouble.

I would also like to point out that buying a soft drink for all the children in the class doesn't make the situation better.  Not only have you just offended half the other parents, but you may have just creeped out a few, too.  Kudos to you, though, for thinking of everyone and not just your Princess.  More parents should be conscious of the other 4 students in their group so as not to unknowingly misplace them or allow harm to come to them.  The look on your face isn't encouraging-- did you already lose one of those pesky students?  They can be quite tricksy, I know, especially since so many of them are short and stuff.

Which is why we have rules and a written agenda!  Clever, those teachers, eh?  Don't forget to review the schedule prior to leading your group into somewhere NOT found on the map.  Oh, and the indicated time to meet the bus to return to school isn't a suggestion no matter how much time it took YOU to drive the distance in your car just last weekend.

Non-chaperones, I haven't forgotten about you!  I know it's hard sometimes, but could you pretty please not accidentally show up at the field trip?  You just happened to be at the aquarium on field trip day before it was even open to the public, sack lunch and camera in hand?  TERRIFIC!  Unfortunately, we already have an adequate number of parent volunteers and do not need another pair of meddling, I mean HELPING hands.  Also, showing up unannounced (or otherwise) in the middle of the field trip is not the wonderful treat you think it is and can potentially disrupt a perfectly well-functioning learning experience for every student.

I thank you, Parents, Guardians, and/or Other for your understanding.  When in doubt, please employ Common Sense and/or Common Courtesy.  If you have any questions, feel free to delay volunteering until you understand all safety guidelines and expectations.

Sincerely,
Mrs. Please Don't Lose My Kid Or Get Her Hurt

Remember

In looking for old videos and pictures of Keala, I had to fire up my old desktop computer.  Before I bought my laptop in the spring of 2010, I made a backup of my desktop on the external hard drive that Shani gave me.  Before THAT,  I had been making copies of my picture files onto discs.  I deleted some pictures off the computer, but not all.  I couldn't tell you the last time I turned on the desktop, but I thought that today it would be the fastest route to finding these images of Keala.

Not that the computer helped any.  I landed up using Charlie's laptop to browse the photos on the external HD and then discovered that nothing was in order. While I had moved everything onto the HD, I hadn't done it in any meaningful way.  Nothing was organized so I didn't actually find anything with Keala in it, but luckily I had these pictures on my laptop of her at camp 2010.

Had I anticipated the eventual need to dig up old photos, I might have paid more attention the last time I used that computer.  I might have organized the files, I might not have dismantled all its peripherals, and if I hadn't done any of that, maybe I should have at least written some shit down.  Because I had a new computer, because I was more than eager to abandon the old, crappy one, I was less than attentive when I said goodbye  to it.

And there it is, my friends.  Did I know that camp would be the last time I'd see Keala?  I'm a little ashamed to say that I didn't even give it much thought.  Though we weren't friends, we'd met and talked a few times because of Jonah.  She seemed to be an intelligent and kind person.  Strong.  Because we already knew she had been battling cancer and working and everything.  But despite the disease and entirely because of her positive attitude, I assumed we'd see her again.  Then I look at those pictures and I wish I'd paid more attention.  I wonder if I had hugged her goodbye.  I remember sitting around the campfire and talking to her that night after she and Jonah and Josh took the kids crabbing.

Had I been paying attention, I would have hugged her.  I would have said goodbye.  It wouldn't be a blur.  Your rational mind tells you that you'll see your friends/kids/co-worker/terrier again, so you feel a little silly for living in the moment/telling people how you feel.  But nothing's guaranteed, folks.  Just remember.

Be Here Now.

Heroes

I was flipping through a recent issue of The Week magazine.  A blurb about Lea Michele caught my eye, and I read it in its entirety.  Just something about how she's an unlikely success because she wasn't discovered by Disney and because she has that nose.  Good for her, I say!

And then I saw the little column beneath that blurb where Brad Pitt is called a hero because while shooting his latest film, he stopped mid-scene to help a woman (an extra, I believe) who fell from being trampled by other people.  I think the article even mentioned that the woman must have been so surprised to see Brad Pitt helping her up.  Why?  Because he displayed humanity?

That this incident even warrants a couple of paragraphs in a magazine is ridiculous.  A human being acting like a considerate, humane human being?  No way.  I'll bet that only happens every day.  I don't know if the story is supposed to be that Brad Pitt was nice enough to help a lowly non-Angelina Jolie lookalike, or that a person helped *gasp* another person.  I do, however, agree that Mr. Pitt was a hero, but only in the sense that all humanely behaving humans are heroes.  Like the librarians who let me renew books a second time when the policy states a person can only renew once.  Like the woman who gave a stranger an extra 50 cents to pay for her purchases yesterday at the garage sale.   Like the child who runs out to meet the car and asks to help carry the groceries in.  They're all heroes.

Pretty Girl Rock

One of the more fantastic husbandly qualities my husband possesses is his ability to make me feel like I'm the only girl in the world.  Not just the only girl for him, but the only worth being with, worth looking at, worth knowing.  And while I know this to be false (in general, not necessarily for HIM), it can be the most reassuring and lovely feeling especially since it's grounded not in how I look, but WHO I AM.

The other day we were leaving the library when I said that I was glad Lilly cut my hair because the natural waves in my hair give it so much more body and texture.  It makes me feel pretty.  To which my awesome husband did not respond until an inappropriate amount of time passed (he was looking at a book, after all) and he said, "I always think 'pretty' when I look at you." And I believe him.

Charlie hasn't ever seemed to base my beauty in how I look or how much I weigh or what I wear.  There is  a picture I have that was taken of me and Noah just after Noah was born.  I was young and thin and Matt used to say to people who saw the photo, "Didn't Kanani look good?"  Notice the past tense.  A husband shouldn't speak of his wife in such a way, but what was worse to me was that he actually THOUGHT of me that way.

Anyway, this blog is getting away from me.  The important thing here isn't how my husband makes me feel, although that's a wonder all it's own.  It's that I know I need to do that for myself.  My friend Meredith recently posted a blog (to which I hope she doesn't mind me linking) about what we see on the outside and what's going on inside, and it served as another reminder that I should love myself no matter what.  If Charlie, who is obviously not me, can love me for me, why shouldn't I?  No matter the size.  Meredith's blog poses several questions you might ask yourself to perhaps remind yourself that the exercise is more than the vanity of looking good.  It's about getting healthy and feeling better as a whole. And though the small, most insignificant part of my brain wants so badly to be skinny again because it equates skinny with looking good and being loved and accepted by others, I really just want to be healthy.

But even beyond that, I wish I could love and accept myself exactly as is.  I wish it were just and only about being healthy and having a more active lifestyle.  It should be about the quality of my character.  It should be about how well I love others and how I can help to make life better for all of us, even if on the small but totally relevant level of family and not necessarily the world.  I am, after all, still me no matter the size of my shorts.  I still matter no matter what store I shop at.  It's not that I'm suggesting that I should never challenge myself.  What I'm suggesting is that the reasons matter sometimes more than the outcome.  That perhaps a cadre of questions similar to those Meredith poses should be created to measure how accurately we see ourselves and love ourselves, as is.  And maybe those questions, and the eventual questions your answers will raise, are equally important in gauging our ideas of personal fitness.

I'll Do It Myself!

My nephew says his version of that all the time.  It usually comes out something like, "I do it!" or "I dood is myself!"  But he's 3 and learning to exercise his independence, and I kind of expect that to dwindle in the near future.

Only to be picked up again by the time he's Noah's age.  Enter first major project of middle school.  Not only does he have to write his lab report, he needs to do research, create (or find) an appropriate experiment, DO the experiment TWICE, create a graph, then analyze his data.  And he's being stubborn.  Kids will do as little as they can possibly get away with, but they often overestimate that limit.  You don't think I'll notice that you don't understand what you wrote?  Fermentation?  Leavening?  How should I know those are important terms?

So, he's dragging his feet.  A large part of his research came not from the internet, but from books I borrowed for him from the library.  That's where he found the experiment upon which his is based, and that's where he learned about the need for a control group.  But after a particularly frustrating patch, he yells at me, "Fine!  I'll do it myself!" So, like any mature adult, I replied, "Okay, then give me back my library books!"

That'll show him, right?  That'll teach him to mess with the bull.

As you can imagine, I don't feel triumphant.  I feel petty.  Charlie's response to Noah's outburst was, "That's what you're supposed to be doing, anyway!"  And he's right.  It's because I'm "helping" that Noah is relying so heavily on me.  I'm doing more showing than guiding, which is usually fine in very small amounts, but I'm not doing him any favors today.

The books are now lying in a heap on the floor of the living room and Noah's hiding in his room.  I don't know what he's doing or what he could possibly be doing without these books or a computer, and I'm DYING to find out.  But I need him to approach me, not only to admit he was wrong and apologize, but to also give him an actual chance to do it on his own.  He might just surprise me.

I Remember

I've been upending boxes, rifling through closets, and stuffing garbage bags in an effort to clean out my space and get rid of my paid-for storage space.  Throwing my own stuff out has been remarkably easy, which is especially surprising after having held onto most of them for years.  I'm talking here mostly about my clothes that I SWEAR I'll fit into again but haven't thus far.  I took a look at them yesterday and literally blurted out loud to no one I could distinguish, "If I lose all this weight, why the fuck would I want to wear THIS shit!?"

It's like a woman I work with who can be seen sporting the same styles she first thought was cool over 10 years ago.  I can think of a few good reasons to keep wearing something so old.  After all, I still have the corduroy blazers I inherited from my dad's 70s wardrobe that I personally wore through high school.  I own and wear socks that are older than my children!  But then again, my wardrobe has always been a little quirky, so maybe that doesn't count.

But then I've also come across some of my kids' things-- like Noah's school work for 1st grade at Pearl Ridge Elementary School.  It's so funny.  I read a lot of them out loud, and we all had a good laugh at his misspellings and art work.  Did you know he wrote a paper about going to see the Bulls play a game and even named a couple of players?  I don't know where that came from, but it's pure fiction.  I just don't know how he knew those names!

And while it's so cool to look upon the past and laugh at our foibles, smile affectionately upon fond memories, and maybe find encouragement in seeing how far we've come, I realize that I don't care too much for holding onto unnecessary junk anymore.  I have 10 bags filled with clothes (not all mine!), books, and handbags to prove it.  

What I've also realized is that I horde my love for people like precious jewels.  I might not show it all the time, I probably don't express it as often as I should, but you should all know that I feel so awesomely blessed to have you all in my life.  I know some totally super cool people who possess a wide range of talents-- musical, lyrical, spiritual, or otherwise.  You all have something I envy and admire.  Those I hold in highest regard, I must admit, are those who seem to effortlessly ooze love and joy to those around them.  There are people I know who are so warm and sincere and whose verbal or written contact can feel like a hug or gentle caress; the briefest interaction bears the fullness of authenticity and singularity.  

So saying, please come to our garage sale on Saturday and share in my heritage.  Just about everything I'm selling will be priced at $.25.  Help me say goodbye to the crap that's weighing me down (in the form of amassed junk in corners, boxes, and closets), and remind me again why I love being in your presence :).  

The Difference Between Pizza and Ice Cream

In the fall of 2003, I made a near-cross country road trip with my two small children, my mom, and step-dad.  We travelled from Uncle Bobby's house in Alameda, California all the way to Lawton, Oklahoma which would be our home for at least the next 9 months.  Before I left Hawaii that summer, I picked up three remarkable cds that have been my steady companions ever since-- Go Jimmy Go's "Soul Arrival", Jack Johnson's "On and On", and Pepper's "Kona Town".  (For the record, I also bought Natural Vibes' "The Circle" that summer, too, and listened to it almost incessantly on the road trip)

It's hard now to look back on those days in Oklahoma without also associating them with that soundtrack.  I can see myself driving to pick up Noah at pre-school and listening to "Stormtrooper" on the way.  I remember listening to even more Pepper on the drive home from anywhere, driving past the Electric Cowboy, the car wash, and the drive-through smoke shop, singing, "I don't mind taking lives I find..."

And though one of our neighbors in OK had become close friends of mine from our time spent in Washington state, and though one of Matt's cohorts was married to a Filipino woman from Hawaii, I felt incredibly lonely and alone.  I grew to rely heavily on Jenna and May for support and companionship.  The goodness of Clay and Garth helped me to keep sight of myself.  And Chris gave me a gift that, had it not been given, may not have readied me to ultimately leave my marriage.

So when I hear anything from my soundtrack of the fall of 2003, I think of them.  But I do not think of May's unfortunate (but totally predictable) betrayal, and I certainly don't dwell on the all-encompassing cloud of uncertainty and deceit.  I remember that at that time, Chris was alive and the world held at least one more decent and loving person.  The world-- MY world, especially-- was better because people like Chris were a part of it. People like Jenna and Clay and Garth and Kevin.

Thinking of Chris and his untimely passing inevitably makes me sad.  I still miss him and I still sometimes cry.  But sometimes I get lucky as I was today.  Sometimes I will hear a song from that time and it will make me happy.  It will make me joyful that there was a time at all, however brief, when Chris was alive and he was also happy.  It reminds me of how thankful I am to have found that pocket of joy in such an unhappy place.  How blessed I was to have such a strong support group-- not only to bolster my strength and resolve, but to challenge me to be a better person for it.

All of which leads to exactly where I am today.  And though I wish with all my heart that Chris hadn't died, I do not regret my world for it.

64 Slices of Cheese

We had this ridiculous bake sale last night as part of Kahala School's `Ohana Night, you wouldn't even believe.  Full loaves of bread and cakes, cookies, brownies, mochi, fudge bars, smores on a stick, freshly baked cinnamon rolls- it was AMAZING.  So amazing, in fact, that I experienced an involuntary physical response to Mrs. Ikehara's Giant Chocolate Chip Cookie.  It was very Homer Simpson-like, minus the drooling.  My jaw dropped, my mouth agape, my throat uttered very primal, guttural noises.  I might have been embarrassed, especially with all the ladies around me laughing, but I think of it as a compliment to not only Mrs. Ikehara, but for all the lovely bakers who inundated my face with chocolate chip cookies.

Way Past Due

I guess I can't complain about being unfriended in Facebook when I can't even remember the name of the person who unfriended me.

More Than Words

I want to tell you about how much I love the beach.  Sort of.  I don't want to get deep or wordy or write a 20 stanza poem about the beach.  I just have to remind you all that you should spend more time relaxing and less time stressing.  You may not decompress at the beach.  For you, it might be the gym or the track or grandma's house, but whatever it is, do it more often!

I am so freaking blessed to live in this neighborhood that is perfectly located in Honolulu.  It's only a 5 minute bike ride to the beach, zoo, and aquarium, and an even shorter bike ride to the park.  We live in an  old community with lots of history, but we're close enough to the university to increase diversity.  We have Thai restaurants, non-denominational (read: not Starbucks) coffee shops, bike shops, and parks.  Bars, tattoo shops, supermarkets, Hawaiian restaurants, a poke shop, and a library.  Now, I love all those things and I love the diversity, but when it comes down to it, I'm most thankful for the close proximity to the beach.

I also have to say that I'm thankful that Charlie's FINALLY taken a real shine to the beach, too.  He was a reluctant visitor for a few years to the point of ridiculousness.  I mean, he's from FLORIDA!  Hello!  But now, after we've both had a hard day, that's where we turn.  Together.  That's amazing, too, that we can do it together with the same intent.  Now, I can't tell you what it is really, though I know I've tried before.  You've read about the buoyancy and the feel of the hot sun, and maybe that's all it is.  But when I'm at the beach and I try to pinpoint what it is, it doesn't FEEL like it's the sun or salt water.  It feels like home.  It feels familiar.

If you've seen me recently, you know I'm pretty overweight.  In fact, I'm the heaviest I've ever been in my life, and though I'm working on getting fit, I'm still a big woman.  I should be uncomfortable at a beach, at Waikiki Beach, where there are not only hot chicas covering the shore, but hot bods from all over the world.  Am I cowed?  Not a bit.  Which doesn't make sense except for that no matter what, the beach feels like its my space.  Oddly enough, I don't feel fat at the beach.  I don't feel insecure.  I feel strong and vibrant and whole.  I'm at ease.  I belong.

And maybe that's why it's where I go to feel good.

You're Perfect, Yes, It's True

I've recently come to the realization that I'm in my mid-30s.  Smack dab, right in the middle.  On May 30, 2011, I made 35 years old.  I think it was fully realized when, at my yearly check-up at the OBGYN two months ago, he said, "Get a mammogram in the next 2 years."  Wha??  Who??  I'm the age at which health concerns start edging in and calling attention to themselves.  And because I was never really a health-conscious person, my door is now falling in from all the pounding.  My body is telling me to take better care of it, and I've been slow to listen.

Some of you may know that I quit smoking back in March after having been a smoker for about 5 years.  I started to worry about my general well-being because I was having difficulty breathing.  Charlie said my snoring was TERRIBLE as a smoker, and of course I stank.  After one night of being completely convinced I was going to have a heart attack, I quit, cold turkey.  I wrote a drawn-out essay over the first few weeks of quitting, and I'll post that at some point, but to make a long story short, my reasons for quitting were simple: I wanted to live.  Having decided that, quitting smoking was as simple (never easy) as choosing to live every time I wanted to light up.

Shortly after I quit, I started exercising.  My daily walking goal was 10,000 steps, I started bicycling, I gave up soda (more or less).  When I couldn't walk, I'd do a few vigorous rounds of Wii Sports with my kids or take my bike down for a ride around Kapi'olani Park.  We visited the beach often.  But as summer began, I slowly stopped exercising.  It wasn't too bad at first because I was doing hula twice a week and riding bike more often.  Then hula ended, school began, and now I do nothing more than ride my bike to the beach maybe once a week.

And I began to feel anxious all over again about my health.  It's entirely possible that my breathing concerns lately are purely fictitious concerns of a taxed and over-worked mind.  My doctor today ran a couple of tests and a bunch of blood work, all of which show that everything is as it should be.  She stressed more than once that nothing is wrong with my lungs or heart.  The echo and stress test are precautions, says she, because I was a smoker.

It's not even that I have reason to think something's wrong other than the fact that I'm overweight and was once a smoker.  My test results always come back normal, I eat a variety of healthy foods, I don't do drugs, and I'm in reasonable athletic condition so that when I go hiking, I'm not winded.  When I ride my bike uphill, I'm not dying.  I'm just worrying myself because I'm middle-aged.  That's my theory.

And I'm gonna start exercising again tomorrow.  I swear it.

From This Lostie

It's done.  After about a month and a half, I am finally done watching all 121 episodes-- 6 seasons!-- of Lost on Netflix.  And now that it's actually over, I'm not quite sure what to do with myself.

The journey itself was like a visit from a new friend-- exciting, fresh, and surprising.  Having watched the series long after most everyone else, I knew to pay attention because questions and mysteries could possibly lead to some startling revelations (which was half the show, of course).  I tried to prolong it as best I could, but Lost being such an unusual and charming friend made it hard to stay away.  

I found the ending satisfying, if not predictable.  I think I kind of figured out what the side-timeline was before they actually revealed it, but even as I expected it, I was still disappointed in the whole intimation at religion.  They're in a church which starts off looking Catholic... and then looks Baha'i... which still alludes to religion.

But I digress.  After we were pau with the last episode, Charlie and I looked up some websites that some disgruntled Losties vented about their disappointment with the finale.  I find I don't share the same issues, and I credit being a long-time lover of fantasy fiction as the reason.  You learn that you just have to chalk some occurrences up to "well, it's a fantasy" because a lot of fantasy fiction share the same anomalies that the reader assumes in all those realms to be completely true.  You don't ask why this planet, for example, has 3 moons, you just accept it as a foreign planet.

My boss and Mark both lead me true when they said most of the big questions will be answered and the last 5 minutes kind of suck.  What were the polar bears about?  Some kind of DI experiment, right?  I don't really care.  What about the pregnant women dying?  Minor plot line, I lost interest in that long ago when there were no more pregnant women to think about.

I want to know what happened to Desmond.  I loved him, by the way.  He was one of my favorite characters through the whole thing-- sincere, selfless, loving, and smart.  But Jack tells him to go home to his wife and son, they talk about figuring out how to get him home, but you don't know if he actually leaves!  And why did Desmond have to go down only to be sent back up again by Jack?  Desmond was right, you know. He could have put the stopper back without any repercussions (his immunity and all), and they both could have lived.

I am troubled by their so-called international cast where all the black people were basically murderers.  Well, okay, Walt doesn't actually kill anyone.  To my knowledge, anyway.  And Sayid?  Let's make sure we further facilitate the idea that men from the middle East are torturers and murderers!  And while we're talking about characters, I didn't like any of the women, either.  Sun was the closest thing to a woman I liked, and that was because she didn't really say or do as many stupid things as the other women AND Sun created the garden.

The other thing that troubles me is not so much the incompletion of certain story lines, it's that some were perhaps too ambitious.  Good vs. evil?  What the french?!  The end of the world if Jacob's nameless brother got off the island?  WHY? Says who?  I was actually kind of rooting for him by the end.  I felt bad for him!  He's not supposed to leave, but no one ever told him why.  But that all went away when Desmond pulled the stopper out of the sink and Kate shot him.  Oh, and Jack kicked him over the cliff.

Anyway, that's all I got time for right now.  I would love to hear what you have to say about the series and its finale.  Please share!

What a Little Bit Can Do

It has been a challenging week, both at work and at home.  I can't remember another time when I concluded a lesson before it was done, but I did that on Tuesday.  The worst part about that was I couldn't vent to my husband because he wasn't there!  Him working night shifts SUCK!

And so it is that I'm reminded how powerful little things can be.  Such as a pair of headphones and the ocean.  Submersing myself in the Pacific Ocean has always been a source of comfort for me, especially since I've had children.  The warm, salty water provides buoyancy and the illusion of weightlessness.  I indulge in the ritual (that I otherwise hate) of applying sunscreen to the backs of my children and husband.  I revel in the feel of the hot afternoon sun upon my face and shoulders.  The crash of the waves serves to block out all other sounds-- like kids bickering-- but also makes it so that there's no bickering, anyway.

So on my walk to get coffee before work the next day, I fondly think back on my trip to the beach like I would think on a recent encounter with a new lover.  It was amazing and memorable and still surprising.  While I'm reminiscing, I'm also listening to my ipod and Sublime's "5446/Ball and Chain" comes on, and I am further relaxed.  It surprises me, too, because I didn't realize how loud the music was, and it was pleasant because the song itself reminds me of good times.

On the melodramatic side, it kind of makes me want to cry.  Forgetting these simple joys is SO easy.  TOO easy.  Also too easy is filling up my day with stress-- running too many "important" errands, promising too much to too many.  I have to actually remind myself to breathe and count my blessings and enjoy whats been given to me.  Instead of whining about what I don't have or what I have to do, I need to remember why I do them in the first place and fill my daily motions with love and purpose.

Enjoy some Sublime!

My son is not the manliest of sons, and I say this with all the love and pride in my heart.  He is goofy and awkward and sensitive and weird.  The other night when Charlie was at work, Noah, Lucy, and I went through this whole thing because there was a not-quite-dead cockroach in the shower and none of us had bathed yet.  Towel-clad Lucy convinced Noah to take care of it, and he did... with much ado.

When he was 4 and we were living in Oklahoma, it was 1 year-old Lucy who picked up bugs and played in the dirt.  It was Noah who ran in the house to wash his hands.  But my son loves to read and draw and play video games.  He likes to play in the ocean and goes hiking with Charlie.  We ride bikes around town, he walks to the corner store for me to pick up sour cream or a chili packet.  He may not be athletic, but that doesn't mean in any way that he disappoints me, nor does it mean he doesn't sometimes surprise me with his bravery and protectiveness.

An example.

We have 6 bunnies and a couple of them have gotten out of their cages a couple times, and every time they were retrieved, scolded, and put back where they belonged.  Our 6 bunnies sometimes go nuts in their cages at night because apparently they like roaches about as much as I do.  Our neighborhood has been having something of a rat issue in the last year or so, and the rabbits hate them, too.  So one night a few weeks ago they were going especially nuts.  I asked Noah if he was sure he closed the cages good when he fed them earlier and he said he had.  Then he said without hesitation, "I'll go check on them, Mom, just to be sure."  My son, my not manly-man son, went into the dark garage where flying cockroaches and the occasional rat have been known to roam to check on the bunnies.  And he didn't just stick his head around the corner, either.  He stood in front of their cages and checked the latches to be sure.

It's a small thing, but I was so proud of Noah, more proud than when he brought home his last wonderful HSA scores.  He wanted to protect the bunnies even as he hates having to feed and water them twice a day EVERY day.  More than he hates roaches and rats.  I thought of how grown my little boy has become, how mature and strong.  Noah feigns weakness so he can avoid actual labor (and who among us hasn't and doesn't?), but I can count on him to do the right thing.  Usually, anyway.

Not one of us is perfect, but I revel in watching my children grow up and grow into strong human beings.  I love seeing them use their hearts to help people and help themselves.  I'm proud of them.  I'm glad I have the privilege to be a part of their lives.  I'm so happy they're my children.

In General

It didn't take long to notice that the "Note" feature in Facebook was lacking as far as being a substitute for a blog.  I miss blogging.  The FB Note thing is fine and all, but by simply NOT being labeled a blog, a blog is shall never be.

Which leads me to blogger.  That it's a completely different website from FB is already one strike against maintenance because I'm a creature of habit.  I'll just have to squeeze it in if I want to keep this thing updated.

This will be a forum for me to post whatever random thoughts I have about any random thing.  Or event or place or person or group of people.  You can choose to follow or not.  I will sometimes be profane, occasionally insightful, probably boring.  But no one's twisting your arm, you can stop reading at any time. But if you feel so inclined, feel free to drop me a comment!

By the way, did you notice the big letters?  The apostrophes?  Let's see how long THAT lasts...