Fading Maturity

Dear Diary,

I am a mature adult!  I think. . .  So how is it that I just got sucked into a new walking game?  I'm thinking my FitBit became a little too boring and all my friends that I started walking with have "broken" theirs.  So, out comes the phone and on comes the App called PokemonGo!  What happens next?  Well, the game has a map of wherever I happen to be.  Creepy much?  I found it quite impressive.  So, I was at home walking in my neighborhood.  I was getting more Poke Balls at a maze near my home (otherwise known as a Poke Stop) and there were three other people on the street.  I assume we were all doing the same thing - reloading our game.  All four of us were staring at our phone like the total geeks that we are!  Then my walking buddy (daughter) and I realized Pikachu was nearby.  We immediately started tracking him.  Because who doesn't want a Pikachu, right?  We realized the guy at the Poke Stop started following us.  We giggled.  Yep, my maturity is down the tubes!  I have lost all common sense.  BUT I am out on my feet walking around.  So, my take is PokemonGo has found a way to get the gaming geeks out into a public area and some may even talk to each other as they try to 'catch them all'.  Side note:  It is truly unfair to put all the good stuff out on the sundial bridge in Redding, CA!  We were traveling and made a stop to cross this cool bridge.  I will mention the thing is made of glass.  My vertigo would not allow me to cross it.  So, no refills in Redding for me.  That is just so wrong!

A Very Special House

Dear Diary,

For as long as I can remember, my grandparent's home has existed. It was white, yellow, turquoise, and maybe even some other colors during its tenure.  In a childhood where I never really felt stable, that house was always a place I felt welcomed and unconditionally loved.  It was my place of stability.  After hearing of the remodel (that I was OK with) and seeing a picture that it was razed (I was in tears), I felt my tummy flip around a bit and really melted down.  As usual, my rock (otherwise known as my husband) reminded me that this is just a place that held many good memories.  Those memories are still there.  I

struggled a bit with that thought, even though I knew he was right.  Then something amazing happened (I hate those ads on Facebook that say this, but I couldn't think of a better segue).

I recently lost my dad to cancer (thats not the amazing part). . .and had a burning need to do something that would make a difference.  I'm just made that way.  I need to do things big, perfect, special, etc.  I tend to over-do everything. . .I think it may even be a family joke.  So, I joined the local Relay for Life.  I created a team of one (myself) and vowed to raise $500 (as my first year at this) and went forward with all my enthusiasm.  Lots of tears were spilled as I went through the process over these last several months.  When I thought I would fail, the other team leaders would hug me and cheer me on.  I felt so taken care of by these strangers I was working with.

I walked a marathon on the weekend of my event.  I sold medals encouraging others to walk a 5K.  I had a booth that gave $100 away to the winner of my fundraising game.  And as I watched my progress approach $500, I was thrilled.  I posted to Facebook that I was close to my goal and both my daughter and sister (from Minnesota, I'm in California) added donations that took me over $500.  I sobbed and gasped as I began to realize what I had.  That day continued on. . .and my fundraising went to $750. . .then $950. . .and I couldn't help but realize that the people that were getting my numbers up so high were the same ones that I met in that very special house.  The people that I grew up around.  The ones I loved unconditionally and now realize they loved me the same way.  So as I am now at $1025 in fundraising, I can honestly say that it wasn't the house that kept me stable.  It was the people that were in it.  The ones that will follow my crazy antics on Facebook and laugh or cry with me, as needed.  Because it's my family that keeps me stable. . .not the house.   Don't get me wrong, I will miss that house, but I've had a much bigger epiphany and I am so grateful for it.

My Vote Counted! Did Yours?

Dear Diary,

I know!  I know it's been a while.  Today, I just need a place to vent.  Here is my experience at the California primary election.  My hubby, a registered democrat, went straight through, got his cards and voted.  Myself, I'm registered as independent.  I get halted at the card station and am told to chose one of five selections.  I was unaware this would happen.  I ask what the difference of each voting choice was and was told I had to choose one and they couldn't influence me by describing anything.  Color me stunned. . .I may as well roll a five-sided-die and see what I get (that was for my gamer kids).  After my refusal to select randomly, one of the ladies turns the five different cards around for me to "accidentally" look at them.  I point to the one that has my candidate on it (and YES, it was Bernie) and say I choose that one.  I am told I must state verbally this choice that I want.  I guess pointing was too general?  I have no clue what to call this choice I needed to make . . . damn those Math and Engineering degrees.  I should have taken English or some other form of Communications.  So, the nice lady points to a location that lists all the possible voters for each card.  I then look at the card I want, find the magic set of words that matches the set of words in that list of five choices I was expected to choose from.  Then the lady tells me I must state exactly what I want.  The words had so little meaning to me, I can't even remember today what they were, but I finally got my card and was able to step up the to voting station.  Meanwhile, the hubby had finished.  Who knew being independent would be such a struggle?  I've never had an experience like this in all the years I have voted.  So tell me, what if I hadn't had someone willing to go the distance to help me out?  What if I had accepted my crap shoot of a card based of the roll of the die?  What if I wasn't strong willed enough to demand that card I wanted?  What if I spoke limited English?  Now, tell me, do you think some votes were lost for my candidate of choice?  I don't doubt it one tiny bit!

Clothing Purge Recommended

Dear Diary,

I am feeling quite accomplished, today.  I am all caught up on laundry.  You would think that only having to do laundry for two (the hubby and I), now that all our kids have grown up, this would be an easy task.  Nope, nope, nope!  My laundry loads just keep growing bigger and bigger.
If our mountain bike gear didn't stink so bad already, I'd make us wear it twice before washing it.  I mean, we only wear those clothes for a couple hours each time.  I know my tush would complain dearly if we got rid of our bike chamois.  That option is out.
Then there is the running gear.  New sport, new gear, right!?!  We only wear that for an hour, max!  I'm going though a gallon of vinegar a month just to keep all this stuff fresh smelling.  Maybe we should just get rid of our regular clothing and live in our sports gear.  Just saying. . .

Coyote Run

Dear Diary,

I hate making my body go running, but I sure do love how I feel after I run.  Shouldn't these feelings be on the same wavelength?  My run, today, was a bit of an adventure.  I, typically, walk an old Army track to warm up before I hit the trails.  Today, there was a young coyote chasing gophers at the track.  I was thrilled and pointed him out to some hikers that were heading out.  I watched the coyote leave on the trail to the right, so I opted to cross the road and run the trail that went left.  That should keep me away from his path.  WRONG!  After a couple minutes of running, I came across a young coyote in the path.  I slowed to a walk and he turned towards me in curiosity and held his position.  He looked like the little guy I had seen earlier.  Why isn't he running away?  Sigh.  I guess the trails are his, today.  I beat feet back to the pavement.  As I looked back, he was loping casually behind me.  My heart rate shot up but I forced myself to a walk so he didn't think I was worth chasing and after a couple minutes he disappeared.  I was so relieved.  I continued my workout doing out and backs from my car.  Every girl needs an escape plan, right?  After all, that little coyote was only about a quarter mile from the parking lot.  Meanwhile, I got a new Personal Record on my run.  I'll take it.

I Hate Water. . .

Dear Diary,

I had to get back on the wagon and write a blog post.  My brother seemed a little down and here is my pick-him-up response.  Salt is bad for you and I hate drinking water.  It always tastes like the container it came from.  I think my FitBit tried to kill me.  As I worked through one of those workweek challenges, I was forced to compete against others for the most steps.  Every night I went to bed #1 and every morning I woke up about 6,000 steps behind.  I blame the time difference.  I was competing with people from Minnesota.  Getting smart, I stayed up late and threw down 20,000 steps in a day.  My calves were screaming.  I ran two miles and walked another two miles later that day out on beautiful Fort Ord, California.  As I went by the vernal pools, I remember having to tell my mother what a vernal pool was when she visited.  Then I had to show her.  They can only be called beautiful.  Kind of like hanging near a deserted portion of the Mississippi River up in Minnesota.  The ducks were abundant.  I just got over a week of being sick and all that walking wore me out.  I went to see the doctor when I was sick.  He told me I had a temp of nearly 100 degrees.  When asked how long I had been running a fever, I laughed.  I told him
that I wasn't sure as I thought I was just having hot flashes.  I wonder if he thought that was as funny as I though it was.  OR it was my fevered brain that made me think I was funny.  I was sent home with instruction to 'drink more water'.  Guess that's a family trait.

Page/Life Refresh

Dear Diary,

I have a confession.  I slacked off on the writing of my book pretty much the whole month of February.  Every time I sat down, I had so much going on in my head and I would get overwhelmed.  On the bright side, my California writing buddy has given me so many tips.  It turns out that running a log at the bottom of my page (on the computer) was a way to get these thoughts down before they got lost.  I now have one wicked (read amazing) outline for my book and as I sit to write in this new month of March, I am finding my momentum is back.  I am so thankful.  Meanwhile, I saw an old friend from my Minnesota days over a long lunch, today.  I don't think we have seen each other in close to fifteen years.  It really brought back some fun memories.  Although, it did feel weird for me to think of his kids as all grown up.  I should know better since they are the same ages as mine and my kids
are all grown up.  I guess I think of them as the age I last saw them.  I invited him to my big "Half Century" party in May.  I hope he comes.

Happy Thinks

Dear Diary,

I've been having the strangest dreams.  I, consistently, wake up from them around 3:00 a.m.  Sometimes I remember them and sometimes I don't.  What I do know is that my dad has been in a lot of them, lately.  In my awake times, I have these bizarre moments in the day where I think about dad.  Some are quite odd, like can he see me running/riding out here on Fort Ord?  Will he send me a spirit animal to say "hello"?  Was that Bobcat a sign?  These aren't even things I would ever have associated with my dad.  Then there are moments where I am in my own world and completely unaware that he is going to sneak into my thoughts.  I will be checking in on Facebook to see what my Minnesota family is up to and I see a post with Dad's name in it.  These always make me cry.  I think its OK for me to be sad and miss dad, he was my dad.  But when I see others miss him too, it stuns me.  Then it makes me realize how much more he was.  He was more than my dad.  He was a bit of something to others and we all miss him just a tiny bit (or a lot).  Is it wrong to be a little jealous that others cared about him too?  My cousin will be doing a firefighter stair climb.  And recently he has posted, "This year while I am climbing the 69 flights of stairs I will be thinking of my uncle Lane that passed away this year."  I wish I had the stamina and strength to join him, but you can be sure my heart will be right there with him.  Because I am now a little bit pleased that dad was special to others and not just plain ol' dad.  Meanwhile I will continue to run 5Ks each month this year in his honor.  It won't get dad back but it makes me think of him and I don't mind that so much.  My thinks are surprisingly happy thinks and that can only be good.

Shoes

Dear Diary,

These are the shoes that I live in.  OK, maybe not the cute black ones in the middle.  I do, however own a pair of knee high boots that I totally love.  Meanwhile, I have (from left to right) work shoes, walking shoes, trail shoes, running shoes and mountain bike shoes.  I don't need anymore than that.  I ran my first, ever, 5K race today.  Well, it was more a walk five minutes, run one kind of deal.  Everyone has to start somewhere, right?  My sport of choice is really mountain biking.  So this is my mountain biker's take on my first 5K.  Before:  This will get me in better shape for mountain biking.  It won't be so bad.  I have been swimming for a month now.  No worries.  During:  OMG!  We are running in mud.  I didn't read this on the route description.  My new running shoes are getting dirty.  I should have worn my trail shoes.  How deep is that puddle?  Where did all these hills come from?  I swear I can walk faster than I run.  After:  The beer is free but the mimosa's aren't?  I hate beer.  It costs $11 for a mimosa?  Forget it. . .give me my finisher's medallion.  I'm going home to make my own mimosa!  Oh, and to change my shoes.

Reading

Dear Diary,

I don't think I have enough books.  There is still room on my shelves.  I read a lot.  Today, I finished a book that I started yesterday and read another one too.  I am now starting my third book.  It may be a big day of procrastination for me.  Yep, I'm feeling quite lazy.  OR I can call it research.  Yes, I am searching out that magic formula for writing a good book.  I am stumbling through dialog.  I think I may be overthinking it.  What would a typical conversation be like?  Would character A really say it that way?  What about character B?  How do these authors keep me reading through pages and pages of dialog?  I laugh and fret right along with the people in the books I read.  How do I do this in my book?  Ugh!  All these thoughts run through my brain and my pages are filled with notes like, "add dialog here" and "look up subject of. . ."  Who knew I would get into this so much?  At this point, I have a scattering of scenarios none of which seem organized and make me chuckle as I am truly an obsessive person when it comes to organizing.  I need to invite my writer friend to the house for brunch.  I need book advice.  Meanwhile, I'll keep on reading.

Something Blue

Dear Diary,

Today, I am tired and sluggish.  All I want to do is eat chips and ice cream.  My face itches from poison oak and I'm afraid to scratch it. I don't think I'll ever finish painting my daughter's room.  The rain is dumping and dumping and dumping.  In the news, I heard there was a tornado nearby in Prunedale.  What's up with that?  Californians don't have basements.  We have earthquake safe homes, not tornado safe homes.  I have many memories of tornadoes as a kid in Minnesota. . .hunkering down at my auntie's.  We didn't have a basement then, either.  So we would drive across town and hunker down in this hole in the kitchen floor that had a hot water heater in it.  Us kids would play Barbies while the adults stayed above ground and listened to the radio for weather updates.  Those were some great times.  I had no idea what a tornado really was.  For me, it was an opportunity to play with my cousins.  I've decided to let my daughter drag me shopping - one of my less favorite activities.  I think I'll look for something blue for my kitchen.

Leaves

Dear Diary,

The people that owned my home before me did some very strange stuff to the inside, but I can not fault them for the garden they left behind for me on the outside.  I have apples, pears, lemons, and figs.  I have since killed off the onions and asparagus plants they left behind.  I did plant my own artichokes, and am on my fourth year with the same plants - they seem to get bigger each year.  I have failed at tomatoes, beans, peas, and carrots. Then there are all those flowers.  I have no clue what they are, but they've grown on their own with no help from me.  I try hard to have a green thumb, but I've learned that the only kind of green that I do well with is the green that grows in spite of me.  I toy with the idea of building a greenhouse.  I'm sure my plants would do better if I could prevent all those darn snails from taking over.  I manage to keep them at bay for a few weeks and then miss a de-snailing ceremony once, and they annihilate my plants overnight.  They are evil creatures and I fail to see their purpose in my world.  What eats snails?  My cat and dogs sure don't.  They just bring them in the house and spread that slimy grossness across my floors.  I can have a leafy green plant one day, and a devastated stick left the next.  I am declaring war on those snails, this year.  This year, I will get my green peppers before they do.  Even if I have to plant copper piping in every inch of my yard, I will find a way to defeat those leaf eaters.  It's time for me to take control of the great garden that was left for me and make it even greater.

Circle

Dear Diary,

Today I started a new workout program with my daughter.  She's there to help keep me accountable.  The great part . . . this program is about doing as many reps, in sixty seconds, as possible . . . so it isn't a case of one gets worked hard and the other barely at all.  For starters, I can tell you my body hated it.  I can barely walk - my hamstrings are too tight.  It's only been one day!  This stretching stuff stinks big.  Who comes up with this stuff?  If it weren't dumping rain, I could be out doing something physical and calling that my workout.  The hubby and I even joined a gym.  Uck!  Hanging out with other stinky people!  Thankfully, I love swimming and am spending my gym time in the pool.  It's my surrogate beach until the weather clears.  I'm thinking it might be a while since the weatherman claims it's an el niño year.  I'm pretty sure it's been raining for weeks.  I miss my big, round, happy, warm sunshine!  I think I'll cut out a big, yellow circle and hang it on the wall.  Yes!  I'll paste it right next the heat vent so I can fell warm air while staring at my home made ball of sunshine.  I could even light a candle and roast a marshmallow or two.

Water

Dear Diary,

Nothing calms me more than sitting at the beach and watching the waves.  Today, there were some big, messy ones due to the storm system that's rolling in.  Twice, I had to bail from my photo taking spot before I was hit by water.  This same beach had around twenty surfers at it, yesterday.  My thought then (not counting why I didn't have my camera with me) was that they must all be from Moss Landing - the next beach over.  A great, white shark was spotted at that beach so all the surfers relocated here.  I wouldn't have gone in the water.  I'm thinking that shark swims from that beach to this in a matter of minutes.  With that many surfers in the water, I guess they had better odds at being ignored by that shark.  OR the shark had too many choices and was overwhelmed.  Since nobody was eaten that day, I'm guessing the surfers' diversion tactics worked.  No shark sightings, today, either.  I guess he was hanging in the deeper water to avoid all that churning.  Happy hunting, Mr. Shark!

What I Did Today

Dear Diary,

I joke about being obsessed with numbers, but few people know how obsessive I really am over them.  I count the clothes pins as I hang my clothes on the line, in sets of ten.  When I swim, I count the strokes it takes me to get across the pool.  At the same time, I count the kicks per stroke and strive hard to keep it at four.  When I bike, I count how many pedal rotations get me up a hill.  If nobody is talking to me, I count my steps as I walk.  I pretend it's because I want to make sure my Fitbit is accurate but I counted them long before I got a Fitbit.  Did you know I walk an average of 6,000 steps by 2 pm each day?  If I realize I am not getting close to that 6,000 by two, I go for a walk because it would throw off my pattern of averages.  So what did I do today?  I took off my Fitbit.  Time to add some chaos to my life.  Baby steps.  I plan on doing some painting and I'm even gonna let myself get paint on me when I do it.  To keep myself from counting the paint strokes, I plan to throw on some loud music.  I threw away the numbers . . . that is what I did today.

Black & White

Dear Diary,

Goal setting is always a big deal at the start of each year.  I fail miserably at it, yet I make an attempt each year to push new habits upon myself.  Hopefully, the kind of habits that make me a better person.  I deal with everything best if logic is involved.  It would be so simple if my world was black and white.  But maybe that's why I always fail.  I set the bar too high for myself.  As I start the new year, I have a few basic goals.  Organize my house and get fit.  I'm taking a goal from an old friend and plan to run a 5K or 10K each month this year.  Then I have the biggy . . . write.  I started writing a few weeks ago and I learned a couple things.  One, it calms me.  On the tougher days, I write to vent (those writings I don't plan to share).  And two, I learned writing isn't about my logical blacks and whites.  It's all about the grays.  Somehow, at a half century, I am figuring out about the middle ground.  To me it's the reason for certain actions.  If you create a character in a book, they could be a villain or that damsel in distress (though never in my book), but there is something in all of them that is dark and another part that is hope.  The question is . . . can I write a book that defies my logic and creates a great story?  Will my characters still be loved in spite of their bad parts?  Because isn't that what we all want?  To be loved in spite of our oddities.  I'm learning the grays may not be so bad and I hope I actually succeed at this book writing goal for 2016.