M.I.A.

Sitting at my desk feeling good that I am getting more done than I had anticipated. It's such a good feeling when the day moves fast and you get a lot accomplished. People are getting help. Work is getting done. All is right with the world.

It generally goes:
Open file-
Remove paper clip.
Move first 3 pages.
Skim police report.
Call victim.

I'm going about this- business as usual. I open the file and toss the paperclip into the 'paperclip basket.'

It then occurs to me that I have never acquired paperclips from office supplies.
All the paperclips I have are a file. They are all a single reported act of violence.


The moment passes for me but for so many it's anything from just another day-in-the-life to the day their life changed. . . .

"I can be changed by what happens to me, I refuse to be reduced by it." -Maya Angelou

Pro-choice, pro-health, pro-active!

I think we all have those memories that we fight to hold close to our heart in the hope that the recall will bring back a joy or peace. I do not think that many of us have the ability to recognize it in the moment and let it happen anyway. Trying to condense that experience into a 'good story' also looses so much in translation but I'm going to try and explain the feeling second to the act.

We made lunch and the food was good but the company was better. The conversation seasons the food with something that makes digestion better. Talking, laughing, working through the latest issue of bullshit and crisis.
Finding ourselves board with nothing we transplant ourselves to the store for some necessary items. Stuff to get before the week pushes us to a place too busy to be bothered with real needs. It's cold and the chatting warms me from the inside out but ever watchful of the dreaded black ice. In case you didn't know- black ice is the most deadly of all the species of ice.
One necessary trip turns into an unnecessary one- we're going north to the Home Goods Mecca, we're going to Ike@. One never knows when the need for 6 steak knives ($3) or 125ct box of tea lights ($1) will be needed.
While I pride myself on downsizing and curbing my impulse buys, I bought a good time in a box! No, not that kinda 'good time,' we got projects! My beloved partner in crime says, "well, I'm getting one- it's only $10." Knowing she had me at "oh that's cute" we burden our already full arms with a candelabra. Doesn't everyone need one?!?
After a trip to the hardware store we found ourselves putting our projects together- giggling all the way! The quick bzzzz bzzzzz of the drill and the masterpiece is mounted from the ceiling with the greatest of ease. Proud and elated with the joy that it brought us in such a short amount of time- we travel on and push through the inclement threat of black ice to her house for the sequel. Drinking our wine and borrowed wine, high on the thrill of a project flawlessly executed. We giggled like school girls and found a good time at an entirely unexpected time.

In trying to translate this story to another friend over dinner, it looses something. It looses the fervor, the thrill of sharing a time with another. Singing our favorite song (at least 26 different times), dancing with our wine glasses, dressing in borrowed prom dresses so as to pay homage to the almighty new candelabra that lit my heart more than the room.

We were trapeze swingers- flying high as any savior.

As assured- more on AmsterDAMN!

I knew that it would be a great experience but I did NOT expect it to cause me to want to be a mother.

When we landed, my luggage was lost and my luggage would protest via absence on more than one occasion. That's fine- the laid-back culture makes it manageable. The first thing I noticed was the language(S). Everything is printed in at least 3 languages. Reminded of the cluster fuck in Farmers Branch (some b.s. about making engl-ish the official language...) and I became frustrated with this sense of entitlement over the stupid things that we Americans seem to have. I found it very easy to pick up bits of the language given that it was everywhere and difficult to understand why we get so irritated at having something (anything!) in even 2 languages. I really want to learn another language now.

After a few days of wandering around such a beautiful aged city- noticing the history was easy, noticing the locals on bikes was elusive. After getting hit by a man on bike- I promptly paid better attention (for at least 15 minutes). Cars give way to peds, peds give way to bikes. Bikes are everywhere! It was unreal- I don't think people bother buying one, they just ride whatever is out there.... The cutest thing was seeing any kid over the age of 5 on their own little bicycletta.

The museums were great- the tight quarters were bearable with friendly people. The children were everywhere. Europe, as I understand it, is far more child friendly than we. It was very interesting to see so many children, strapped to a body or on a bike. In museums, which in my mind are typically uppity white-folks places, kids are present. Coloring on the floor or softly asking questions. Seen and subtly heard. It was very inspiring and empowering but I don't feel like it translates to American. At least not for me, at least not now. I'll still give the reason- I have yet to meet a man- man enough- to make me want to bear babies. Pleasently true.

I'll have a ton more pictures posted to flickr but I thought these were some of the most telling of the trip. I wish so much that I could have bottled up the sense of calm and brought it back with me. There are so many great things- communal seating in restaurants, multiple languages, time-honored culture, coffee-shops, pleasant people, history. . . I guess the t-shirty will suffice.

It is the typical 'Dallas' question and it seems that no matter how long I have done what I do, I always want to dodge the question.

So, what do you do?

Generally I say, "Ah, as little as possible." Or I come up with something more whitty like I'm a professional shoulder to cry on or I herd cats- yeah, that's why I have tuna in my pocket.

So, I'm reminded of my ongoing list of cheap thrills.

Compliments are an ever illusive concept to grasp. I don't know where it came from and I am on a mission to get there. Comments favoring my appearence or skill seem to always warrant an excuse from me. In the event someone states that 'that sweater' or 'those earings' look nice produce an automatic reaction to state how little I paid for it or how "these? these are a million years old, but thanks." I truly appreciate when someone gratiously accepts a compliment. I was was with a friend the other day and we stopped into this super-cute little shop. Mom ran the place and daughter makes jewelry. I said as we were leaving that I thought that was really neat and I wish them all the best. She, a woman in her 50's (ish) looks at me, smiles, and with poise says that she appreciates my time and softly says 'thank you.' I don't really remember if the stuff was that cute, I know I didn't buy anything- of course that's not saying much.

I remember that I felt her true gratitude for my comment and an elegance in taking it without excuse. It was lovely.

I hope that the future finds me comfortable with a lot of things- while still uncomfortable with some... mysogyny, injustice, inequity, high-heals, thongs... I hope to find that place where I can take kudos with as much poise.

Here's to taking what you get, when you get something truly kind.

I will (pinkie swear...) post about the trip- later.
-What trip? Only the trip of a lifetime!!! TO AMSTERDAM! It was a blast.

. . . but, for now- the new year begins.
Finally home from a daunting -almost- 24 hour trip back to this side of the planet, left me feeling tired. In spite of the fact that I slept most the way, I like that it was termed travel decompression depression.

I hope that the new year brings a greater sense of awareness for what really is around me. I see the bad, even through the persistent shade of denial. I get the gratitude, in subtle ways. What I want is the ability to apply it to my life!

In biting my tongue with the AA baggage claim personal, it occurred to me---
Wait- why are you on the phone with baggage claim.
Because my luggage- JUST LIKE ME- had no desire to return. So the luggage landed in London and I pushed through.

So it occurs to me that I'm upset because the luggage is in London.
1- this sounds like the complaint of Paris or Lindsey's... not me!
B- I wanted to be with the bag, I had luggage location lust!
In turning the unfortunate mishap of not getting my bag into a fun game of gratitude, I giggle a little to myself now when I think that... oh yeah, my stuff's not with me because I got the opportunity to take the trip of a lifetime!

I felt welcomed into the experiences of my own life- it's cute!