Tuesday, January 24, 2012

Failed Resolutions & February Loves



I have a love-hate relationship with the month of January. On one hand, it feels like a fresh blanket of snow: pristine, peaceful and a clean start to a new year. On the other, tying up loose ends from the previous year often muddy the scene and consume more of my time than I ever intended. By February, the promised habits of my New Year’s resolutions remind me of the piles of dog poo in the backyard, lying in wait and slowly revealing their mocking, slushy realities: a lot less messy had I picked them up a month ago.

My solution to those sticky dark issues of unattended resolutions? I’m chucking my resolve to start a fitness regimen, tossing the diet plan, eliminating the “get organized” agenda. Instead of setting goals that I will never get to, or promising myself changes I really don’t feel like making, I am replacing my failed January resolutions with my February loves. Here are my top four:

• Pedal kayaking. This has to be the most fun a person can have getting a full body workout while still sitting down! It is always an adventure, a challenge and a chance to enjoy the outdoors. Bicycling is a close second, but the fact that pedal kayaking involves being on the water puts it firmly in the number one position. The thing I love best about it is that it provides me with an opportunity to be physical and, even better, outside in nature. The downside of pedal kayaking is how rarely I get to actually do it. It’s freezing cold out and I don’t own a pedal kayak, so chances are nonexistent right now. However, every day holds the opportunity to be physically active. So pedal kayaking in February will look a lot like shoveling snow, walking the dog, exploring the beach, hiking on nature trails and going to yoga.

• Getting my hair washed. A friend once said that if she ever won the lottery she would start a horse rescue. The room got very quiet when I responded with: “I would hire someone to wash my hair every day.” I realize this sounds selfish compared to my friend’s desire to do something for the poor down-trodden friendless animals, but have you ever had a really good hair washing? I have and I’m telling you, a good hair wash could potentially change the world.

I’m not talking about the usual hair washing experience where a teenager wearing too much make-up, stinking of cigarettes and chewing gum rubs and yanks your head this way and that, under alternately freezing cold and scalding hot water while asking questions about your personal life. I’m talking about a stream of warm water, strong hands in a slow and rhythmic massage, and the intimacy of a respectful silence. This has the power to relax the mind and the body. The thing I love best about it is the opportunity for human touch. The chance to make physical contact with another human being in a meaningful way presents itself regularly. Holding a hand, giving a hug, providing intimate physical contact…This kind of connection gives a body the energy and the will to go out into the world and do great things, tackle big issues…start horse rescues.

• Knitting. There aren’t a whole lot of things my mother excelled at, but knitting was one of them. Always, she would have a knitting project going. I would watch her endlessly and marvel as her fingers flew and the needles click-clacked a thread into something useful right before my eyes. I learned to knit as a small child and while I will never be as skilled as my mother, I find the quiet enjoyment of knitting to be one of my deepest pleasures. I think because this singular act provides me with a multitude of opportunities.

For one, it gives me a sense of connection with her, a powerful legacy. With every stitch I conjure her up and feel her guiding my hands. It also gives me the opportunity to begin, create and finish something. Completing something creative brings a new kind of energy to our lives, a sense of accomplishment that is at once empowering and settling. In a broader sense, it gives me an opportunity to be mindful. As much as I’d like to, I can’t always be knitting. It even gets tedious or physically draining at times. However, the opportunity to be mindful and creative presents itself regularly. Writing, meditating and even – or maybe I should say, especially – doing the dishes or folding the laundry, all suddenly look a little less chore-some and a little more Zen.

• Dealing with critters. Upon returning from Christmas vacation, we discovered a couple of mice had found refuge in our pantry. One might ask why I would think this was a good thing…For starters, it gave me the immediate opportunity to wipe down all the shelves in the pantry – a task I have repeatedly put off in favor of less meaningful pursuits. This in turn led to a trip to the local food pantry with some of the duplicate products we weren’t using. It also provided a clear picture of just what was food in there and what wasn’t based on what the mice munched. For example, they skipped right over the ramen and chips in favor of breaking open the granola bars.

We did eventually catch them in a no-kill trap and let them go in the woods. It would have been a lot quicker and less effort to use a snap trap and toss the dead things in the trash, but those mice presented us with an opportunity to be merciful, to practice kindness. Those two small animals virtually flying over the snow in long leaps to freedom is an image that will stay with me for a long time. It warmed me on a cold January day in a way nothing else could. Do I wish for a house overrun with critters? Absolutely not. However, I can volunteer at the local shelter or set out some bird seed. Acknowledging the animals in my life, both welcomed and uninvited, honoring their place in this world brings me a little closer to nature, makes me feel a little more…human.

Now when I look back over my deeds and misdeeds of the past month, instead of failed resolutions, it feels like the start of a whole new year.

Tuesday, January 17, 2012

I Was The Target Target


(Alternatively: Channeling The Lunatic)

I finished up at the gym and dashed over to Target for a handful of items. Like 1000 times before, I grabbed a cart, threw in my gigantic purse and rolled toward the back. As is my habit, I would work my way forward, picking up what I needed and perusing the wide aisles for all sorts of things I didn’t.

Which explains why I was in the camping aisle. I don’t particularly like to camp, but there are so many good reasons to wander this aisle. For one, camping is apparently all about the latest gadgets and I do love a good gadget. I also like to look at the outdoorsy pictures on the lanterns and tents and breathe in the imaginary fresh air. Most important, it’s usually devoid of people, making it particularly perusable.

The lunatic is on the grass
The lunatic is on the grass
Remembering games and daisy chains and laughs

I stopped to check out the lovely insulated bags and decided I really need to have one. Choosing a pattern was going to take all of my attention and I stood transfixed for a minute. Or two. I had a notion of another person rolling by, but only vaguely. In the way you shuffle forward a bit to make room for two-way cart traffic while still focusing on the items on the shelf.

Got to keep the loonies on the path

I settled on the purple floral and got about four feet when I realized someone had put children’s clothing in my cart. Why would someone do that? And what happened to my paper plates? No. They hadn’t switched items with me, they had switched carts. Whoops, I thought. Some shopper as distracted as me. Won’t they feel silly when they realize they have the wrong cart…I looked around. Not a soul in sight. I thought about the things I had already ‘bought’ and how I was going to have to retrace my steps and reload this bogus cart.

And then I remembered my purse.

My whole life was in that purse. Oh shit. Cell phone, credentials, credit cards, camera, a just cashed paycheck…I felt dizzy and started to sweat. My hands were clammy and my face flushed with shame… How could I be so careless? I ran up and down empty aisles, my brain racing.

“Help,” I croaked, the massive hands of fear and panic squeezing my throat.

I remembered a story of a molester who grabbed a small child in an amusement park. Within minutes, the park sealed the exits and the child was found – already drugged and disguised by the perp. That fast. My heart was racing. That fast. Suddenly, I knew what I had to do.

“MY BABY!!!!”

Three red shirted teenagers appeared, all asking questions. “What’s wrong?” “What else was in the cart?” Where did you leave your baby?”

They kept trying to calm me down. I realized this must be part of their training. I had to explain that it wasn’t an actual baby, but my purse. My purse! I heard myself babbling about the size and shape of the red cart…

The lunatic is in the hall
The lunatics are in my hall


“SEAL THE EXITS!!” I was breathing hard, building up steam, feeling violated. Why were the red shirts just standing there? DO SOMETHING! And it hit me. I was creating a public disturbance. Just the tiniest glimpse and it hit me. Crazy. It’s in the eyes. It was in their eyes…Suddenly I was backing away. They think I’m crazy!

It was the point of no return. Someone was making off with my well-ordered life tucked neatly in a shoulder bag.

“Do or die, baby,” I mumbled to myself.

And if your head explodes with dark forebodings too
I'll see you on the dark side of the moon


I hated that look in their eyes, what I imagined they saw. Meanwhile, some predator was getting away with robbing me because I was too chicken to risk being looked at as crazy. The robber knew my head, knew I would play by the rules and that would be too slow.

I stepped into the abyss.

The lunatic is in my head
The lunatic is in my head


“CHECK THE CAMERAS! NOBODY LEAVES!!” I jumped up and down. I waved my arms. I ran faster, getting louder, covering as much ground as possible with every leap and bound. I knew the robber had to be within hearing distance for it to work. I had to send a message that I was not going to go down quietly. I had to get in his head.

“STOP! THIEF! CALL THE POLICE!”

Shoppers gaped. Children pointed. Red-shirts were calling managers on walkie-talkies. I ran to the registers. STOP WHAT YOU’RE DOING! I stood at the front door, feet planted, arms crossed, jolly-green-giant-style. Now what do I do?

I felt my resolve weakening. This sucked. I was the victim and yet there was some real hostility being directed at me now.

You lock the door
And throw away the key
There's someone in my head but it's not me.


I fed the lunatic with mental images of what the future might hold: quite possibly leaving Target in handcuffs…losing all my cell phone contacts…having to go to DMV for a new license…

“You there!” I pointed at a red-shirted girl who’s eyes were bugging out of her head. “THIS IS A CODE RED! NOBODY LEAVES UNTIL WE FIND MY PURSE!”

Inwardly, I bargained with God: Please God, just let me get my credit cards and the picture of Flower and I will never ever ever leave my purse unattended in the baby seat again...

And if the cloud bursts, thunder in your ear
You shout and no one seems to hear


It worked. The boy from electronics came huffing and puffing to the front, pushing a cart. My cart. “I found it!” he called out. “I found it! It looks like everything is here: your purse, your wallet, even your paper plates.”

I hadn’t realized there was a buzzing in my head until it suddenly stopped. All I could hear was the collective sigh of red-shirted relief. And Pink Floyd.

Suddenly, I was exhausted. I felt myself crumpling from the inside out and I thought I might start crying hysterically. I picked up my purse and wondered if I would make it to my car before my knees buckled. The bug-eyed girl was saying something…

“See! It was all just a mix-up. Probably the customer realized it wasn’t their cart and just left it.”

And if the band you're in starts playing different tunes
I'll see you on the dark side of the moon


I strode back over to her and leaned in close - a little too close. “Honey,” I said. “If you believe that – you’re crazy.”


Bonus: Young Pink Floyd/Brain Damage