right place....right time.

I'd been warned.  Since the day I got my driver's license at 16. I gave the same warnings to my own children when they became drivers.

NEVER pick up hitchikers. NEVER.  EVER.  They're usually always axe murderers or rapists up to no good.  Usually.

I've ignored that warning exactly three times in my lifetime and every time I came away safely, uplifted and feeling like it was the exact right thing to do at that point in time.

This is not a practice that I am advocating, and its not a situation that I am planning to repeat in the future. I just know that every once in awhile.. the inner voice tells me (LOUDLY) to do something and if I do it...something good happens.

The first time was back when my son was about 8 years old.  It was a very hot summer day and we were out running errands and enjoying the air conditioning in our car.  I was on my way to Walmart and there was a young man walking along the road.  I knew him from when I used to work at a bank.  He was mentally challenged and he used to come in and do his banking with his father.  His father was trying to teach him how to be an independent adult.  His father had passed away a few years ago and now Tim was on his own. He never got a driver's license and he lived close to the stores and bank so he could walk or ride a bus anywhere he needed to go.  He was limping and he looked to be headed in the same direction we were going. I felt the need to pull over and help this man escape the heat. I looked at my son and I said " I know him, I used to wait on him at the bank...he looks like he needs a ride. Doesn't he?"  

I pulled over and asked Tim where he was going.. "I'm headed to Walmart to get a prescription and catch the bus.." I told him to hop in. He did.  I dropped him off at the door and he hobbled on his way.  My son and I got what we needed and as we were leaving I caught sight of our friend getting on his bus. 

The next time  I chose to follow my inner voice, it was about 10 years later, again it was a very hot day. One of those southern Illinois days that's notorious for melting asphalt.  This time it was a young mother, with a child of approximately 3 years of age clutching her hand.  They were walking away from an overheating car along a very busy stretch of road.  I pulled over and asked her if she needed any help. Her face immediately relaxed and she asked if I wouldn't mind dropping her off up the road about 5 miles away at her mother's house.  It was on my way, I knew the neighborhood.  She was very grateful.   I waited till she let herself into the house, her son grinned and waved at me as they walked in.

The last time was just a few weeks ago.  It was after 9pm on a Wednesday night, it was a chilly that night and it was starting to rain and I had to run out and get my daughter some cold medicine because she was at home sick, and desperately needed some chicken noodle soup and Nyquil...and that's what moms do.  I was coming out of my apartment complex and headed towards the highway when I saw a young man balancing a laundry basket on one hip, and dragging a wheeled basket behind him.....  I knew the closest laundromat was only a few blocks away, but what a miserable night to have to walk there.  I pulled over and asked him if he needed a lift up the road.  He gratefully loaded his laundry into the back seat and sat beside it.  I asked him... 'you're not an axe murderer or anything, are you?" he laughed and said...  "nah, just a poor college student".  I dropped him off at the laundromat and he said 'thank you...I really appreciate this...".

I know it's not much in the grand scheme of things, but you never know what little things you can do, how they ripple out like a pebble dropped into still water. I spent maybe an hour out of my life, total, on those three little events. An hour out of my life, that's it.  How much of a difference did I make in those three lives? Probably not a lot, or any at all, really.  But someday, that little boy might remember how a stranger helped him and his mom...and he might do the same for another young mother and her kid.  Tim might remember that some people can be nice to him and the world isn't always so mean.  Maybe that college kid will help someone else.  You never know.  Those little things just keep rippling out and before you know it...it is a really big ripple.

Having PRiDE.....

The PRiDE Circuit is a form of torture devised by an evil genius(I say this in jest...he's really a great guy and a fantastic motivator and trainer)named Todd (look him up on Facebook under PRiDE fitness). The circuit consists of: kettle bells, weighted sled pull, weighted sled push, farmers walk, rope swings, heavy bag carry, medicine ball toss, pull ups, cable push ups, cable pull ups, jump rope, BIG tire roll,jump rope, keg toss, turf climb, planks, sledge hammer,plyometric jumps, medicine ball SLAM, heavy bag punches, tire obstacle run and various other things he throws in for 'fun'.  

The Pride crew is a group of 30 - 40 strangers and friends who gather on Tuesday nights at 6 pm and Saturday mornings at 9 am in the evil genius' yard.  90 degree weather...30 degree weather...snow...slight dampness... doesn't matter.  PRIDE knows no season.  

You see....here's the thing, that picture up there...^^ yeah, that's me.  I'm fat.  No...really...I am.  I get it.  But this is the body I have and I haven't been very good to it.  I'm trying to change that now, and it's going to take some time.  That's ok, though, I have plenty of that.  Well, you know...until I'm OUT of time, at which point I'll be dead and it won't matter what I looked like in jeans anyway.  Right? 

So, my friend Carrie, who is aware of my trying to make healthy changes says to me.. "hey...come with me to 'THE CIRCUIT'.  it's a lot of fun, it only costs $5 a session, great group of people.  TRUST ME".  So, I did.

I've never been an athlete and traditional sports do not interest me.  The Evil One pairs us off into teams.  Usually a novice with someone who's a bit more experienced at the circuit.  The "circuit" is set up so that you do each exercise for 30 seconds, then you move on to the next station.  I can do anything for 30 seconds.  If something is too tough for me, I modify it into something I CAN  do.  The key is to just keep moving.  The WHOLE circuit is performed once through, then there is a very short break and you do the WHOLE circuit over again.  By the end of the session, you are dripping with sweat, out of breath, every muscle in your body(most you forgot you even had) are screaming and you feel more alive than you have in your life.  

The first time I went I got through it with a minimum of mishaps....ok, I did trip on the tire obstacles and landed on my butt.  I wasn't quite able to make it over the turf climb, I kinda landed on top of it and looked like a beached dolphin.  The turf climb is a ROLL of artificial turf that's roughly the size of a 4 foot high hill..the object is to run at it, plant your foot and toss yourself over.  It has become my personal Matterhorn.  

Todd really is an evil genius... he's assembled the greatest bunch of people and every one of them is supportive and motivating.  The very first time I went, people I'd never met before were cheering me on, telling me what a great job I did on this or that, encouraging my efforts on the turf climb, instructing me on the proper technique for tossing an empty beer keg.  The whole experience makes you want to go back for more.  How sick is that??  I find myself looking forward to Tuesday nights and Saturday mornings. Pretty crazy, huh? I've devised my own home circuit that's not quite as challenging, but still keeps the body moving and makes me sweat, that is the whole point, anyway.  

I've been doing "The Circuit" for a little over a month now...roughly about 10 sessions.  I'm making progress... a little bit more every time.  I have made it over the turf climb a few times.  There was a celebration the first time.  Everyone was very congratulatory.   That's how the PRiDE crew does things...   

Some Women....

This piece was SUPPOSED to have appeared in a Motorcycle E-zine....but apparently not, so I re-tooled it. 

Some women appreciate the fire-engine red sole of a beautiful Christian Louboutin high heel shoe, others find the imaginative creativity of Dior couture clothing to be more to their liking, there are even those who can be seduced with fine jewelry and diamonds. Not me.  I've never gotten the knack of using a curling iron, can't wear mascara to save my life and I never learned to walk correctly in high heels.  All it takes to get my heart pumping and make my breathing erratic is a v-twin engine, some chrome, and handlebars all riding on two wheels.

I have come to the conclusion that my love of all things chromed and two-wheeled is genetic. I've always had a love of speed and the wind in my face and I wondered where it came from. As it turns out, I got it from my parents.

Way back in the late fifties my dad was a young man in the Air Force, stationed in Japan. He and his friends would rent motorcycles on the weekend and go sight seeing. When he came back stateside and was in Arizona, he and his buddy would trade vehicles sometimes if his buddy had a date. The buddy would take dad's car and he would get stuck with the other guy's Harley Davidson. Awwww, poor Dad. While he was in possession of the Harley he would pick my mom up and they would go out exploring the desert with other couples and their bikes. When mom and dad got married, the moto fever went dormant for a few years. They settled into life and became parents.

It was awakened in me when I was about 6 years old. The whole family was out east visiting dad's family in Pennsylvania. My uncle had recently gotten a Corvette and he wanted to take me for a ride. I was buckled into the passenger seat and off we went. I don't remember this, but from what dad told me, when uncle Harry buried the needle in the speedometer, I begged him to “make it go faster!” A few years after that, on yet another family trip, Harry took me for another ride. This time on a motorcycle. I don't remember what the bike looked like, but I remember the wind in my face and the countryside racing by me. This must be what heaven is like. Somewhere, there is a picture of me on Uncle Harry's bike, but I can't find it.

When my parents divorced, dad got another bike, it was a beautiful 1972 Honda Goldwing. I get shivers remembering that bike. Dad would take me and my sister for rides on it. I dreamed of a day when I would be able to be in control of a machine that beautiful. Time marched on, I grew older, dated, married, became a young mother and the dream again went dormant.

When the kids got older my husband bought a Honda Nighthawk. It was a thing of beauty. I lusted after it like a hungry person lusts for a crust of bread. I fell in love with riding all over again. The plan was that he would teach me to ride. It never happened. We got divorced instead and the dream again went to sleep.

In June of 2008 mom was diagnosed with Lymphoma. She had fought this disease once before and we knew that this time it was not going to be an easy fight. During the course of her treatments I learned a hard lesson about how precious life was and how important it was to pursue your dreams when you had the chance.

I made plans to take a motorcycle safety course and get my license. The state of Illinois offers the classes for free. You register through the local college and take the three day course. They provide everything, the bikes, the helmets and all you have to do is show up and get instructed. At the end of the course you take the written test, the road test, and if you passed both you get a certificate which you take to the DMV to get your certification on your driver's license. I took the course in September of 2009. Unfortunately, I didn't pass the road test. My instructors were very encouraging and told me that “for a person that has never been in control of a bike before, you did amazingly well. Get some practice in, get more comfortable riding ,and then take the course again, you'll pass!”

I decided to get a bike, practice on it and then take the motorcycle course again in the Spring or Fall. I found "Blue" on Ebay. I watched the motorcycle auctions, and saw what the prices were like. I figured if I could find a bike cheap enough(under $700.00) I'd buy one. I had my income tax windfall coming in. Why not help out the economy and spend it foolishly?? I never really thought I would find a halfway decent bike. 

I watched "Blue" for 3 days, never bidding. "Blue" is a vintage(used) 1981 Honda CM400C with a beautiful blue metallic tank. She has some miles on her(but so do I) she has a great leather seat(OK..mine's not leather), perky headlights (no comment). She's been through some stuff, but she would be good for me to have some adventures with. I can't explain it, I had to bid on her.

When it got down to the final hour, I made my move. The auction was due to end in 20 minutes and I set a maximum bid of $650.00. I waited and I watched. I was the high bidder. HUH??? SERIOUSLY??!! I kept refreshing the screen - 5 minutes....4 minutes....3....2....1. OH MY GAWD. I just bought a freakin motorcycle for the grand total of $611.00!

Being a modern girl, I sent out email notifications and texts. The response was overwhelming and positive for the most part. Dad was strangely silent on the subject, at first, then he admonished me to be careful and respect the stupidity of other drivers, as well as my own inexperience.  I practiced on BLUE and took the course over again.  This time I did get my license.  Blue and i had a few adventures, saw a few sunrises and a few sunsets and we explored the backstreets and country roads around my small little town.    I always knew she would not be my last bike, she was only the beginning.  I really needed something bigger than a 400 CC engine to accomplish all the stuff I want to do. There were some mechanical problems involved and it just wasn't worth the investment to fix them.  I sold Blue to someone who restores old bikes for the sheer love of it(and to make a bit of profit when he re-sells them).  I have hopes that Blue ended up with someone who would appreciate her.  I'm on the lookout for a bigger bike, I'll know it when it finds me.

In the meantime, I am currently....(sob) bikeless.  I guess I will have to just content myself with being the passenger on the boyfriend's Victory Kingpin.. oh... the horror. (grin).

The Status Quo

Status Quo- The existing state or condition.   

I admit it, I've been a little lazy.  I was just going along, feeling all content and happy.  Living the dream as it were.  I had made some goals for myself, but I had just sort of half-assed it.  I didn't fully commit.  I did some of the work, part of the time. I didn't do ALL of the work All of the time.  This was brought to my attention recently by a conversation with my love.  

 He was trying to be supportive and was asking me how my 'program' was going since I hadn't mentioned it in awhile.  I was a little hormonal at the time(don't judge me!!) therefore, I didn't take the direction the conversation was going very well.  I took it to mean that I was not enough as I was...that in order to keep his love I had to become this person that I thought he had in his mind.   Remember that last sentence... THAT I THOUGHT HE HAD IN HIS MIND.  This was not the case.  All I wanted to hear was " No honey... you're beautiful just as you are.  If you want to change, do it for you, not for me." Since he wasn't adept at mindreading, he didn't know that's what I needed to hear. 

 Instead, he told me that he wanted to make sure that I wasn't going to be happy with the status quo.  That if I wanted to change, I would take positive steps to make it happen and not just play at it. He wanted the beauty that he saw in my soul to be reflected outward.  For ME, not for him.

It's a process.  It won't happen overnight. It won't happen in a week. It won't even happen in a month, but  It will happen.  I'm doing more about it now, I'm not just playing at it, I'm actually DOING SOMETHING every day to make it happen. He doesn't have a person in his mind that he wants me to become.  That was all in my brain, not his. Maybe if I wouldn't THINK I knew what someone was thinking and maybe ask them what they're thinking, a lot of misunderstandings and hurt feelings wouldn't happen.  There's a radical concept.

The key here is to remember that the number is not the total. The number is just that.... a number.  It can be high....it can be low...but it will never change who I am.  I'll still be the me he fell for - just the packaging might change a little.  For the better.  :)  

Let the record show that, he did tell me he thought I was beautiful, that even if he doesn't say it, doesn't mean he isn't thinking it.  That's all a girl really wants to hear.   

Just leave a note.

I joined this event on Facebook the other day. It intrigued me. It was called "Piercing the darkness-leave a note". The project was simple, and anyone could do it. All you had to do was write a simple note and leave it somewhere for someone else to find. The idea was to write something encouraging or positive and hopefully make someone else's day a bit brighter or just send out a little good karma to the universe.

I wrote my note, and I planned to leave it on the shelf at Walmart when I got a few groceries tonight. Things didn't quite work out as planned.

I wrote my little note on a yellow post-it note and stuck it to my list of things I needed to pick up at the store. I drove to the store after work and was getting out of the car when the wind picked up and whipped the post it note right off the list in my hand. I watched the note flutter for a few minutes and then I figured that the universe had someone special in mind for my note. I hope so. My note says simply this-

You, YES I mean YOU are more amazing than you realize..

You really are, you know.

This Mortal Coil

This time of year naturally makes me reflective. Of late, my thoughts have turned to mortality and the nature of death, dying and how we handle such events. This is my second Christmas without my mother and a couple friends lost loved ones or dear friends and these things have made me think deeper thoughts than normal. I promise this is NOT going to be a morose piece. Just stay with me, I promise this chain of thought will have a happy, or at the very least, upbeat, ending.

I was deep in thought one night when I received an email from a dear friend. A friend of his had recently passed away. He was a relatively healthy 51 year old man who went into the hospital for a routine shoulder surgery. Just a few days before he was admitted to the hospital the two men had talked and joked with each other. The man died on the operating table. My friend was still dealing with his shock over the event and told me that in his mind, there are 4 types of deaths:

1.Older people. We expect old people to die, so when they do, it's not really all that much of a shock. Of course, it still hurts when it happens, but it is somewhat expected.

2. People with terminal illnesses. Again, we expect this and sometimes, it's even a blessing.

3. Random chance. When someone gets run over by a truck or struck by lightning, it's just dumb (bad) luck. There is no reason why he or she was the one killed; it was just a case of being at the wrong place at the wrong time.

4. The "Huh, what?" category. These are the deaths that defy explanation. A person goes into the hospital for a routine procedure and unforeseen circumstances happen and they are just gone.

We messaged a bit more about life events, the holidays and that sort of thing, wished each other peace and went on our merry ways.

Another friend of mine recently lost the love of his life right before Thanksgiving. There was a very touching, yet simple, memorial and ash scattering ceremony. I thought that it was very personal, and classy and just absolutely perfect considering the love story these two people shared. It was very uniquely theirs and it was just exactly what the dearly departed would have wanted. We all have ways of dealing with our grief and feelings of loss when someone is gone from our lives. There are candles lit, prayers said, grave blankets bought, memorials engraved, ceremonies performed, but not one of us really knows what is on the other side. I choose to think there is peace and warmth and love on the other side. You may disagree and that's fine, I'm not trying to sway anyone here. I'm just giving an opinion.

When my time comes, and I really am hoping for a category number 1. type demise, this is what I want. I don't want to be memorialized in marble and I don't want to be buried. From dust I began and from dust I wish to be returned. Don't spend a lot of money on a container, I won't be in it for long. I want my ashes scattered from a lookout point at Pere Marquette Park – preferably one with the absolute best view of the river . I want anyone who wishes to participate to gather on the third weekend of October(when the fall colors are at their height). Wear shades of red and gold and brown, play the song “this ain't goodbye” by Train and release me into the foliage overlooking the bluffs. Then I want everyone to have a lovely meal, maybe some pasta, salad and ice cream. Sit around that table and tell the absolutely most embarrassing stories you can think of about me, laugh, maybe cry a itsy bitsy bit and remember me fondly. When its all over, the participants will be left with a memory of a lovely afternoon with a friend. I can think of no better tribute than to live on in the memories of my friends and loved ones.

I did promise you an upbeat ending and here it is. I have a mission for you. In this newly minted year, make it a priority to do these things. Take some chances, love unconditionally, laugh loudly, taste the ice cream, feel the snow and rain as it touches your skin, give your enemies forgiveness, let go of old wounds, keep the promises you make, and do something you've always wanted to do. Just try to live each day as if it were your last...or close to your last because one of these days, and none of us knows exactly when, you'll be right. You'll never regret it. I promise.