My Excuse

So far, since I started this blog, I have missed two days. In both cases, it was because I was out socializing. I suppose that's to be excused, huh?

The first time I missed writing, I was with the Friday night club. We used to be the Slade's group. At least I called us that. We all met through the bar at Slade's, a restaurant at Tysons Corner. I started going to Slade's because I had a friend who tended bar there. Some of the crowd worked at the mall. Some of the crowd worked in the area. Some of the crowd just were looking for a place to have a drink on a Friday night. Somehow, we became a group. Amy and John had a few parties and invited the others, which started us socializing outside the bar. And eventually we became friends. The bartender that I knew left Slade's, but by then, I'd gotten to know the afternoon bartender (who stayed on Friday's through the dinner rush). She took over for the bartender I knew, and one of the wait staff became the other bartender. The group settled in with the new bar staff, and all was well. Then the restaurant owner crossed the line one time too many. And the two bartenders that we had gotten to know decided to leave as well. At that point, we switched bars. So instead of being the Slade's group, I started calling us the Friday night club. Several of the members are regulars - you can find them at the bar every Friday night. I only go every few weeks, but that particular night I didn't get home until almost midnight.

The second time I missed writing my blog was last night. I was out with my colleagues. An old friend and colleague of ours from where we all used to work was retiring. Many of us had been invited to the celebration, but since the party was during the day and would have a bunch of people there from the company we had left, my boss decided that it would be awkward for her to go to that party and so organized one of her own. There are 6 of us at my office, plus the guest of honor, and then a couple of other old colleagues - only one of whom still works for the company at which we all met. Let me just say that I am not good at spontaneous social events. By not good, I mean that they are not on my list of favorite things to do. I'm a planner. I like to organize my days in advance. So deciding to go out for dinner at 4 in the afternoon is not something I do easily. I'm also trying to lose some weight so eating out for dinner when I was also still planning to attend the lunch party wasn't high on my list either. But when it turned out that all my colleagues were going to go, that others were coming too, well I just couldn't not go. It was a fun evening, but by the time I got home about 9:30, I was exhausted.

So I guess I'm just going to have to resign myself to missing the occasional entry. If it's for a good reason - like socializing - seems like it's excusable. At least that's my excuse, and I'm sticking to it.

How To Fit Into Your Genes

Each one of us is a product of the genes from our parents. We get what we get. No choice in the matter.

So you have to make do with what you get. You can complain about your genes. But in the end, they are what they are.

I have been blessed with really good genes in a lot of areas, so I can't really complain. Both of my parents are very bright, and I inherited that innate intelligence. For which I am immensely grateful.

Both of my parents are also reasonably attractive people. Not models, but not ugly by any stretch of the imagination. So I am blessed with nice looks. I'm not a stunner, but you know what? I'm not sure I would want to be. There's a lot of pressure when you're that beautiful. To get over people's perceptions and get them to see past the beauty to the person. Still, I could have gotten bad looks from my parents, and I didn't.

I am, however, allergic to a lot of things. I think the jury is still out on how much of allergies comes from environment and how much comes from genes. But my mother and I are both allergic to feathers, so there's definitely something to the gene connection. My father and I both have hay fever. Is it fun to have these allergies? Not particularly. But there are worse things I could be saddled with.

The only really bad gene I got is a tendency toward obesity. There are several members of my family - my extended family included - that are seriously overweight. I myself weighed more than 200 lbs in college. Though I carried it all over my body, so I didn't look as heavy as those who have a large waist. This gene means that I have to watch what I eat and get plenty of exercise. Otherwise, the pounds pile on. It's not an ideal gene to have. But it is what it is.

The one other "negative" gene that I got from my mom is premature gray hair. But here's an example of embracing what you get. For 22 years, I colored my hair. I started going gray at 17. At 20, I started coloring my hair. Now I'm hardly the only woman who colored her hair for many years. But I could have been really unhappy about getting gray hair so early in life. But even though it wasn't particularly my first choice to get gray hair so early in life, it's at least a beautiful silver gray. It's not a battleship gray. It's not a washed out yellow gray. It's bright and shiny. So when I hit my 40s, I thought to myself, "Well, I could continue to color it or I could just let it go." The fact of the matter is that at some point, when your hair gets too gray, it doesn't really color well anymore. It is no longer possible to have a hair color that looks even remotely natural. So I just decided to embrace my "bad" gene and let the gray come in. Sometimes I think that someone who is meeting me for the first time probably thinks I'm older than I am. But I'm not sure that I really care about that.

So, my genes are my genes. And I've learned to embrace them all. After all, what choice do you have?

To Sleep, Perchance To Dream

Sleeping is one of my favorite things. But unfortunately, I don't do it very well.

Instead, I wake up several times a night. Approximately every couple of hours. It's not that I wake up fully. Usually, I just wake up enough to turn over, to rearrange the covers, to pet a cat, etc. It's not very often that I look at the clock or even open my eyes.

Just falling asleep can be a challenge. About a third of the time, as I'm trying to get to sleep, I can't get my brain to shut off. Sometimes it's because there's something on my mind that just won't go away. Sometimes it's just a thought or a phrase or even a word that gets stuck. They say that if you actually get up - instead of just opening your eyes - you can switch off the obsession and get to sleep. I've never been successful at getting that far. Usually, I get stuck in that halfway point between being awake and being asleep. And tossing and turning because of it.

I have found that Tylenol PM works to put me to sleep. Most of the time. But there are two problems with taking a pill to get sleep. Actually three. The first problem is that it requires thinking about it beforehand. Once I'm in the half-sleep stage, I can't usually make myself get up enough to actually take a pill. Even if I did get up that much, then I have to take out my retainers to take the pill. It's just one extra step that's somehow not worth it. The third problem is that, by the time I think of taking a pill or get to the point when it's worth opening my eyes and taking out my retainers because I'm really not sleeping, it's usually in the middle of the night. And by then, I am afraid taking a pill will keep me asleep past my alarm in the morning.

It doesn't help that I'm such a light sleeper. To give you a sense of how light a sleeper I am, I can hear my cats walk into the room. On the carpeted floor. All car noises. Car lights. People on the street. It's not good. And it certainly doesn't help with the staying-asleep thing.

But I am getting better as I get older. When I was in my 20s and 30s, I had a lot of nightmares once I did manage to fall asleep. So not only did I wake up several times a night, but sometimes when I woke up, it was because I woke myself up. But I don't have as many nightmares anymore. I think it's because I'm generally more content with my life.

So now the only good thing about waking up several times a night is that I remember my dreams. And it's good to dream.

Rainy Days and Mondays

Today is Monday, and today it's raining. It's not a good combination.

Mondays are never fun since it's the first day back to work for most of us. There's something about having to get up and get going after a few days of not having to. At least that's the theory.

In point of fact, my weekends lately have been chock-full. Since mid-June, I've been volunteering every Saturday to try to get my foster kittens adopted. The event runs from 12-3, which pretty much kills the day hours. I get a couple of hours in the morning to do some of the errands that I need to do on a weekend - grocery shopping, dry cleaning, etc. Then I have to pack up the fosters and head to the event. After the event finishes, we have to clean up after the kittens and cats, and put the crates and tables away. Usually, that takes about a half hour or so. By the time I'm home again, it's close to 4. When I don't have fosters and I do this volunteering, then I leave around 3:15 and head straight to the gym - which gets me home by 5 after having worked out. With the kittens, there's no way to do that - I need to bring them home. So assume that it's about 4:30 before I get out for either a run or head to the gym. And home or back from a run 5:30 or 6. By then, the day is pretty much over unless I take a shower - which honestly I only usually do if I have to go out for some reason. If I'm just going home to eat and crash in front of the TV - well, the cats don't care if I'm a little stinky.

So that takes care of most of Saturday. Which leaves Sunday to get all the things done I haven't gotten done on Saturday. But, as yesterday's blog indicated, this past Sunday, I helped my mother. After working out in the morning.

The previous Sunday, I went to the movies in the afternoon. After working out in the morning and then eating lunch.

The Sunday before that, I had other plans.

The bottom line is that my weekends have not been full of sitting on the couch and reading a good book for at least a month.

Sometimes Mondays, even with having to return to work, are actually a nice change of pace!

The Things We Take For Granted

I spent most of the day today teaching my mother.

Let me start by saying that my mother is by no means a stupid person. But this whole computer and Internet thing has confused her. This past January, she and my father bought her a new desktop computer. When they bought the computer, they did not buy Microsoft Office. As many people know, Microsoft was sued for hampering competition by having PCs come with Office in addition to the Microsoft operating system. So now, you have to ask whether the computer has Office installed, and probably have to pay for it as well. So her new computer came with Microsoft Works, rather than Microsoft Word. And the documents that she created were .wps files rather than .doc files, and almost no one could read them. My mother found this very frustrating.

Today, I went to my parents' home and installed Microsoft Office so that she would be able to create documents in Word - the same word processing software that most of the world uses. While I was there, I gave my mother a lesson in directories/folders, files, programs, the Internet, and surfing on the Internet. These are all things I use every day. They are things I take for granted. And they were almost incomprehensible to her.

What you don't know, you don't know. And sometimes what you don't know you don't even know you don't know.

For example, my mother didn't know what a bookmark was. She'd heard the term, but she didn't know what one was, much less how to create one. To me, it's easy. To her, it's not intuitive at all.

I've been running into this myself. For me, it's the next generation of electronic toys - digital cameras, smartphones, etc.

It took me a long time to adopt these new technologies. Or rather, I'm not an early adopter. I got a digital camera about a year ago and an iPhone last month. Like my mother, I know the basics of how to use these technologies. My mother knows how to create a basic word processing document. I know how to take a basic picture with my digital camera. But as she doesn't know how to use styles in Word - because she's never had to - I don't know how to set my digital camera to automatically use the anti-red eye function. I didn't even know it was possible, like my mother didn't know about styles in Word.

So I spent the day explaining about bookmarks, and styles, and hyperlinks, and a bunch of other things that my mother has used but didn't really understand.

Now I need to find a 15-year-old to teach me how to use my iPhone....

Why Are Black Animals Not Wanted?

I don't think it's a racist thing - though others might argue - but for whatever reason, black animals are very hard to get adopted.

I started this spring with five kittens - two light gray tabbies, two dark gray tabbies, and one black with an undercoat of tabby. Who's left? The black one.

Last year, I had three foster kittens - all black. The rescue organization was pleasantly surprised that I was able to get them all adopted in about a month.

I'd say it was stupidity about black cats and superstitions, except that it's not just black cats. Apparently, this isn't just a problem for black kittens and cats, but also for black dogs. When the fact is that black labs are some of the greatest dogs on earth! Makes no sense to me.

I posted a note about this on Facebook, and one of my cousins said that the same is true for horses - the black ones are the last ones adopted or bought.

Personally, I think black animals are beautiful. Charley looks very sleek with her black coat. The undercoat just adds a touch of "flavor" to her blackness. She's beautiful and someone should love her.

To be fair, apparently it's hard to get all solid colored animals adopted. Multi-colors are just preferable. Weird, huh? But of the solids, the black ones go last.

So next time I'm in the market for new cats - which won't be for many years hopefully since my current cats are only 5 - I'm going for the black ones.

In the meantime, fingers crossed that people look past the black to find the loving animals - and give them a good home.

SYTYCD

For those of you who don't follow reality TV, SYTYCD is "So You Think You Can Dance." The premise of the show is similar to American Idol - they do have the same producer - with dancers instead of singers.

Now, I know quite a bit about singing. I like to think of myself as a singer, though the only person who hears me sing anymore is myself - and whoever happens to be driving next to me when the top of my convertible is down. :) So when I watch American Idol, I watch it with some knowledge about who really has the chops and who doesn't. Idol adds an extra element - performance and stage presence - which quite honestly is one of the reasons that I don't sing for anyone but myself. I have terrible stage fright.

When I started watching SYTYCD, I watched for sheer entertainment value. This bunch of kids chasing a dream. I don't really know anything about dance. I didn't know all the different styles.

Tonight was SYTYCD's 100th episode. And those 100 episodes (though I'm not sure I've watched them all, I've watched most) have taught me a thing or two about dance. I still couldn't tell you the difference between a rumba and cha-cha. But I can watch a waltz and tell you whether it's really that good or not. I can watch a hip-hop number and tell you whether the dancers "hit it," as they say. And that's because the choreographers and the judges really talk about what is good versus bad. What they look for in a good dance. And I've paid attention, and I've learned.

But the thing that I've truly learned - and I have to admit it was a shock - is that dance can really move me.

Two seasons ago, Mia Michaels choreographed a tribute to her dad. It was a remarkable dance that moved me to tears. That same season, she was also responsible for a dance around a door. A boy and a girl fighting, loving. It was amazingly danced, and amazing to watch. Wade Robson is another choreographer who has won a few Emmys for his work on the show. He does really offbeat things - dances that I wouldn't have said I would like. For example, tonight the show reprised his Emmy-winning Hummingbird routine. One dancer is a hummingbird; the other a flower just blossoming. Normally, I'm not particularly a contemporary dance fan. But it was a great routine; not in the least ironically danced by a young man named Hok ("hawk") as the hummingbird.

Last night, it happened again. Tyce Diorio choreographed a routine about a woman with breast cancer. It was moving, touching, sad, and uplifting. And the dancing was phenomenal.

So, SYTYCD - thanks for teaching me about dancing, but thanks also for moving me, even if it's sometimes to tears.

The Upsell

This past January, to celebrate the Presidential Inauguration, my boss invited a bunch of women to get makeovers at Saks with the makeup artist who does her makeup. I'm not necessarily a fan of getting my makeup done - I have found that generally they use more makeup than I like - but my boss' makeup is well done and I'm always open to learning something new about how to apply makeup.

When I arrived with the wife of one of my colleagues, the makeovers were already in process. She and I had been downtown witnessing the Swearing-in on the national Mall. As a result, we had been in the sun, in the cold (although it wasn't that bad), in casual clothes, and no makeup. Not exactly perfect preparation for the rest of the day - dinner at the Ritz in party clothes - but we'd brought our clothes with us and we were there to be made up.

Unfortunately, I didn't think my makeover was particularly good and ultimately it didn't make me feel pretty. Which to me is what makeup is all about. I didn't think my eyes popped, and I think my eyes are my best feature. And I was a little insulted when she told me that I should use this special cream to fix my skin.

I've struggled with acne my entire adult life. I didn't ever outgrow it. In fact, in my 30s, it even got worse. For years, I used antibiotics - pills and topical creams - to give myself clear skin. In the past few years, I had stopped using the pills, but I was still using the topical creams. And they did a pretty good job of keeping my skin clear. But not always. And during that period in January, my face was a little broken out.

So I understood the makeup artist's point; it was just that somehow she made it seem like it was my fault.

And I also knew that ultimately, she was working the upsell. The upsell is an unfortunate aspect of getting a makeover. Since these makeovers were a present from our boss and since they were in celebration of an historic event, I wasn't really mentally prepared for an upsell. I guess I should have been, but I wasn't. I just wanted to enjoy the experience of having someone make me up for the night's celebration after the excitement and joy that the day had brought. I didn't want to be faced with saying no, thank you. And to some extent, felt a little bit like if I did so, it would be insulting to my boss. Who was doing this nice thing for us. And so it was an uncomfortable place to be.

At the end of the makeover, the makeup artist asked me if I wanted to buy any of the products she had used on me. As I said, I didn't really like the way she had done my makeup, so I didn't feel like there was anything that I wanted to buy. Also, I'm pretty loyal to the brand of makeup that I've been using. I have a hard time getting makeup to stay on my skin and my eyes. So now that I've found something that works me, I didn't really want to change it.

So as not to insult my boss and so as not to say no to everything, I said I'd take a jar of the skin cream that was supposed to deal with my sensitive skin and clear it up. I was skeptical, but I felt like I had to buy something. I wasn't really planning to use it.

I have to admit that in the heat of the moment and because we were running late for dinner, I didn't really look at the price tag. I handed over my credit card, I signed the receipt, and I took the skin cream. When I got home, after dinner, late, I unpacked all my stuff - the clothes from the day, the souvenirs I had bought on the Mall, and the skin cream. I finally took the time to look at the receipt.

And I about threw up...

I expected this little jar of cream to cost about $60-75. It was $200. Now I can afford to pay that. But it was a shock to my system. Such a little jar of skin cream. $200. Really? I thought about returning it. But since my boss goes to this particular makeup artist routinely, I was afraid it would get back to her. And I didn't want to insult her.

So I changed my mind about using it.

And, as a true challenge to its powers, I stopped using the prescribed topical creams that I had been using.

And it worked.

And I've been back to buy it twice since then. (Each jar lasts about 3 months.)

And yes, it's still $200 a jar. And worth every penny....

Death and Men

I have been thinking about death and dying.

In part because I'm getting older. In part because my parents are getting older. In part because I have a few friends who are struggling with health issues - none fatal thank goodness. In part because I had a health scare myself not too long ago. All these things remind me that I do have some friends who have passed. Friends much too young to have died. And I miss them.

Two friends in particular come to mind. They died well. At least by my definition of dying well. But they died earlier than they should have (statistically) - and perhaps shouldn't have died at all. At least not when they did.

The first person I knew well and watched die (quite literally) was diagnosed with cancer that had metastasized from his throat. By the time he was diagnosed, the cancer had spread too far to be treated. The doctor gave him the option of trying a bunch of different treatments that probably wouldn't work and might be painful, or letting go. Fred chose to let go. He died in hospice, where they let you die with dignity.

My second friend was diagnosed with esophogeal cancer. Well, at least that was the doctor's best guess as to where the cancer started. By the time he was diagnosed, he was in stage 4. Which by definition means that the cancer had metastasized to at least two organs. Patrick moved to California to try treatment. But his liver was compromised, so he couldn't process the drugs. And ultimately, died at home peacefully 6 weeks after his original diagnosis.

My point, however, besides that they died as gracefully as possible, is that phrase "by the time". Neither Fred nor Patrick went to the doctor regularly. Fred had a growth on his neck for a while. He figured it was nothing. Or he got too busy to go to the doctor. Or maybe he didn't even have a regular doctor. The growth got to be the size of a walnut before he went to a doctor. By then, it was too late. Patrick thought he had the flu. He had apparently had stomach issues for a long time - just heartburn, he thought. He tried various diet changes, but it didn't really help. Then he started having a fever and feeling weak. So he went to the hospital. Where he was diagnosed with stage 4 cancer. And it was too late.

Benjamin Franklin said, "in this world, nothing can be said to be certain except death and taxes." We are all going to die. Eventually. Nothing can stop that. But what is it about the male of our species that makes them less inclined to go for regular checkups. It's been pretty well documented that regular checkups can catch little problems before they become big problems. I would also bet that, like women do, if men had a regular doctor, with whom they were comfortable, they might be more inclined to go to the doctor when they felt out of kilter. Even if it just seemed like heartburn.

So men in my life - go to the doctor!

No Concerts This Summer?

This summer might be the first on record when I haven't been to a concert. Usually, I get to at least one or two shows a summer. Often at Wolf Trap, one of the nation's best concert venues and a beautiful setting too.

I'm not sure what happened this year. It's only July so I suppose that I could make plans and get to a show before summer is over. But I just don't have any particular burning desire to do so. And I'm not sure why.

I'm a huge music lover. I have more than 200 CDs and, unlike the younger generations, I am still buying them. Just this past week, I got 3 Doors Down, Daughtry, Rob Thomas, and an old Joan Armatading. About a month ago, I got a couple of other CDs including Chris Isaak, Pink, and Duffy. I wake up to a CD playing - currently it's Jason Mraz's newest CD "We Dance. We Sing. We Steal Things." And I have a 6-CD player that is usually playing whenever I'm home during the weekend.

And I enjoy live music performances. In addition to Wolf Trap, I go to shows at the Birchmere several times a year. Jammin' Java is not that far away in Vienna, and I've been known to go there too on occasion. On average, I usually see 6-8 shows a year.

So it's strange that I have not made any plans to go to a concert this summer. Several of the musicians I enjoy are touring. Chris Isaak has a new CD out and is playing at Wolf Trap. Actually, I think he's already made his DC tour stop. I recently bought the new Daughtry CD. I'm pretty sure that they are touring and are making a stop in the DC area sometime this summer. I know Rob Thomas is due to be here this fall. He has a new solo CD out as well, which I just listened to for the first time today.

Hmmm....Maybe I do need to make some summer concert plans. After all, it's only July.

Dreams

I dream a lot.

Most nights, I wake up three or four times a night. Almost every time I wake up, I wake up from a dream. Most nights, I also remember my dreams - at least one, sometimes two. I've heard that people aren't supposed to be able to remember more than one dream a night, but I'm pretty sure that I have. It's just hard to tell....

The problem is that it's very hard to explain a dream, much less write down the specifics. What seems perfectly normal in a dream can make absolutely no sense when you try to explain it to someone else. I can move from room to room in buildings that are completely unrelated and place to place without any form of transportation, and it works in the dream. It flows. But when I try to talk about what happened, or write down the details, it suddenly makes no sense or I stop being able to remember the details.

My father has been studying neuroscience for many years. I'm sure he could explain what is happening at a physical level. But here's what I think is happening.

I think that, once you start trying to describe a dream, your brain/mind tries to impose logic and rational thinking on what you are trying to explain. It tries to relate what happened to what it knows - the real world. Which of course is not where dreams happen. So a couple of things happen all at once. You lose the train of the irrational things that happened in your dream. And the details fall apart because your mind can't get them to relate to each other and the more you try to hold onto them, the more they dissolve.

For example, the other night I had a dream about a friend of mine who died a few years ago. In my dream, I was having a normal conversation with this friend and he was telling me about his childhood. But the conversation seemed to be happening in a parallel universe from the universe I normally lived in because in my mind, as I was listening to him talk to me, I knew that he had died. He was telling me how, as a kid, he had had stomach surgery. He showed me the scar. He told me that, although the scar sometime caused him pain, it was a good thing that he had the surgery. And in my mind, I started thinking that the fact that he had had stomach surgery, in this life, meant that he wouldn't develop cancer. Or maybe he would. It wasn't clear in the dream nor in my memory of the dream. Either way, I was trying to figure out how to tell him that I knew he was going to develop cancer.

But the really weird part is not the parallel universe. Or that I knew that my friend had died. Or that I thought the surgery might mean he wouldn't get cancer. It was that the cancer that killed him wasn't stomach cancer.

Off With Her Hair!

Today, I got my hair cut off again. Short, short.

My friends and family know that this is not the first time I've had short hair. As a general rule, I cut my hair short every 5-7 years and then grow it out again. As I told the guy who cuts my hair, I know that once I'm in my mid-50s or so, I'll go short for probably the rest of my life. So until then (another 10 years or so), I'll probably yo-yo back and forth between short and long.

Of course, long is a relative term when it comes to my hair. When I went to get it cut today, my hair was probably as long as it's been in the past 10 years. And it still wasn't down to my shoulders. I haven't had hair past my shoulders since I was in college. Even then, it wasn't really attractive. I just think I look better with shorter hair.

But here's the rub. I also have gray hair. Again, this is not a surprise to my friends and family. I was prematurely gray. I started going gray at 17. By the time I was in the middle of college, I had enough gray hair for it to be noticeable. At 20, I started coloring my hair. I colored it some form of blonde for the next 22 years. Mostly, a golden blonde. I did it myself. From a box. I think it worked.

In my early 40s, I decided to let the gray come in. By the time I got my EMBA in 2005, I had a fully head of gray hair. By then, I had also grown in my hair from the short hair I'd had until 2004.

So this is the first time in my life that I've had both gray hair and short hair. Today, right now, I love it. Tomorrow when I wash it, I'm sure it will be a shock. And of course, tomorrow I'll have to style it myself. But I am confident that it will work. And I'm looking forward to the reactions from family and friends - who have seen me with short hair and have seen me with gray hair - but now will see me with both!

Made It Through the First Week

Well, that doesn't sound very positive, doesn't it? Perhaps the verb needs to change. Or the preposition? Let's try this again. "Wrote through the first week"? No. Maybe no verb or preposition is the way to go. "A Week of Blogs". Yes, that works better.

It's been a week of blogs. There have been a few nights when I thought, "well, I won't write today..." But I'm afraid if I stop, skip even one day, it will be too easy to stop all together. After all, no one is prompting me to do this. No one is even reading this blog, except me of course, I don't think. At least I'm not getting any comments and I don't have any followers.

But I want to be disciplined about this. I want to keep it up. I want to keep practicing my writing. Because I want to convince myself that I can write something longer than a blog. As I said in my first blog, I would like to write a book. Or a collection of essays.

I've been talking about writing a book for years. I've even started a couple. On this very computer is a layout of a series of essays that I have been thinking about writing. And haven't yet. Obviously.

The other day I was talking to a colleague about turning 50. I decided that I would try to get a book together in time for my 50th birthday. It's a goal to work towards. I'm almost 47 now. So that's 3 years. 3 years to get the discipline to write every day (or almost every day) about something more than just the thoughts off the top of my head. It seems like a goal that I can achieve. If I get disciplined about writing.

So for now, I will be happy to have "made it though the first week."

Achieving Balance

Am I the only person left on earth who balances her checkbook every month?

A corollary - am I the only person who records every transaction that I make?

The reason I bring this up is because many of my friends and family members do not seem to record all of their transactions. I still do. But I keep running out of space in my check register. And getting another one seems to be more trouble than it should be.

In the old days, I wrote a lot of checks. I have never been one to carry cash. So when I shop, I would write checks. Usually, you get one check register per box of checks. That's 250 checks. When I was writing a lot of checks, one register for 250 checks was enough. The check register would fill up about the same time as I needed new checks. A balance was achieved.

Now, between online bill pay and my debit card, I write very few checks. But I still record each transaction. Except now I don't have enough space in my check register, since the check people are still only providing one check register per box of checks and, since I write very few checks, I have no reason to reorder checks and so I don't get more check registers. The balance has been lost.

I have picked up a few check registers at the bank - well, actually the mini-bank at the grocery store - I haven't been inside a real bank in a long time. But it's annoying to have to keep getting check registers from them. Can't I just order more online somewhere? Apparently not.

Maybe I need to move to using Quicken or Excel or some other system to record my banking transactions. Except that I'm not always in front of my computer when I buy things. So I would still feel like I wanted to write down the transactions as they happen. Hence the need for a check register. Or two. Or three. Or four. Per box of checks. Because I almost never write checks.

And I need my balance! (pun intended)

Do I Really Have To Get Older?

I've been trying to get more exercise into my daily and weekly routine.

When I was in my 30s, I was doing tae kwon do between four and six times a week. When I started, I had just turned 30 and I weighed about 180 lbs. I needed to find a way to get some exercise, so I tried martial arts. I earned by first degree black belt 3 years later and my second degree black belt 4 years after that. In order to do that, I took class four, five, six times a week, as well as teaching once or twice a week. I was get a LOT of exercise. I didn't get thin, but I did get in shape.

Being in shape was required. To test for my second degree black belt, I had to pass the physical fitness test devised by the head instructor at my school. Danny was a sixth degree black belt and had been athletic all his life. His idea of being in shape was to be seriously in shape. Our physical fitness test was truly a test - an endurance test as well as a physical test of our martial arts skills. We had to do a certain number of reps for each of 10 exercises, each for 30 seconds. For example, step-ups on a bench. 30 seconds doesn't sound like a long time, but on that 10th exercise, 30 seconds was forever. Then, we had to do a second round of those 10 exercises, again for 30 seconds each, and do at least as many reps the second time through as we had the first time through. THEN, we had to do a 2-minute round with the heavy bag, just hands; then 2 minutes just feet; then 2 minutes hands and feet. AFTER THAT, we had to spar each of the adult black belts in the room, including the instructors, both point and continuous (in my case, 6 students and 3 instructors). The whole test took 90 minutes. By the end of it, I had a black eye (I was dropping my right hand apparently), and I was as exhausted as I had ever been in my life. But I had proved that I was in shape. And ready to test for my second degree.

After I got my second degree, I decided to stop doing tae kwon do. I didn't want to get my third degree, and the instructors ran out of things to do with me since I wasn't really trying to progress. I taught some of the other adults trying to get their second degrees more than I really worked out. Which was okay, but not really what I was there for. So in the end, I stopped.

I had been going to the gym during the time between my first and second degrees - I knew that test was coming! - and so I started going to the gym more frequently instead of going to tae kwon do. Four or five times a week, an hour at a time. It did a pretty good job of keeping me in shape.

But when I was getting my MBA, I wasn't able to spend as much time at the gym. I still got to the gym three times a week, but it wasn't quite enough. After I graduated, I got a job that required long hours. Or irregular hours. And so I got stuck at three workouts a week. Depending on the week, sometimes it's only two. And really I'd like to get a fourth time in. I really, really want to get back to the kind of shape I was in right before my second degree test. When I did that physical fitness test.

But I'm 46, not 30. And even if I do get to the gym or go for a run, four times a week is getting pretty hard on my body. Or maybe it's just that I'm not consistent about it anymore. Tonight, I tried to go for a run after work. By the time I got home and fed the animals, it was about 7:00. And I just couldn't get the juices flowing. All I felt was pain. My knees hurt. My right Achilles tendon was aching. Then a tendon on the front of my left shin started to pull. So I ended up not running. I just didn't feel like I should push it with those aches and pains. I was afraid that this older body just couldn't do it.

I have started doing yoga one day a week, and I do like it. But I worry that doing low-impact workouts three times a week just won't feel like as much exercise as the high-impact workouts I'm used to. I want to be able to keep up with the high-impact workouts. But I think the reality is the reality. I am older. And maybe I'll just have to resign myself to being older.

Going Topless

For most of the spring and summer, and hopefully into the fall, I go around topless. For the past couple of years, my sister has been doing it too. Honestly, I think she started doing it because I was. We really enjoy it. Look for excuses to do it, actually. Generally, I think men like it, but I don't have any direct knowledge one way or another. Except for an occasional smile.

No, it's not what you think. Or not what I've been implying. We drive convertibles.

I first drove a convertible in California. Seems to me that the first time you drive a convertible, that's the place to do it. I was spending a week in California driving from San Diego to San Francisco. Up the PCH. So I splurged and rented a convertible. A Sebring.

I wasn't sure whether I would like driving with the top down. I'm not a fan of speed. At least not on bicycles or motorcycles. It scares me, and I'm not a fan of being scared (some people are, you know). Driving is another story. I tend to speed when driving on the highway and driving a convertible hasn't changed that. I guess I feel more protected in a car than I do on other "topless" vehicles. I know that I feel more in control, and anyone who knows me, knows I'm a bit of a control freak (okay, more than a bit, but that's a subject for another post). But it turns out that I really like driving a convertible. Fast or slow.

I've noticed that a lot of women, when riding in a convertible, use a hat or a scarf to keep their hair under control. I suppose I understand the impulse. But I like the wind in my hair. It helps that my hair isn't so long that it gets in my eyes. Every once in a while, but generally not.

In addition to the wind in my face, I like the sun on my face. Since I live in Washington, July and August tend to be hot and humid. But as I'm generally driving early in the morning (to work) and in the mid- to late-evening (from work), I miss the worst of the heat. As long as the traffic is moving, however, even in the middle of the day, I'll drive with the top down. There's usually enough air moving from the speed to keep me reasonably cool. I have been caught in traffic on occasion with the top down and have really wanted to put the top up because it got too hot. But if I'm just heading home, then I just don't care. My clothes are generally going to go in the wash or to the dry cleaners anyway. So unless I am decked out or it's raining, the top is down.

It's actually one of the areas in which I consider myself low maintenance. Several of my girlfriends won't ride with me with the top down. They don't like the wind in their hair or the sun on their faces. Or sweating. Or maybe they have some other reason. Are they high maintenance? I suppose you could argue that.

Maybe they just don't want to go topless.

The Ever-Expanding Circle of Friends

I've been on Facebook for about 6 months now. I joined primarily because I have a few friends with young kids who post pictures of their kids there, and I wanted to be able to see how they change and grow over the years. I was a little concerned about my age relative to Facebook. I assumed, wrongly as it turns out, that Facebook - like MySpace - was primarily for "kids". I am not a kid. Haven't been for quite a while now. But I got a couple of invitations from friends not all that much younger than I am, so I figured I would try it.

When you join Facebook, you tell it what email account to associate with your Facebook profile. Facebook then searches that email account's address book against the list of Facebook users and prompts you to add any it finds as "friends." Now I, like most people, have a few email addresses on my list of emails for people with whom I have only limited contact. For example, one of the people in my address book is a guy who plays in a band that I go to see fairly routinely. He's in my book because I did some work with the guys a few years ago on their marketing materials, and I had added his email at that point and just never took it off. I've had the same email account since email first started becoming a popular thing in 1994. So this guy was on my list of people that Facebook popped up and asked me if I wanted to add as a friend. Well, I know him and he knows my name and we've talked a time or two at shows. So I thought what the heck. He can always say no, right? But he didn't. And we became Facebook friends. There were a couple of other examples of this in my address book - the woman who serves as medical director for the animal rescue organization with whom I volunteer was another one. She too was on Facebook and she too accepted my invitation to be her friend. Basically, I was too lazy to pick and choose among the addresses that Facebook found, so I just said send an invitation to all of them. What the heck?

When I talk to people about being on Facebook, one of the first questions I get is often, "So how many of your "friends" are people that you really don't know?" At first, I thought this was kind of a weird question. I mean, I had those few I mentioned, but most of the people who became my friends on Facebook are people that I genuinely know. Friends and family that I would normally email. After all, that's where the list started, right? In fact, I was shocked to find that Facebook came up with 42 such people from my address book. I never thought in a million years that I would know that many people on Facebook.

Facebook being a social networking thing, however, that list has grown and grown. The first person to find me on Facebook just completely out of the blue was my first boyfriend from back in 8th grade. He actually found me on LinkedIn first, and then one of us (I don't remember who) found the other on Facebook. It really makes much more sense of us to be connected on Facebook rather than LinkedIn, but still to make that connection again on either site was quite remarkable. And great fun. Several of my family members have joined since I joined, and there's now quite a network of us who share our thoughts and pictures when we never have before. Really fun. I was waiting for the day when the six degrees of separation thing happened and someone from my list knew someone I knew from a completely different setting. It finally happened this past weekend. A woman I know from a group of friends who met from hanging out at a bar went to high school with one of my old karate instructors. (see the "Old Friends" post.)

My initial list of 40 friends has gotten to be almost 100 people. I gained three more just today. There are still a few that I don't really know (one guy from my high school class that I wouldn't have known in a million years, but I figured why not). But most of that 100 people I do know. So I feel like I can say honestly, when asked, that most of my friends on Facebook are really my friends.

The thing is, before Facebook, if I had to tell you how many people I know in the world well enough to connect to them on a social networking site, I'd have said something like 40. And here I am, about to hit 100 friends. Amazing.

Cats and Kittens

Most of my family knows that I am an animal lover. Because I have the kind of job that sometimes (read: often) requires 10-hour days (sometimes 12 and 14), my pets are cats. Not surprisingly, my cats are indoor cats. I took them out a couple of times when they were kittens. But the big, bad world scared them too much. And since I didn't really want them to become indoor/outdoor cats, it was easier to just never take them out again.

My cats are of the independent variety. Cats get a bad rap, mostly from guys I've noticed, for not being dependent on their owners for attention, for often in fact have a bit of a standoffish attitude of "I'll come be with you on my terms". My cats are not quite completely independent; they hang out with me. But they are not "cuddle cats." I define a "cuddle cat" as a cat that loves to sit in your lap and be pet. The cat I had before the current two was a "cuddle cat". Her absolute favorite thing to do was to curl up with me when I was watching TV and just purr and purr as I stroked my hand down her back. There is something about a cat's purr that is very soothing. And yes, I miss that. I miss her waiting - sometimes impatiently - for me to finish eating dinner so that she could crawl into my lap for our nightly petting session. At least I do in theory.

I have a theory that my current cats aren't "cuddle cats" because there are two of them. Previously, I just had the one cat. So she was pretty attached to me. The present two have each other to play with. They are also litter mates, for all that one is a calico and the other a tortoise shell. So they grew up together, quite literally, and often would curl up with each other on the couch next to me, but not on me. Not in my lap. That just wasn't their thing. As they have gotten older, they have been less inclined to curl up with each other or with me. It's rare that they hang out together at all. They both sleep in my room at night, but rarely will they both be on the bed at the same time. In fact, most of the time, I go to sleep with one next to me and, in the morning when I wake up, it's the other one who's laying there next to me. When I'm watching TV at night, one or the other is usually laying next to me. But not to be pet. Just to be present.

At the moment, I have three foster cats. (I had five originally, but have gotten two adopted in recent weeks.) I do this annually - take in foster kittens. This is the first time I've ever had five. I do it to help out an animal rescue organization with which I volunteer when they are overrun with kittens in the spring. Usually, it's about a 2-month commitment. The kittens come to me when they are about 6 weeks old, stay with me until they are old enough to be spayed and neutered at 8 weeks, and then start going out for adoption shortly thereafter. It usually takes about 2-3 weeks for them to get adopted. Thus, for about two months once a year, I have kittens living with me.

Most of my friends and family wonder how I can do this being the animal lover that I am. Don't I get attached to the kittens? Don't I want to keep them all? Isn't it hard to see them go to strangers? The answers to those questions in order are yes sort of, no, and no. You see, kittens are very cute. So by nature they are hard not to love. These kittens come to me and rely on me for everything, unlike my adult cats who aren't quite so dependent on me anymore. So from that perspective, it's really fun to have the little ones around. And they run and play and are generally all those things that make kittens great fun to have around. And usually, there's at least one in the bunch who is a "cuddle cat." In fact, part of my "job" as a foster mom is to socialize the kittens. And so we are encouraged to hold the kittens and love on them. What could be more fun than that? Hence the answer to the first question is yes, I get attached.

But keep them? No. Hard to see them go to new homes? No. Keeping them isn't something I'm tempted to do. For several reasons. 1) That's not what this fostering thing is all about, though there are plenty of "foster failures" - people who just can't give up their fosters. We actually sort of count on it to some extent. 2) It's really gratifying to see someone take home a new kitten - someone for them to love. 3) Kittens don't stay kittens, and two cats is enough. Kittens are endlessly entertaining. Right now, one is chasing a ball and another is chewing on the end of the laces of my running shoes. Very cute. But eventually, the kittens will become cats. And then they won't do so many of those adorable kitten things. 4) I don't want to become known as the crazy cat lady. I get enough strange looks from people over having foster kittens every year. If I keep them, every one of them, every year that I've done this, I'd have five cats now. That's a big much, don't you think? 5) Perhaps most importantly, my two "regular" cats, for all that they are independent and not "cuddle cats", are really just right for me. A "cuddle cat" would be nice - I would certainly enjoy a little more purring and curling up in my lap. But a "cuddle cat" also would probably not appreciate it if I got home at 10 at night and just went to sleep, i.e., I was too tired to cuddle. And there's on average about one night a week where I do get home late enough that really all I want is a quick dinner, a little light TV, and sleep.

And so in the end, I probably got the cats that I need. Cats who do like a little attention, but not a lot. Cats who are pretty independent, but not completely so. Cats who, in fact, really have their own lives to live.

In other words, cats that are just like me.

Old Friends

So I've had two "small world" experiences in the past month. First, I was in Phoenix, a place I've never been before, and decided to have breakfast at the restaurant. I wasn't planning on taking advantage of the free coupon that had come with my reservation - there was supposed to be breakfast provided at the meeting I was going to - but I've been trying to increase my protein intake. And a hot breakfast at the hotel was more likely to include eggs and some kind of meat. I'd already been virtuous that morning, going for a 3-mile run on the track around the resort complex (lots of jackrabbits - another story for another time). Eating protein for breakfast, without a lot of calories, would just add to my virtue.

So I headed to the hotel. But now I was running behind. I didn't have a whole lot of time to eat. My colleagues had already eaten. We were supposed to start the meeting at 8. It was 7:40. Time was running short. Would I have enough time to eat? Or would I end up with a carb-heavy breakfast after all because it would be done quicker?

I got to the hostess stand and there wasn't anyone there, so I just wandered in a little further. There I ran into the hostess/waitress/manager, some combination of those things. She put me at a table, and then took my coupon and my order. I ended up with eggs and bacon, after all. I figured I'd eat what I could before I had to run across the street for my meeting.

As the waitress/hostess was taking my order, I thought I recognized her voice. As I was eating, I thought about it some more. But as I said, I'd never been to Phoenix before. So how could I know her? I ate my eggs and some of the bacon (it wasn't very good bacon), and then needed to pay for my apple juice, which wasn't included with the free breakfast. So I was trying to get the waitress/hostess' attention so I could pay and leave, when she came over with the check. And she said, "Do I know you? You look really familiar."

I said, "You know, I had the same thought. I thought I knew you too. "

"Did we work together somewhere?"

"I'm from the DC area. This is my first time to Phoenix."

"I only lived in DC for a short time. I only worked at a place called America."

"I worked at America!"

So it turned out that she was the assistant manager at America, a restaurant that I worked at when I had lost my job and was thinking about going to get my MBA, and so was working as a waitress while I was looking for my next job or getting into an MBA program. She had been from Arizona and had moved back, and was now the manager of the restaurant at the resort where I was staying. Small world.

Then last night, I was hanging out at a bar where another friend bartends on Friday nights. A bunch of us, who really only know each other from the bar, were talking about life and TV shows and random thoughts. The soundtrack at the bar started playing Van Halen's "Right Now." I said, "I did my weapons form for my second degree karate exam to this song." More conversation ensued and I mentioned my instructors' first names. And then Caitlin says, "Nelson? What was Nelson's last name?"

"Estrada."

And Caitlin said, "I knew it! I know Nelson. At least I knew a Nelson Estrada that did karate, so I thought it might be him. Nelson was good friends with my brother Kieran. We all went to high school together."

Caitlin and I are also friends on Facebook. So I got out my new iPhone, which I have to admit I'm a bit obsessed with, and checked for Nelson on Facebook. Well, there were a ton of Nelson Estrada's on Facebook. And too hard to see on the small screen in a dark bar which one was the Nelson we knew. So I tried Ray, his brother and another of my instructors. And it turned out Ray was on Facebook.

So today, Ray confirmed me as his friend on Facebook. And I found the right Nelson. And I told him to contact Caitlin.

Small world.

Giving this a try...

So I've always thought of myself as a writer. I swear to myself regularly that I'm going to really sit down and write that book that's been languishing in my computer for years now. It's outlined and everything.

The problem is that I'm not sure that anyone reads books anymore. I know I do. And lots of my family members do. But what about the next generation or the generation after that. Have books become passe?

I started this blog with a couple of goals in mind.

1) to start writing again and (perhaps) be disciplined about it.
2) to see if I get a reaction to what I have to say and therefore whether anyone might be interested in a longer published work (re: book).
3) to see what the blogging thing is all about relative to other people's blogs (I really have only read work-related ones to date).

A quick post for today as I set up this blog. More to come...