A Love Affair of Epic Proportions

I spent the biggest portion of this week moving furniture.... tables, chairs, computers, boxes - junk. I moved as much as I could, trying to avoid that elephantine desk of mine and the daunting task of getting it moved across the room. With no help whatsoever, I managed to sidestep that move until everything else was tucked into their new locations. I stood, hands on my hips, wondering how in the world I was going to get that monstrosity across the room. Then it came to me... like a wave of the bibbidy bobbidy boo lady's wand, I realized if I only had something to slip under the desk...hmmmm... it might work.

So, a trip to my local Orange Apron Store rendered these lovely little disks called "Sliders." Not to be confused with the lovely little burgers that come on my plate at the local pub, these Sliders actually PREVENT me from having a heart attack... I bought eight of them... just to make sure... and took them back to my office. My access to muscles had increased and my husband was in on the attack. We got those sliders in place and heave-hoed.

Like butter sliding off of hot corn, that desk slipped across the carpet like a sailboat gliding across the bay with the wind at her back. The most beautiful part of this whole experience is the fact that this wonderful invention (obviously created by a woman) is reusable. I am casting my eyes about my office wondering what else I could possible move, now that I have the power. Hey, those filing cabinets over there... I think I'll put them over here... or here... or maybe here!!

The Hawks

The hawks have arrived. We now have three families of the winged beasts living in the trees that tower over the neighborhood. The other feathered fowl are none to happy about it either. The blue jays are the most vocal, as usual. They swoop and screech and scream at the hawks. The hummingbirds just flitter about, flustered and gnat-like in their irritation to the hawks. The crows team up. They are the Oakland Raiders of the skies. One will swoop while the other circles. Then their friends join in and swoop from all sides, attacking, cawing, and making it virtually impossible for the hawk to do anything but sit and wait out the torture.

Yet - none of the birds dare get close to those treacherous claws or flesh-tearing beak of the hawk. They know that he will make them lunch for his little ones if he has to.

And the hawks continue to live in the magnificent trees. They are not deterred from their family life. They are those creatures no one wanted to move into the neighborhood, yet here they are. And the place is better for their residency.

And that got me to thinking. How many times have I been in a place where I was not welcome? Harassed by the "locals," how many times have I moved on, not wanting to make anyone angry or cause any trouble? How many times have I "tolerated" their screeching, their screaming in my ears, their incessant complaints about my very existence? Why do I do that and how do I stop?

I shall watch the hawk, well... like a hawk. His patience is evident in the fact that he does not eat his pestering neighbors. His demeanor is an exhibition of royal dignity. And he will not be moved. Yes, his feathers are ruffled every so often, but he sits there in quiet regality, owning his territory, bringing class to the neighborhood.

I shall be patient. I shall not be moved. I shall be dignified and carry myself with pride, knowing that I am here to stay.

In the moment of Spring

I spent my day chasing a sandpiper across the hard sand of low tide in the bay. The pressure of my presence was evident by the sand crabs he was leaving behind as he scurried out of my way. I stopped every so often just so he could rest and get a bite to eat. The water was warm in spots where it pooled behind the seaweed that had washed up on shore. Crystal clear, it was perfect for wading. The sand between my lily white toes with the ruby red tips polished away the claustrophobia of winter and the sun warmed my back, loosening the hunch developed from too many hours in front of my computer. I strolled along at my own pace, not rushing to catch up with anyone or any task. I basked in the moment and didn't notice time or distance as they passed by so effortlessly in the day. I found myself amidst a grove of fragrant eucalyptus trees, grateful for their healing I could feel in my body and soul. This transformational moment restores my spirit, renews my being. Today, I simply am. Nothing more. No deadlines, no expectations, no hopes, no disappointments. Just me. Just being... simply, beautifully, simply being me.

NO MAKE-UP SUNDAY

I spend about 30 minutes, six mornings a week, putting on make-up. I know, I know. Just how big is my face? But still... I do the lotion, the yellow stuff to take away the dark circles under my eyes from getting up so early just so I can put on make-up, the tinted moisturizer (one cannot have too much moisture at my age), the eye shadow, the liner, the mascara, the lipliner, the gloss... geez. I'm exhausted just talking about it.

So I have declared Sunday to be a No Make-up Sunday.

Which is why I am appalled when someone brings out a camera on a Sunday.

Or when someone schedules a meeting in the middle of the day that I MUST go to.

Or when I have to go to the store and cannot seem to miss running into the firemen that are shopping for the week.

Shoot. I give up.

I tried Pajama Sunday. But that just looks silly with full make-up. No, seriously. I decided that Sundays were going to be Pajama Day. I would go through the routine of make-up, but stay in my jammies all day. That worked. Until someone brought out a camera and forever captured my image in my fuzzy monkey pajamas. And the boss wasn't too excited about them either when I showed up for that exec meeting. But the firemen sure did get a kick out of them.

So, here I am, back to another Sunday - with a meeting scheduled, the camera in plain sight, and a trip to the grocery store is in order.... sigh. Where is my make-up kit?

DAVID & GOLIATH

I watched a hawk today. Fierce, strong, proud. Sitting at the very top of the tallest tree on our campus. Surveying the land, looking for mice, baby birds, small children to devour. He was simply, fearfully beautiful sitting atop his throne, perusing his kingdom for his next victim. The crows screamed their protests and dive bombed in an attempt to distract him from their nests. He simply ruffled his feathers and shook them off with a withering look of disdain. He would not budge. Then, in the distance, my eye caught the blur of a hummingbird. The smallest of winged fury, plain with no adornments or loud calls, she began buzzing the hawk. At first, he never noticed her. She would move to another perch, gather her wits, and take another pass at this magnificent bird easily 100 times her size. Over and over again she passed by his carnivorous beak, risking it all to get close enough to annoy him and make him move. Each time she would pass by, he would glance her way, growing more and more flustered at this pesky annoyance. Again, she took aim and did her best to distract him and send him on his way. Her message was clear. He was not wanted. Even the crows joined me in watching this dance with death that this little bird had committed herself to.

Finally, in what can only be described as hawk exasperation, he yawned, stretched out his feathers, and, as if to say, "You bore me," the king of the skies took off to different pastures. She had won the battle. I watched as she left the battlefield and headed to her nest, far away from the gaze and sharp claws of the great beast. Her babies were safe.

I was so proud of her. She took on a seemingly impossible fight and stuck to it... even when the bigger crows gave up, she kept on going.

I am sure the hawk will be back. Afterall, the field over which the tree sits is his own personal buffet. But I know one little hummingbird that isn't afraid of him.

"Mental" Pause Day 2 of Awareness

Okay. So my husband was telling me some simple story this morning. About a guy and an email and something to do with Haiti. I mean, I think that is what it was. As I stared at him blankly across the kitchen table, my face scrunched up in deep concentration, I recognized English words coming out of his mouth. Yes, even full-blown sentences were escaping into the warm, cozy atmosphere. Yet, somehow, my brain could not process what it was he was saying. He was quite animated about it. It seemed interesting enough. I just couldn't grasp the meaning of his words. As I tried my best communicating skills; clarify, paraphrase, repeat, it only served to exacerbate the problem. He finally stopped talking and looked at me. I swear, I glanced in the mirror on the wall to see if I had sprouted a second head or something. The look on his face was unforgettable. Well, I'd like to think it was unforgettable. But with this new phase of "mental" pause I seem to be going through, it is highly likely that I will indeed forget that look. In fact, I am betting that one day I will give a similar look across the kitchen table to the man talking and wonder, "who in the hell is that?"

I never did figure out what he was talking about. But I did manage to fake it long enough to escape, yawning and stretching and mumbling something about going back to bed. He bought it long enough for me to snuggle back down in the covers and go to sleep.

HELP I'M GOING CRAZY

Warning. This is a blog that won't seem to fit in the "Simple Pleasures" category I seem to have established in this space. But my coping mechanism is humor and humor is a simple pleasure, so it works out.

I am in the lovely throes of perimenopause. Or "mental" pause, as I am beginning to see it for what it really is. A "mental" pause from life as I know it.

I was in the car the other day, armed with a "don't forget to do" list. I managed the first item on the list. Then I forgot where I put the list. And I was screwed. None of the other things on my "don't forget to do" list got done. Not even after I found the list stuck to my underwear. Don't ask me how it got there. I don't remember. But I am guessing it was on one of my many trips to the bathroom that seem to be a necessity in my life these days.

I've misplaced the list again. And yes, I checked my underwear. It's not there either. I know there are things on there that are vitally important that I get them done.

And I will.

Will what?

Damn. I've forgotten.