Time
Bring your egg in
Last night I had a hilarious conversation with my friends. We were out at dinner, sharing dim sum, and we started talking about working out. Working out led to horror stories about the Jillian Michael’s DVD Ripped in 30. (Most of my friends and I have suffered through it, have you?) Horror stories about trying to do a sit up. “Can you touch your foot? I can’t get past my knee!†More nightmares about the duck walk.
And then one friend mentioned how much she hates the background music. “But I like how Jillian makes up little motivational sayings,†she said.
“Like what?†I asked.
“Like when she says, ‘Bring your egg in,’†she laughed.
“Wait – do you mean ‘Bring your A-game?’†I asked, and we all burst out laughing. For about ten minutes.
I’m still trying to imagine what my friend thought of when she heard “Bring your egg in.†Are we farmers? Was it a jab at us stay-at-home moms who are too lazy to bring in the groceries? What? I don’t know. But it sure did make us laugh.
Now that I’m thinking about it, Jillian Michaels is incredibly motivating. First of all, she’s hot. You know, she follows her own advice. Plus she’s complicated. She’s mean and nice at the same time. She’s reminding you how awesome you are for showing up at the same time that she’s pushing you to work harder than you think you can. She is right there, in your face, kicking your ass. Killing you. She’s right, though, getting out of your comfort zone does make you stronger. It’s not just about getting in shape, it’s about life. Go take responsibility for whatever it is that you want and then go get it.
Go bring your egg in.
Did you know that I used to live on a mountain?
You might not believe it, considering that I now live in the Midwest, in flat Plains territory, where my kids think that the sledding hill is a mountain. Oh, they have no clue.
Way back when, before the kids were in the picture, Geoff convinced me to move to a log home on top of a mountain. We lived in Virginia back then, where there are a few respectable mountains. We had some friends who lived on top of one of them. The first time we visited them was an initiation. We grew up in suburbia. I, for one, had never seen a switchback. Have you? Well, that first time, armed with our friends’ instructions, Geoff finally got to test out the low-four-wheel drive on our new SUV. He was psyched. I was scared – no, terrified – on the way up, and I threatened to get out of the car. But we made it up the four switchbacks, found our friends’ beautiful house, and spent the afternoon admiring the view of the fields below.
Then it came time to leave. Going down the mountain frightened me even more than driving up. We literally could not see the road in front of the car. I’m pretty sure that I kept my eyes closed the whole way down. By the time we reached the main road I was glad that it was all over.
Less than a year later, we bought the house across the road from our friends. We made the decision to move impetuously, for us. We sold our townhouse and bought a log home, and the whole thing happened in just a few weeks. It’s a blur, but I remember that Geoff wanted it and I wanted it for him. I wanted it for us. It was the beginning of a six-year-long adventure.
That first day, that afternoon when I followed the moving truck from tidy suburbia past the horse farms, past all signs of civilization, to our new home in the woods, I took a deep breath as I reached the bottom of the mountain. I was scared but I did it anyway. I can clearly remember the adrenaline rushing through my body as I steered the car up those switchbacks. I reached the mostly flat gravel road at the top. I drove slowly, the view my prize for risking my life. Then, just like that, I was home.
We lived in that home until our daughter turned one. I drove up and down the mountain hundreds of times. Yet I never got used to it. For years, as I drove the winding road leading to those switchbacks, my heart would race. Every single time those switchbacks made me nervous. Every day the mountain was new to me.
Thanks, Samantha, for inspiring me last week with your post about adjusting to change.
She joins them
Zanna slowed as she neared the crowd. She could hear the flutist playing nearby, and farther off, a group of drummers. The storyteller was elsewhere. An immense woman with grayish, leathery skin and curling locks of white hair draped over her body stood inches from her, and she inched closer until she brushed the woman’s arm. Tilting her head toward her, Zanna caught her attention.
“Oh, my girl, you must be chilled in your thin dress,†the woman wrapped her arm around Zanna. “Let me give you a shawl,†the woman said as she pulled a bright blue knitted blanket from under her tresses. She smiled as she wrapped it around Zanna. “I don’t know you, girl,†she said kindly.
“I am new here,†Zanna answered. “My name is Zanna.â€
“Lovely name, girl,†the woman answered. Her eyes glowed with golden light. “Are you joining us here, then?â€
“I think so,†Zanna answered. “It’s so beautiful here,†she said, noticing the leggy boys ahead of her with their bony, iridescent wings. Might she get to see them take flight, she wondered.
“It is,†the old woman agreed, nodding toward the twin snowcapped mountains towering in the distance. “I will miss this place if today is my day,†she said. “This is a good place.â€
Zanna noticed how warm she felt wrapped in the bright blue blanket, the woman’s wide arms still holding her. She could feel her resolve slipping away. Still a novice, she thought. Still susceptible to experience. She felt the early twinges of disappointment rising in her chest.
The old woman sensed her feelings. “It’s okay, girl. Let’s make a promise. If today is our day, they will remember us in their prayers every Question Day, forever. If it is not, we will remain right here,†she smiled and patted Zanna’s arm.
Zanna nodded at the old woman as she caught a glimpse of the storyteller’s black cloak ahead of them. Her heart lurched.
My Trifecta submission for the week, including the word remember: to keep in mind for attention or consideration.
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Part one
Part two
Part three
Part four
She watches
Zanna noticed him weaving in and out through the lines of creatures. His gleaming black cloak seemed to shift and come alive around him as he moved. He drew her attention as he drew theirs. From her hiding place at the edge of the trees, she glimpsed him. She could not make out the color of his eyes from this distance, yet she could sense their brightness. She couldn’t hear his voice but she could tell that he was speaking. She immediately knew that he was different than the others.
The creatures waiting so patiently to answer the priestesses’ questions were waiting for an opportunity, yes. They were kind and loving to one another, yes. But they were following the rules, doing as was expected. The black-cloaked man moved purposefully, unexpectedly. He seemed powerful yet calm, even playful.
From where she was, Zanna could see how he energized the crowd. She could see him seducing them. She wanted to be among the group, listening, being seduced. She needed to hear him. With him as her guide, she would find the quickest path through this new world. The thought made her almost sad, as she wished she could know each of the fantastical creatures. Yet she felt that she must stay focused on her journey and pass as quickly as possible through each new world. The cloaked man would help her find her next death, she was sure of it.
She gathered up the fabric of her white gown around her and set off running from the bank of trees, the deep yellow leaves crunching under her feet and her long dark hair streaming behind her.
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I think I want to join the military
I like adventure. I want to travel.
I’m not afraid of a little danger. I like to be tested.
I’m good at following directions. I know my place. I respect authority.
I want to help people who need it, and I want to make the world a better, safer place.
I want to be a hero for my kids. I want them to know what I’m capable of.
I want respect for what I do.
I like cold, hard, gritty reality.
I think I’m tough enough to pull it off. What do you think?
If she could do it, so can you
My mom used to be afraid to go out. When I was a kid, until I was eight, she mostly stayed in the house. We lived in a small, suburban apartment, a short walk to a shopping center. We didn’t have a car. When I was really little, the farthest that my mom would go was a fire hydrant that was maybe 100 yards from our door. We used to call it the yellow thing.
“Want to walk to the yellow thing?†my mom would call.
“Yeah,†I’d say and jump up to get my shoes on. I remember being really excited about it.
That went on for years. My mom would need another adult to accompany her to the grocery store, drugstore, doctor’s office, or wherever she needed to go. We didn’t go out much.
Until I was about eight, my mom knew that she had a panic disorder, but I don’t think that she saw a therapist or took any medication for it. I do remember her keeping a jug of wine in the hall closet and having a glass whenever she did have to go out, any time of day.
As a kid, I didn’t think any of that was strange. I didn’t have much comparison, so I just accepted it. I even liked walking to the yellow thing.
One day, out of the blue, when I was about eight, my mom asked me if I wanted to go to Rite Aid to get a candy bar. “Really?†I asked. I couldn’t believe her. I skipped along beside her to the drugstore, practicing my whistling.
A few days later, my mom began seeing a doctor and got a prescription for Xanax. Now I’m not going to lie to you and tell you it was a wonder drug. It wasn’t. She traded her fear of going out for a habit of falling asleep anywhere – on the city bus, at a school assembly, even at the dinner table. I hated it. But my mom’s decision changed our lives. She was suddenly able to take me places – to the mall, to the library, on trips downtown. All of a sudden, my world expanded from the limits of our small apartment.
If my mom were around now, I’d ask her why she decided to change. Did she do it for me? What was it exactly that made her want to be different? What gave her the strength? As a kid, I was thrilled when my mom started venturing out. But now, as an adult and a parent, I can appreciate her choice so much more. It was hard, but she did it anyway. Thanks, Mom, for the great lesson.
Go plant some bulbs
I planted my bulbs yesterday. Luckily I snatched up one of the last few sunny, tolerably cool days left this fall. In other words, perfect bulb-planting weather. I do it every year, and now that the kids are old enough to help me, it only takes an hour or so to plant a few hundred bulbs. Yeah, the soft Midwestern soil helps, too. You can practically dig a hole with a plastic spoon around here.
When I plant my bulbs, I am usually a little sad about wintertime. Winter is hard to look forward to, especially since it lasts for six months here. Planting bulbs is not my last chance to be outside – no, not with three kids. Kids need fresh air and exercise all year, so I find myself outside, at the park, building snowmen, having snowball fights, all winter long. No it’s no longer a last chance, but it is the last time until spring that I spend time outside because I want to.
Planting bulbs is a study in patience. The cold, leaf-covered ground looks like it would rather be left alone. Yesterday was sunny, but it could have just as easily been overcast, even rainy. I still would have been out there, planting. The bulbs themselves are ugly, and confusing – I can never quite tell which side should point up. Once I plant them, and replace the soil, everything looks the same as before I began. Afterward, no one would ever guess that I’d just planted 300 bulbs in the yard.
Then I’m left with a wait. Around here, the earliest bulbs don’t come up until April. That is five long, cold, dark months. All I have to tide myself over is a secret. A new life is overwintering in the snow-covered soil. Chances are I’ll forget all about those bulbs come December. By the time February rolls around it feels like the world will forever be gray. At least around here, winter kind of kills hope.
Sometime around the end of March, I usually find myself drawn outside almost against my will. By March, 30 degrees feels warm, and I can shed my down coat, hat, and boots and have a look around. Usually the kids notice the first green shoots before I do. But there they are, poking up from the muddy garden. It’s awesome.
I tell them to call me Dom
Toss your sweatpants, I tell them. Only keep your sexy things. I want to see you in lacy panties and bra, the fabric straining to contain you. Turn me on, I tell them.
Thirty-three words on my imaginary god of the Buddhist TrÄyastriṃśa. I hear there are 32 more. Go check them out over at Trifecta.
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Now you see it, now you don’t
There’s a chance that Geoff might get fired today. I really wish that I were joking, but I’m not. If you know me, know him, then you probably want to laugh anyway. You’d know how crazy it sounds. Geoff gets promoted, not fired. In fact, he has been promoted twice in three years. You’d know – without me having to tell you – how hard he works and how much he accomplishes. He’s a doer. It’s a challenge to find him not doing something even in his free time. Imagine how much he can accomplish when you throw money into the mix.
If you know Geoff, then you know what a nice guy he is, how agreeable he is. He rarely ever gets angry. It’s one of the things that I love most about him. You’d know that he’s really smart and that he has an uncanny ability to teach himself anything that he wants to know. You’d know that he is an innovator, always thinking of ways to make things work faster, more efficiently, no matter how small.
So, if you knew all of these things about him, would you believe that it would ever be possible for someone to turn all of Geoff’s skills, all of his gifts, against him? Could you believe someone who cast a light in such a way as to make his attributes look like flaws? Would you buy it that he is a liability, not an asset to his company?
Well, it happened.
How, you ask? Well I’m not positive, but I have a suspicion that emotions are to blame. I could go into the gritty details, but I don’t think it really matters. Suffice it to say that emotions are like a magician’s bag of tricks. In one set of hands, a dove flies out of a top hat. In another set, the top hat holds a cloud of gloomy black smoke. It’s a simple illusion, nothing more than a manipulation.
Just remember, not everything is as it seems. I’m half hoping that he does get fired today. Maybe it’s just the kind of motivation that I need to find my way back to the workforce. Maybe we can use the time off and severance money to take a trip. I hear Hawaii is nice this time of year.
Postscript: Geoff just texted me — he’s still employed. Whew. I think.