A yoga matt will not make you invincible

With the mood I am in and what I have gone through since last Wednesday, I should be writing about something that isn't fluff or flowers. Too bad. I just don't feel like going down the road of negative emotions. It has been crushing and outside of this short vent, not an avenue I am ready to take.

Instead, after a great Saturday morning of photographing doors around the Portland area and having a satisfying breakfast feast at Mississippi Street Station, I was driving home. As I crossed the Broadway Bridge and stopped at a light (kissed the bride as is our tradition) there was a young woman on a bike headed toward the light. She didn't stop. Just looked both ways and barrelled on through.

Now, as a one time avid cyclist who is now just a recreational rider, this always makes me cringe. A bicycle is required to obey laws of the road just like any other vehicle. But most important, this woman had nothing more for protection that the yoga matt strapped to her back - no helmet, no mirrors, no common sense. Not only is she endangering herself, but she is giving other cyclists a bad name. Hey! I'm a rider and those of us who ignore the rules piss me off.

Lots of drivers out there already don't want to share the road with bikes - "they are so annoying and always act like they own the road". The reality is there is room for all. We just need to be respectful of one another. The cyclist should obey the rules and drivers should have a bit more patience and provide a wider berth when passing a bike. It seems so simple, but we are, after all, human beings and the centers of our own universes, so to think about others is often a stretch. Especially when we have already established that "we hate cars and drivers" or that "we can't tolerate the attitude of bikers".

Lighten up. We all end up at the same stop light. So slow down, take a breath and enjoy the company in your car or the music you're listening to and smile at the cyclists. If you ride a bike - obey the laws and smile back at the drivers. "Share the road" goes both ways.

Calling in lazy

Used to be you were either sick or on vacation when it came time to take a day or days off from work. But in today's corporate world we no longer have "sick leave" or "vacation days", there was even "mental health days". Now we have PTO - Paid Time Off. All you have to do is log on to your corporate web site, navigate to the correct form and fill out your PTO slip.





Of course they ask the reason, but here is where you can get creative. I suppose the old standbys would be "I had the flu," or "took a vacation day" or "stayed home with a sick child". But really, I mean, really, what did you do. There are now a whole big group of choices for reasons you stayed home. Try a few on for size and see which one fits you best.

• My kids used all the hot water in the shower


• I was out of razor blades


• I was too lazy to come in today


• Sick Yoda


• I caught Spring Fever


• Couldn't find any clean clothes


• My wife grounded me to my room


• My daughter planted a brain worm in my head and I didn't want to bring it to work


• My wife looked so good I couldn't make it into work today


• I got tangled up in the sheets and couldn't move


• Over ate at breakfast


• I'm having eye trouble...can't see coming into work today (my all time fav)

So this is just a partial list and I'm sure you could come up with more, but as for me this was it because I called in lazy today and didn't feel like being that creative.

My Date With A Blue Haired Girl

Last week I had a date with my daughter. It was dinner at her favorite Sushi restaurant followed by a quest to pick up a little something for her mother.

My daughter is a wonderful little girl - okay, she's 16 years old, but she's still my little girl and always will be - who happens to be diagnosed with an anxiety disorder that has effected her since she was a baby. She is very social, extremely likable, intelligent and has a keen moral fabric, much thanks to her wonderful and solidly based mother. Her anxiety isn't so crippling that she won't come out of her house, it is more fear of unknown, but on a scale that is beyond most people's understanding.

Our dinner out was simply fantastic. We entered the restaurant and heads turned. You see, my daughter has bright blue hair. She has her own sense of style and her hair color is a huge part of her persona. Hair color can also be changed, it isn't permanent, so if it makes her confident and happy, this dad is all for it. Remember, this is my little girl.

It was a delightful evening. There was an older woman with her thirty-something daughter sitting at the counter just down from us. She couldn't keep her eyes off my daughter and gave me the occasional glance as if to say, "How can you let your daughter go out in public that way." My typical reaction is to smile until they just look away. Don't try to place your set of standards on me or my daughter. As a friend of my wife's likes to say - "Fuck That!" My daughter didn't color her hair for shock value, it is just part of her artistic expression and for that I am glad.

Staring old folks aside, the waitress and the sushi chef were enthralled. Partly because they were closer to my daughter's age and "got it". But also because they talked with her and saw the spark, the creativity, the intelligence and great personality and were drawn to her like metal to a magnet. The chef was actually flirting and my daughter seemed most disinterested or perhaps just oblivious. He even made a special dish, just to show off a bit. While it wasn't one she liked, I can tell you it was delicious. I didn't mind being the benefactor of the spell she had placed over this young man. I like sushi.

My daughter not only likes sushi, she likes everything Japanese. Manga. The language. The culture. The silly television shows. So when our waitress, who was a student at a nearby college, started talking about her visits to Japan, the two became instant friends. My little girl has that effect on people. She will also remember our waitress and all the details about her and pick it right up when we return. She is a terrific kid. I wish we were in a position to get her to Japan for study, but even if we could, her anxiety has the power to prevent her for even stepping on an airplane, let alone going so far as to Japan by herself. Fortunately that doesn't prevent her from following her heart and staying with her interests....domestically.

After our dinner, we were off to Best Buy on a quest for the Holy Grail of our household. Music has been an important part of our home since my kids were babies. Their mother always had CD's or the radio playing, but in the past two plus years we have moved three times and the set up we had for playing music is still hiding in a box somewhere. We needed music in the house again. Our Holy Grail - an iHome for Mom's iPod.

We snuck it into the house, plugged it in and started playing music. I would say what happened after that makes my top ten list, if not top five, for most memorable moments in my life. You couldn't have taken the smile from my wife's face with a jack hammer and she danced. And danced. And sang. I almost cried. I had spent a great evening on a date with my kid and had the opportunity to bring the joy of music back into my house. If I had died right then and there, it would have been a life worth living. Call me glutenous, but of these moments....I want more.

Sunday 160 - First Edition

The morning sun peaks over the shoulder of a snow capped mountain. Rays of warmth kiss the earth. Coffee in hand we share the moment together. Lovingly. Silent.

The Sunday 160

Yes, it's true, today is Saturday, so why the title "The Sunday 160". Well, it just helps me to commit. If I say it here then I have to make it happen.

Now I suppose you want to know what "The Sunday 160" is? It's a spin off of a 55 word blog challenge that Pheromonegirl introduced me to. The idea struck me as I was sending a text which, as most of us know, allows only 160 characters, so I am applying the same basic rules in the Flash Fiction Friday 55 blog introduced to her by a blogger named G-man.

Da Rules

• The Sunday 160 only uses 160 characters (including spaces)
• Keep on schedule - post as early at 7:30 PM the Saturday before
• Let me know you have posted via a comment on my site
• Visit at least one other Sunday 160

Should be fun. Could be stupid. One thing is certain - I won't use text abbreviations. That would just be wrong. A fella needs a challenge.

Can Gratitude be an Expectation

Gratitude is the act of being thankful or appreciative of someone or something. "I am grateful for the kindness bestowed upon me by those closest to me", is an example of an exression of gratitude. Personally, I am grateful for many things and try to keep a mental list going at all times. Sometimes adding and sometimes subtracting depending on what's going on in my life.

While me being grateful toward the people or circumstances surrounding me seems natural. At what point should I expect gratitude to come back to me from others. I guess it is a selfish thought. My acts of kindness or hard work should simply be tied to my desire to meet a deadline, make someone happy or just do something for someone else because I want to. However, after I do something that is a bit heroic and instead of getting a thanks I get a comment directed at the expense of my services....I get a little pissed.

In my work place we are consistently asked to perform within extremely tight deadlines. Alright, you guessed it, I'm just going to go on a rant, but sometimes when you can't express your rant to the person who deserves it, you have to go somewhere with it, so just suck it up and read. Or stop now and go on to the next blog. Neener. At least I'm grateful I have this blog to post and dump some pent up frustrations. Life can't all be flowers and blue skies you know.

Alright, so I redo a client's artwork, output perfect graphics and meet an overnight shipping deadline all in less than 24 hours and what I get is "You guys are expensive." Not "Wow, you did exactly what we wanted in the short time frame you were given and made me look like a hero to my boss." No. I get that I'm too expensive. Personally, I thought there was value in my performance and my product. Since when does an uneducated, snotty, twenty something get the nerve to belittle my performance. It makes me ill.

But then again, do I really have the right to expect gratitude? That is the core question here. Am I just setting myself up for disappointment? And the answer is......obvious. Of course I am. I really can't expect people to be grateful for my actions. Does this mean I should keep piling up the brick and mortar to keep people out and the pain of disappointment to a minimum? No. That only creates more problems and eventually makes me that skeptical old curmudgeon Walt Kowalsi, Clint Eastwood played in Gran Torino. If there is one thing that is certain, I don't want to be the Walt Kowalski that appears in the beginning of the movie.

So, I give myself permission to get a little pissed, vent, get on with my day and be grateful for the positives in my life. My wife. My children. My health. I have a job. My car is paid for. The skies are blue and the sun is shining. Best of all, I have the ability to keep a smile on my face and share my gratitude.

Monkey Madness

My home has recently become Monkey Central. It began a number of years ago with the acquisition of a single long armed stuffed creature named Rabies and has grown exponentially since then.

Rabies was the official "protector" and office distraction my wife carried with her almost daily. The troop has grown with each new individual being christened with a proper disease or otherwise slightly twisted name. Syphilis, Asthma, Cleft, Smock, Loops and Max to name a few. This is just how we are working to keep it light as a family.

This monkey fetish has become a wonderful source of fun and we are extending those distractions into other areas of our lives. Last night we had Monkey Night Out. We had dinner at a neighborhood pizza restaurant and each of us took the monkey of our choice. Okay, so it was just a tad bit too out there for our teenage son, but at least he did agree to having an imaginary monkey with him.

One of the newest members of our troop is a fun little monkey puppet named Smock. He is quite interactive and expressive. Smock drove us to our destination and entertained a sweet yet shy toddler at the table next to us - much to the dismay of her mother who really didn't appear to appreciate the fun and kindness we were extending as a family. To each his own. It is where your heart is that is important.

We had brief puppet shows. Magnetic monkey feet stealing silverware. Pictures, texting and lots of smiles and giggling. It was light and full of love. We had many stare or glances from the tables around us. Mainly from the solemn ones where conversation was sparse and expressions were stern.

But this night really wasn't really about monkeys. It was about family time and developing the strongest cheek muscles we possibly can.

On the wings of dreams

As the morning sun blazes a trail through the shear curtains of my room, I roll over to see the form sleeping next to me. What dreams flutter through the mind? Far away places. Cold mountain lakes caressed by melting snow. Picnic tables overlooking a battered bridge and a slow moving river. Starlit skies through the glass roof of a downtown hotel. Children's smiles and laughter. The silly, silent actions of a hand puppet professing its love. Reading a favorite bedtime story to a child. A full moon trying desperately to to cast its glow on roses in bloom. A warm stone bench in a hidden garden spot. Beach grass swaying in a warm summer breeze with the echoing sound of waves providing the rhythm for the dance. A tango. A soft, lingering kiss, tender, full of love. Strong but gentle arms encircling, holding, loving. A lone owl caught in the headlights of a car, silent, staring, wise and unafraid. Raven. Eagles. Heron. Falling then flying. Soaring on wings. Wings made from dreams.

Remember the wasp

When you keep making the same mistake over and over again it is called insanity. Perhaps that is what it is called at its worse. One thing is for sure and that is that it is stupid.

We are supposed to learn from our mistakes. Sometimes it is human nature to stubbornly keep doing that same behavior or action over and over again expecting different results. But again that is nothing more than stupidity. Science, perhaps being the exception, since you must repeat an experiment any number of times in order to verify the validity of the results. But, come on, an individual's behavior isn't science.

When I was a child I lived at the edge of a small wooded area where the neighborhood kids would play....assuming their mothers would let them. I can remember one day enter that woods and seeing a very large wasp nest. I must have been nine or ten at the time. It was a beautiful hot summer day when even shorts and a t-shirt where too much clothing. On this particular day, I decided it would be a good idea to knock down that nest. But I was a smart kid and knew shorts and a t-shirt where no kind of covering for knocking down wasp nests, so I went inside to change my clothes. These "bees" didn't know who they were dealing with - a real smart kid who thought things through.

Out from the house I came on that hot summer day with boots, blue jeans, a long sleeve shirt, heavy coat, hat and gloves. I made up my best possible reproduction of a beekeeper's suit. A very poor beekeeper at that.

Poised in my beekeeper outfit with a very long and heavy stick I stalked back into the woods, up to the point where the wasps were buzzing around very close to me as they lit to and from their hive. Buoyed with confidence that I must have been invisible to the creatures in order to get so close, I crept closer yet until I know I would get a great big whack at their home. Which of course, I did....WHACK!!

Oh boy, now they knew I was there for sure and they were pissed. Off I ran back toward the safety of my house and I was fast. As I entered my yard and looked behind me I saw no wasps, clearly I had not only out smarted the brutes, but out ran them as well. Then I felt a slight bit of movement on my chin and lower lip. Up came my hand in that natural response to some foreign object being in your own personal space. No animal likes it when it is attacked - bees, wasps, hornets, dogs, cats, people - and it will usually fight back which this one did. Stung on the lip I was, as this lone avenger got his lick in for his tribe with his last dying effort. Ouch. Those suckers pack a punch especially in sensitive areas like your lips.

Well, from that I learned not to go knocking down wasps nest. Didn't take me more than once to figure out the results could be painful, not only to me but to others who then might pass that way and face the angry hive looking to protect their misplaced queen and home. I don't know if I was responsible for others being hurt, but it wouldn't surprise me.

Many years have passed since that experience, but I still find myself in situations where I could call on that memory and apply it in a general sense. You shouldn't have to repeat a bad or irresponsible behavior over and over to learn from it.

My goal is to move forward learning from my experiences and applying what I have learned in the past to similar situations as they arise. In my case, I need to stand up, be a husband, father and friend when needed and not run like a child being chased by bees.

Don't Profile My Dog

Walking your dog can be a relaxing, uplifting almost meditative activity. I love my dog. He is a gentle, lumbering, big 'ol doofus who is only dangerous if you are allergic to dog slobber. He loves to kiss and get his enormous wet nose all over you. It's annoying, but not life threatening.

So when I walk him why do I get scowls and looks of disgust. Mothers herd their children behind them as hens protecting their chicks. People with dogs cross the street to keep out of our path. It's really sad to see people are actually "racially profiling" my dog. You see, he is a pit bull. There, I said it. Did it make you cringe. Send a shiver up your spine. Remind you of all of those over dramatized "killer dog" media stories. (Hey we've got space and time to sell. Make that story big.)

I own the evil spawn of ghetto raised, blood thirsty killers. It is truly sad that we continually allow our opinions to be molded by a media centered on sound bites and the uniformed quotes of "neighbors" not reliable and professional resources. "Yup, I saw the whole deal happen from the kitchen winder of mah trailer. That there dog got loose and started biting those kids that where pokin' it with a stick. 'Majin a dog turning on ya just cause it din't like getting hit with a stick."

The facts are that pit bulls are just like any other dog. They are as good or as bad as the owner. An owner sets the stage for a dogs life whether it is a pit bull or a poodle. Statistically, small dogs bite more often than large breeds, but don't get the headlines because their teeth do less damage. Of course it is no less damaging to the poor child or adult who then has dog fear deeply instilled in them.

This story best illustrates what information and experience can provide. I was walking my pitty and was coming up on two families on a fairly narrow sidewalk. Two little girls about four years old and two sets of parents. As a responsible pet owner I always take caution when approaching others. I never know if they have fear of dogs or are ignorantly aggressive. I also need to respect their space.

In this case the girls were giggling and not fearful at all. I approached cautiously and asked the parents if their daughters would like to pet my dog. "Sure," was the reply. "We own two pit bulls and they are the most gentle, loving dogs we have ever had." I guess that's why at one time they were referred to as the nanny dog. Loyal. Loving. Gentle to the kids (if they can tolerate wet noses and sloppy kisses).

I once saw a bumper sticker that said, "too bad ignorance isn't painful". Now I wouldn't go that far, but to judge an entire breed of dogs by the actions of a few is nothing more than the same type of profiling looked down upon by most of our society. Only a bigot would compartmentalize all members of a group as one in the same. The same holds true for dogs. Judge a dog by its actions not by the reputation of its group.

Remember there isn't such a thing as a bad dog, just bad dog owners. Next time you see someone walking a pitty, take the time to pet the velvety hair on its head. Notice its awareness and gentleness. Risk that sloppy pitty kiss.