But I Don't Have A Thousand!!

i so wish i could draw, i really do.  because sometimes, something is in my head and it's not really a story one can tell as effectively as what i saw.  i know that just about 100% of the time, the movie is nowhere near as good as the book but sometimes an image can hit the spot just as well or better than the words.  enough with the waffle.  the moment.  the dream.

two nights ago i dreamt that noam chomsky was at the state of the union address, in disguise.  no one noticed him until the president introduced him.  and then all eyes were on him and there he was.  wearing his glasses and a huge fuzzy orange sweater.  he looked a little like the bear up there, but with noam chomsky in glasses in the middle.  apparently when wanting to go incognito, one should choose the most obnoxious piece of clothing one can find.  the audience began to boo (was it because of the sweater or because of noam?) and then security arrived to drag him off.  throughout the dream i kept thinking - why did he pick that sweater?

then i woke up and thought - what is going on inside my head??

What Happens When You Breathe

always always running is the story of my life.  i am running to get to the gym, running to get to work (who knows why one would rush to that?), running to get out of the rain, snow or to get to some sun before it disappears.  my parents were always saying, "hey, slow down!" i was rushing through a story, a meal or a book.  i could never tell you what i was rushing towards but i still hurtled a full speed.  and many times during the running, i would bump into him, coming in or out of our building.  usually he had a surf board and i would hold the door so he could get through and usually i was dressed in sweats, on my way to some kind of gym class where i worked to release the tensions i constantly accumulate in my shoulders.  i would pause and say, hey, while envying his surf board.  seriously, what is cooler than surfing?  sometimes i would make a little conversation, suggest that perhaps one day he could take me with him and teach me how to be as cool as he was.  he would say, sure, anytime but what time was that, especially since we didn't even have each other's phone numbers?  but it would be said and then i would get back to the rushing. 

then, in october 2007 my rushing was brought to a screeching halt by a doctor's scalpel.  for a little bit there, there was barely walking, let alone running.  two friends and my mother came to pick me up from the hospital and help me up to my fourth floor walk-up apartment.  as my friend helped me up the stairs, he opened his apartment door and saw me struggling.  the thought that popped into my head, "oh, no, he's going to think i'm super drunk and need to be carried home."  so i put on my biggest smile and said, "hi, i'm okay!"  later he told me that the hospital bracelet i was wearing was pretty obvious proof that drunk wasn't my problem.

later, i was able to gingerly walk outside and i bumped into him and he stopped to chat - he had started taking a yoga class and it was great and maybe once i felt a bit better, he could take me to try it out.  and this time he pulled out his phone so we could actually exchange information. i made a plan to take a bikram yoga class with hidef.

fast forward to 19 january, 2008.  we walked over to the yoga studio with me chattering away (nervous).  and just before we stepped into the yoga studio he warned me, "it will be really hot but you'll be okay."  i walked in and i thought, "forget hot, it stinks up in here!"  and so began the most unforgettable first date i have ever been on.  90 minutes later, i was drenched in sweat and had just finished a display of my tragic lack of flexibility.  and yet he wanted to hang out again.  and i was so looking forward to it. 

i still look forward to hanging out with hidef.  today we go out to celebrate 3 years together - with great tasting AND smelling food.  and the only stretching will be while purring like a cat and rubbing my full belly.  taking another moment to stop and breathe... aaaah!!

I Know I'm No Angel

it's been years, yet i think it will a while before i forget this.  i had a boyfriend and he had a couple of friends who were always in trouble.  we were in our early twenties - at that point in life where the expectation that we behave like adults was growing - but it seemed that they had not received the memo.  until one day, when we met up with them and they shared with us the various epiphanies they had recently had.  the nutshell was that they had found a church and a pastor who had convinced them to change their evil ways and would we celebrate with them by attending a prayer group with them?  well, i am always up to give support to those who have decided to try to be better and so we were all - sure, we have no plans for saturday that couldn't be put off. 

friday came along and we all went to this man's house for an evening of prayer and fellowship.  it was pretty standard and came with the bonus of bumping into an old high school friend i had not seen in years.  all went along in a pretty unremarkable way (and by that i mean i don't remember a single thing we discussed but i would hazard that it had to do with the bible) until the final prayer before the end of the night.  we stood up and held hands as the pastor began to pray.  i have found that, generally, closing my eyes during prayer is like giving my mind licence to do what it wants.  so, i kept my eyes open and worked to focus on the prayer, and this is what i was doing when it happened.

a woman standing opposite me in the circle of held hands fell forward, stiff as a tree.  it was like slow motion and yet i could not react.  by the time my brain had realised that she was hitting the floor, well, she was already face down on the floor.  then she rolled over and started writhing on the ground, hissing and appeared to start foaming at the mouth.  had we been, say, walking on the street or hanging out at work, i am sure that the first reaction probably would have been that she was having some kind of seizure.  however, the reaction of the pastor was to start shouting  orders to the devil to leave the young woman's body.  as he spoke, others in the room stepped towards the woman and some knelt to touch her as they repeated the pastor's exhortations.  not me.

i had flashbacks of the bible stories i learnt in my youth and the one that lodged itself in my mind was that of jesus casting evil spirits out of someone.  i remembered that when this had happened, the evil spirits had not simply vaporised and disappeared.  no siree bob.  they, instead, needed some place to go and, lucky for those witnessing the event, there were some hapless pigs hanging out nearby and that is where the evil spirits found their new home.  so, there i was, witnessing this scene and i thought to myself - hmmm... now, if this group manages to oust the evil spirits residing in this young lady, they need go someplace?  where will that be?  everyone else here may be fully confident about their resistance to evil and ability to fend off the spirits but me? not so much.  and i really don't want to have to deal with what could happen were to i to be possessed - that lady's drop to the ground did not look fun at all.

so... i stepped back.  and then i took another step back, just to be safe.  you know, i'm not saying that i believed that the woman was being possessed; i'm just saying i wasn't taking any chances.

Stir It Up, Little Darlin'... Then Burn It Up!

so there i was, people dropping like flies around me, as i stood strong. it was the flu, it was some kind of chest infection, it was the sinuses and i sailed strong. i was the nurse, the chef, the courier. hidef, in particular, was really ill. he was miserable and barely functional and, most of all, shocked that i did not catch what he had. i had no time for that for there were holidays to deal with - people to entertain and dinners to host. i did take a moment to marvel at my immunity of steel; my parents must have let me eat a lot of dirt in my youth. and then the gods punished me for my hubris. so i was stopped in mid-stride by a fever and a cough. so, gods, forgive me. i am weak and fallible and losing my pride.

BUT! what i meant to say before i was knocked out... the year came to and end and the talk on the street was all about resolutions - what were we going to do to make ourselves better, stronger, faster? or something along those lines. but i remembered something that snowycage told me about that i really like. i would love to take this idea as my own, but that would probably lead to more punishment from the gods (they don't play). here goes - we have completed a year, a year that was probably a year of joy and pain, of triumph and defeat and a lovely mix of good and bad. it is human nature to carry all of this with us - our baggage, that gets heavier as time goes by. as humans, we tend to hold on to the weighty bad more tightly than to the lighter good - the negative energy builds around us, creating dark clouds, narrowing our view of the world, blocking out any light of hope. instead of working out, we dig deeper into the hole or we tire and buckle under the load. well, it is time to say no more!!! let us shed the loads! let us dance into 2011, unburdened and fairy footed!

sit, or stand, or headstand (if you so wish) and make a list. list what burdens you. write out what brought you down in 2010 (or even during the week i was paying for my immunity arrogance). put it all down - don't edit, don't hold back, don't be coy. this is your list. this is your honesty. this is your time. take that list and read it. see your weight, the heft of your past. and then...

burn it.

matches, lighter, flint and stick, whatever. watch it burn and let it go. and resolve only to leave everything right there in the ashes.

ahhhhh....

It Doesn't Always Kill You...

perhaps about 8 or 9 years ago i was sitting in my apartment on a sunday morning. i had been living in that apartment for less than a year and i was watching the new york marathon. my roommate (probably wanting to change the channel) said to me: you know, they run down fourth avenue so you can probably see them go by from the roof.
well, she didn't have to tell me twice. i grabbed my coat, my gloves and my keys and headed out the door. i was turning to head up the stairs when a thought hit me - if i could watch them from the roof, surely i could get a better view from the street corner? i had nothing to lose, right? so i dashed down the stairs and to the end of my block.

what a wonderful choice; i screamed until i lost my voice. i gave high fives to runners as they went by. i was excited and inspired. i was standing at around 6 miles into a 26 mile race and i couldn't believe that people were going by. a three mile run for me was a civilised distance and 6 miles was the kind of distance you ran to prove a point (a point that was generally followed by at least 2 days of hobbling around in pain). these people were planning on completing over four times that distance. i was full of respect.

fast forward a little bit and i was sitting at a wedding, chatting with a (then)stranger. she was telling a story when she mentioned in passing, "and then the other day when i was on my 20 mile run..." i thought i had to correct her, "ha, ha, you said my 20 mile run..." but she, instead corrected me, "yes, my 20 mile run. i run marathons..."

it must have been the cocktails for she convinced snowycage and me that a marathon was a distance that "anyone can do." and that, my friends, was how it all started. and now, with at least 3 half marathons and 1 full (new york here i come!) planned for 2011, i still can't answer why i do it. for all the moments of joy, there are moments of pain, of frost bite and of plain old ennui. and still i find myself making plans to go out, in the dark, in the cold, in the rain and, in the middle of it all, somehow i find some kind of peace.

Aw Shucks!

i was so very touched the other day to receive this award from my blogger friend, Kristi Tencarre! especially since i have not quite been able to get back on my blogging horse, despite all kinds of good intentions. isn't there a saying about the road to hell and good intentions? it is now my turn to pass it on to folks who are incredibly deserving. i am supposed to pick 15 and i would say that i wish i had 15 blogs that i faithfully follow but... i don't. i love the blogs i follow; they each give me something that helps me see life in a new way, that makes me laugh (sometimes cry), that just helps me be.

• first, there are the several blogs of Oscar Grillo, of which the one i visit most is okgrillo. i love this one because i get an image AND a song where i can be inspired twofold!
  
• then there is dodos who apparently does things in seconds that i could not manage in a lifetime! this blog gives me smiles in seconds!
• snowy cage is a new place i go to but her journeys to the end of the internet never fail to amaze me! oh and then there are the insights...
• though he is not on as often as i would wish, fb remains a hero to me. such challenges, such strength.
• oh carla, you are fab! the recipes, the succinct words of wisdom and the incredible photos!
• Prettylyf is powerful and wise. i am reminded when she says things like, "courage is fear that has said its prayers."
• The Full Story is a place i wish i would visit more often. I am always surprised and I am always tickled!!

Not fifteen but worth much much more to me.

The fine print:

The rules to getting this award are:

Accept your award and post it on your blog along with a link to the person who has sent it to you. Pass the award to 15 other blogs that you have newly discovered. You must contact the person to let them know that you have chosen them to receive the award.

By Any Means Necessary?

We kick of the month of December with World AIDS Day. It's a day of reflection but it will, hopefully, become a day of celebration; a day when people break out the champagne or break into dance as they toast the eradication of AIDS.

To attain this goal, what are we willing to do? What sacrifice are we willing to make? Well, Kim Kardashian (and a few friends) is willing to make the ultimate sacrifice. She is willing to die for the cause. DIE! Impressive, right? Makes you look a tad uncommitted to it all... Until you realise that the death is all very pretty and symbolic. Death, pretty? Well, look at that wonderfully airbrushed dramatic photo of Kim in her Coffin (Koffin?). How many more people would be eager to die if death were so becoming?

And the death? It's no stabby death. No, it's far more new millennium. It's digital and, maybe, very temporary. Temporary death? Who does Kim think she is - Jesus? No, not Jesus... Lazarus! That's it. For she needs help coming back to life. We get to play the role of Jesus - it's incredible. But not just any Jesus, but a 21st Century Jesus. New and improved for the modern age, with money as our tool of healing and resurrection. It's genius!!

So Kim (and friends) has died... you know, digitally. When you wake up on 1 December and come to the internet, she will be nowhere to be found and you will be bereft. Without tweets and tales (you know except the one about her being dead) your life will be empty. There will be a hole in your heart. And to fill this hole, you will give money. And give. And give. Until you (and friends) have given ONE MILLION DOLLARS! And, like magic, poof, she (and friends) will be back. And all will be wrong with the world again. Imbalance will be restored as we return to worshiping those who are famous for nothing and existing in braindead worlds.

Is it so terrible that I am hoping for you (and friends) to raise $999,999.99. I'm sure AIDS day will forgive you a penny in the name of digital death.

Watch My Mouth

sometimes i find myself in a place where there are a lot of people driving around in cars and good weather. on these occasions, i have noticed convertibles breeze by with the tops down and, thus, been able to get a view of the person driving the car. most of the time, the driver of the car is a man north of forty years old. i see this and i wonder - does this mean that by the time one can afford one of these fancy convertible cars, that person is at the point where they end up looking like a dirty old man or someone caught in the throes of a midlife crisis?

so, a few months ago i was sent to florida for a week, for work. i went to the rental company to pick up my car and the customer service lady turned out to be a woman who used to live in my current neighbourhood. it was like we were old friends! she asked about restaurants and bodegas, and we laughed and bonded. then she handed me some keys and said, "you're from brooklyn like me so i'm going to give you a free upgrade." i got a convertible. and upon the insistence of one of my assistants, i figured out how to get the top down and we rode the town. she sat in the back seat, with her sunglasses on and a huge grin on her face while i chauffeured her around. the passenger riding shotgun complained that he couldn't feel the air conditioning with the roof down.

fast forward to monday when i found myself picking up a rental car in another part of florida.
"are you here alone?" the customer service lady asked.
"well, yes, right now i am." i responded.
"perhaps i can interest you in an upgrade to a ford mustang convertible?"
"oh, no, thank you. i'm here for work; i really don't need to be driving around in a car like that. thank you though." i couldn't imagine explaining that to my boss. i don't think "i was on my own" flying as a reason for an upgrade to sporty convertible.
the woman, nodded okay and carried on with my application. at the end of it all, she smiled up at me and said, "well, i'm going to give you a complimentary upgrade to the mustang. you have to get out and have fun while you're here. you can't spend all your time working!"
such a lovely person, she handed me the key and i thought to myself -

maybe i missed a key demographic of the sports convertible market - the single woman spending a week alone in a holiday destination.

either that or i look like a middle-aged man.

Not The Hits I Want...

several months ago, hidef and i headed moseyed on over to zimbabwe for a two week visit. it was hidef's first trip there, so i asked my mother to put together an itinerary for us that would give us a great experience of the country at a low cost. of course, being the superhero that she is, it was an incredible itinerary. it was intense (we drove 5,000 km in 5 days) but that is a tale for another day. despite spending a little time in a game park, we saw very little wildlife - the price you pay for a quick trip. apparently the animals either had not received my mother's memo about our touring or decided that getting on with their own lives was more important than coming out to parade for us.

having spent time out in the wild, we headed back to the city to visit art galleries, and sculpture parks. zimbabwean stone sculpture is rather famous in the world so going to check out some good works was very necessary. we arrived at the spot, placed in a suburb, not far from downtown harare, and ambled into the sculpture park to look at pieces. because a lot of the sculptures are massive, the parks like to create an atmosphere where pieces seem to rise, like mountains, out of the grass in the middle of nowhere. to add, i presume, more authenticity to this out in the wild theme, the park has brought in monkeys that hang about, looking all cute and lovable - as monkeys on tv tend to do.

so there we were, walking about, looking at art and then we headed out to an enclosure that contained the permanent collection. these are the masterpieces that are kept in their own space, reached by walking through a doorway in a wall of stones. sitting on one side of this doorway were two monkeys, one grooming the other. hidef looked up and said, "that's great." he pulled out his camera and took the photo that you see above, and carried on through the doorway, happy with his great shot. i was walking a few steps behind hidef and this is my story.

as hidef took his photo, the flash went off (which wasn't supposed to happen, but it was a new camera and he messed up the settings... at least that's what he says). the flash startled the monkeys and they hopped up and squealed - you can see in the photo that they are no longer grooming each other. perhaps if you look closer, you can see startled in their expressions. as hidef disappeared through the doorway, they focused on what was now standing where the flashing light had come from. it was me. the monkeys screeched more and jumped to the ground to place themselves menacingly between me and the doorway. i hesitated. that was my mistake. hesitation is weakness - i tell myself this almost every time i am jaywalking. hesitation is the difference between success and road kill. so back to me, hesitating in the face of the two startled monkeys. that split second gave them the time, apparently, to call for back up. out of nowhere, two more monkeys appeared next to the first two. they formed lined up, like soldiers, next to each other and started walking towards me, baring their teeth and screeching in a very intimidating manner.

i started to back up as thoughts raced through my head. those monkeys looked very angry and very organised. they moved towards me as though they had practised for a while; it was a terrifying military lockstep. i wished i had watched more shows on the animal planet and the discovery planet - perhaps i would have found out how monkey attack. i was digging frantically through my brain to see if somewhere was some knowledge about what monkeys go for first - eyes? neck? privates? and still they moved towards me, picking up their pace. was there a way to stop them? my brain was giving me nothing. nothing! finally, my lungs, heretofore frozen in shock, leapt into action.
"oh my god, i'm about to be attacked by monkeys!" hidef turned around to see the monkeys break into a run towards me. as he moved in my direction, sculpture park employees came running towards me, yelling and waving their arms. thankfully, the monkeys decided that they were outnumbered and outsized. i am happy to say that i still have no idea what monkeys attack first. i'm in no hurry to gain that knowledge.

Ode...

i love my legs; as far as i know, i always have. i can't remember when i didn't love my, at times spindly, often-referred-to-as-chicken legs. even at a time when i either hated or was indifferent to every other part of me, i loved my legs. my legs, which i love by the way, were built for a life of leisure. they were built for high heels and miniskirts and, you know, that's not a bad thing to be built for. the trouble is that's not what my legs ever wanted to do. my legs wanted to climb trees, crawl through tunnels and fall off speeding bicycles - and they carry the many years of scars to prove it. my legs still want to win races, jump high and long, and play every sport they come across. but that's not all. oh no ... my legs want to run and run and run. ah, those legs. my legs. we always want what we shouldn't have. and when i try to reason with them, my legs ask me - would you rather sprain your ankle stumbling over the insanely high heel of some silly shoe or during a high-octane pick-up basketball game? when you soak your sore feet, isn't it great that it's because of a long run in the glorious outdoors and not because of some ill-fitting instruments of torture strapped to them? how cool is it that your knees hurt, not because you walked around all day on tiptoes, but because you ran faster, and further than you ever imagined possible?

i tell you, it's difficult to argue with my legs and, because i love them and because i want them to be happy and.. well... because they are right, i let them do what they will. these legs that i love.

To Go Where... Well, ONE Other Man Has Gone Before

we're going to the moon! i'm so excited. i had almost given up on it, what with all the talk of mars travel, i thought the moon had been forgotten. i know neil armstrong and friends have been, but since when has anyone gone anywhere just once? of course, except maybe a dragon's lair and billings, montana... but we're going to the moon!

i sit and wonder about that man in the moon. are we going to make an effort to meet him this time? what will he be like? will he be really excited to finally be able to chat with us face to face, instead of just gazing upon us from distance? or will be he like a bitter miss havisham - tired of sitting around waiting and waiting, with the tea getting cold and moon spiders building webs around him? i had been getting tired of all the unmanned missions. can you imagine how disappointing it has been for the man in the moon to go running out to meet his guests, only to be confronted by soulless robots? the poor man. it may well end up being like the boy who cried wolf. we shall arrive on the moon and the man in the moon will stay in his house, in his pyjamas, slippered feet on an ottoman, refusing to be fooled by yet another empty rocket. i hope not.

but wait, what is this i hear? exploit? going to the moon to mine for titanium and seek helium? they are not interested in the man in the moon. it seems that folk have decided that we shouldn't limit our greedy digging and exploitation to just one place. what good is the moon if we can't profit from it? all these people yelling, but what about the consequences? money has no time for consequences! onward we go!!!

we're going to the moon.... uh-oh.

Not Quite The Cleaning Lady

last thursday i was exhausted! i had spent the week almost constantly congested, due to allergies. i was actually looking forward to taking yoga at 6:30 am because it was the one time during the day that i could breathe. 90 minutes of lung-filling air and then, boom, back to being a mouth breather. at night it was almost impossible to sleep because my eyes were itchy, my throat was itchy, my nose was itchy AND blocked. i would drift off to some kind of sleep and automatically close my mouth. this would lead to self-suffocation and my jerking back to a crabby wakeful state. and by thursday, as i said, i was exhausted. i spent the day telling myself that i just needed to get to 5pm, then i could go home, eat something and then pass out.

it was a struggle but i made it. i made it and dragged myself to the subway. the train rolled into my stop and i stepped out to take the stairs to open air. i noticed puddles of water and thought - oh, thank goodness i missed the rain. it must have been a quick storm because it wasn't raining when i left work and it isn't raining now. oh well, lucked out.

then i stepped into my apartment and saw this:



this being windows wide open with the curtain twisted and billowing outside. this being the window screens on the floor and on the couch. this being almost everything that had been on the window sill now being on the ground and some of those things were broken into small fragments. i screamed inside my head, "oh my gosh, we've been robbed! but who would come all the way up to the fifth floor and break in through the windows and why would they break stuff and why did they have to leave the window screen on the couch - that's just rude." with all the windows open without screens, the living room seemed strangely open and airy and everything was eerily quiet. no sounds were coming from outside and i couldn't hear hidef, who is usually home when i get home. i made my way to the office and came face to face with this:


that's the back wall of the office and it looked as though the screen hit the wall, splattered mud all over the place the ground and then landed on the ground. yep, another wide open window. it was then that i noticed the water. everywhere - on the floor, the desk and the computer on the desk. i went back to the living room and saw that there was water on the furniture, the floors and the ceiling.

i called hidef and he told me he had just stepped out for a second and a storm had hit. it was pretty loud, he said. well, i answered, this apartment looks crazy, i don't know what happened. i hung up and surveyed the damage. i started wiping things down but decided i needed paper towels to completely dry off. i grabbed a bag and went out to walk up the block. whoa! what happened to the block? there were tree branches all over the place and people outside their yards, sweeping and looking shell shocked. i picked up the paper towels and bumped into a neighbour on my way back. his windows had been shattered by the wind. so he not only had a mess but he now also had no window. what had happened?

while i was cleaning up, hidef got back to tell me that the storm had caused major havoc in the neighbourhood. storm? turns out that we kinda got hit by a tornado. man! and i missed the moment. i could have clicked my heels and made a wish for something. like world peace. or sanity. or really good chocolate.

It's A Wonderful World

you know, sometimes you step out of your house and for all the things you may imagine might happen that day, you just don't see some things coming. and suddenly things are so much better.

Tested

i have an irrational fear of heights. i know it's irrational but it doesn't make it any less real. you see, my fear of rodents is completely rational but heights... all i know is that it is there and it is great and soon i may be tested. i shall have to choose which is more powerful - friendship or fear.

i often try to figure out where this fear came from; i remember spending a lot of my childhood climbing trees and other tall structures without a a second thought. one year, though, when i was about 11 years old i went on a class trip. we stayed at a camp and spent our days engaged in various outdoors activities, beginning each day with a run. towards the end of the week, it was time to conquer the mountains that surrounded our camp. the adults packed ropes and we set out, walking the paths up the hills towards rock faces in the distance. i had no idea what i was in for. how could i? i grew up in cities and climbed only trees and urban structures - no ropes involved.

the man in charge left a group of us and the bottom of, what appeared to me to be, a sheer rock face. he clipped rope to our belts and headed on up the path. when he reached the top, he stuck his head over the rock face and yelled that we were to take the short cut, up the sheer face. at first things went well, i clambered up, finding crevices and crannies to lodge my feet and hands and work up the rock face. i was almost at the top when it happened. i'm not completely sure how, maybe i slipped a little, maybe a tiny piece of rock came sliding past me and falling into nothingness. your guess is as good as mine but, whatever happened, i froze right up. i looked back and all i could see was empty air. i imagined myself falling through that air and, for the first time in my life i faced my mortality. i looked up at the man in charge and said, "i can't."
"yes you can."
"no, i can't do this - there's nowhere to put my hands. i can't go any further." my heartbeat had quickened and i was close to hyperventilating. and then he did it. he let go of the safety rope.
"well, you're going to have to do it because i'm not helping you up and now that i've let go of the rope, you are either going to fall or get up here."
it was like my skin grew suction cups or i had turned into a part-spider creature. i scrambled up to the top of the rock and collapsed.
"see, i told you you could do it." i didn't respond. i lay silently, trying to get my heart back from the place outside my body it had run off to. i think that was the beginning of the end.
generally, i live a life mostly on the ground so i almost never have to face this fear of not having terra firma under my feet. but last week i got a call. it was boston's birthday and, to celebrate, she wants to go skydiving. and she wants me to go with her. what to do?

i have reminded her of my fear. i have told her that any skydiving will probably come with screaming and tears (i can only hope i don't pee my pants). but i have said that i shall try. i do hope that friedship is stronger than fear. but my fear is pretty darn great. and who knows what will happen when i look out of the door of the airborne plane. who knows what irrational fear will do...

August 21

when i was 15, my parents moved to a small town for work and i had to start boarding school. it was then when my father and i began our letter writing relationship that lasted through high school, college and beyond. it evolved to include the very occasional email - as much as a man who had a secretary to do most of his typing and thus was limited to a very slow two finger ordeal. this lasted until he passed away in 2003. he would have been 65 today and i think that i am finally emerging out of the state of denial, about that, that i have been in since then. i thought it would be fitting to share some of one of his letters. i think the fates agreed.

i went into the basement of our building and pulled out a box of some letters. the first letter i pulled out was dated 21/9/92:

"It's exactly one month today since my birthday and, already, I feel three months older than my tender age of 47. If this is an exponential decline that I will have nothing more to do with maths.

Today I feel much better. I have been counting my blessings. Actually I have been looking at the question of competition which cannot take place unless there are contrasts and comparisons. The competitive environment has many participants, few winners and a considerable number of 'also rans' and losers. All told, I consider myself to be a winner in contrast or comparison to other families. I have had reasonable parents who raised me well and I married a fairly reasonable wife (she was better than she is now) who has assisted me (or I have assisted her) to raise great kids whom I am proud of and for whom I can honestly and truthfully thank God. I shouldn't really complain too much about minor disappointments and setbacks.

A philosopher who has never amounted to much, for obvious reasons, once told me that 'life is not a bunch of bananas.' He obviously came from a tropical climate and didn't go far beyond that.

I must prepare for my annual Accident Prevention Function where I give the usual moving speech, but people still drink too much and we end up with someone getting involved in an accident.

Hope to see you soon. Make peace with your former r/mate. There is no room for physical wars in the 21st century."

now, i'm off to do something special and happy and it will start with a hearty steak and eggs!

Spinning The Wheel

so i know i have told you about the surgeries that i have gone through - they're like hairdressers the way they seem so eager to cut me open and take things out - but there's this thing that hangs over my head. these doctors, they keep calling me in every few months, looking for something new to remove. every four months there is a tiresome process. i call and make an appointment to spend an hour listening to music in a claustrophobic tube, while techs perform an mri of various parts of my torso. i find it a great time to catch up on a little sleep up until they start giving you these crazy breathing instructions:
breathe in
breathe out
breathe in
breathe out...
and stop breathing. don't take a breath.

and just when you think you will explode

okay breathe normally

which really means gasp for breath and take in all you can before the crazy instructions kick in again.

so, after the mri is taken, there is the round of doctors' appointments - a minimum of two. you spend way too much time in the waiting room wondering why doctors can always be late but you never can and trying to find something interesting to read while wondering why you forgot to bring a book or something to write on. did i mention that all my appointments are at a cancer centre? what does that mean? not that i have cancer because i don't have cancer - my doctors tell me all the time that i don't have cancer (and that is a great relief). what i have is niggly things that insist on taking advantage of my apparently fertile insides and just growing willy-nilly. anyhoo, what it does mean is that i spend time with incredible women who have to wait for late doctors and strike up conversations along the lines of a shoplifter who finds themselves in prison with hard-core criminals:

so, i had surgery for breast cancer but i'm doing so much better now. i can't believe the doctors are so late. what are you in for?

oh, um, you know, just some irregular tissue. ahem.

it is almost a relief when i get to see the doctor. until the doctor tells me that i'm not all clear and that i need to come back. or that there is something else that they see but it's in a different part of my body from their speciality and i have to see a different specialist.

it's endless but i have realised that half the battle is admitting that there is a problem. i have to admit the toll this endless cycle of scans and doctors' appointments is having on my psyche. if i admit that sitting in waiting rooms and waiting to find out whether or not someone is planning on cutting into me and taking 3 months of recovery time away from me is stressing me out, perhaps that will help me better deal with it all. maybe taking time to say, i'm pandave and all of this gets to me and puts me on hold, that will help me take a look at all of this as a mere hiccup and not a time to grind my teeth and bite my tongue in my sleep.

most of all, maybe an embrace of the stress will keep my brain ticking and me doing what i love and enjoy and not just plugging through life and doing what i have to do. seriously, if i'm going to do what i need to in order to pay my rent and keep from being evicted, i sure as heck better be doing things that make me laugh and keep me alive!!!

We Are The Champions!

even though i knew how early i had to wake up in the morning and thought i had some kind of idea what lay ahead of me for the weekend (or perhaps precisely because of that) i did not get to bed until close to midnight and i tossed and turned until the alarm went off at 5am. had i been waking up to go to work, it would have been a drag, but i was off on an adventure so i was full of energy as i hopped into the shower and double checked to make sure we had all our luggage. sure that we had everything, we headed to the door. i stopped and turned back - we needed a team mascot. i whisked our ventriloquist dummy off the book case and we dashed out to the waiting car of fellow team members. and then we were off!


where to? well, to woodstock, new york, over 200 miles away from home, in order to start a relay race back to new york city. we paused in manhattan (i live in brooklyn) to pick up more friends and a van and then again we paused outside the city to pick up yet more friends. twelve of us would be running and we had calculated that it would take us about 30 hours to run the race. but you know, thinking is never quite like doing. never.

so, before the details, here are the rules:
there are twelve runners and two vans. each van carries 6 people. luckily for us, two extra person volunteered to drive each van. at any given time, one van is on and the other van is off. so the way the race goes is that one person is running their leg of the race while the five other runners are in the on van. while the person is running, the van (with the five other team members) drives ahead to the exchange point, stopping at times to cheer on the runner. at the exchange point, the next runner jumps out the van and waits to receive the baton. after the exchange, the person who was just running, collapses into the van (even though they should be stretching) and the van sets off for the next exchange point. when the sixth runner in the van will then hand over the baton to the first runner in the next van, thus activating the van to on position and deactivating their van. each runner runs three legs during the race. WHEW!!! i ended up being runner 6 in van one, with a total of 19.5 miles to run during the course of the 30 hours.

our first runner set off at about 10:30 am and we all piled into the van to get to the exchange point. we were stocked up with power bars, energy drinks, salads and water. most of th etime we ate the most delicious cookies, brownies, candies. it was like we were on a fun sleepover for ten year-olds... with a whole lot of running thrown in. we did drink the water though, so, we kinda sorta acted like grown ups. oh the tummy aches the day after the race?! but so worth it - those cookies were the most delicious ones i have ever eaten; salad be damned!

my first leg was a beautiful one. i ran in the afternoon (rather warm) down a narrow road that ran past green meadows. there had been a lot of rain so there flora was abundant. there had been rain the night before so the bugs were also abundant and, apparently, attracted to sweat. by the time i got to the van, i had almost been blinded and choked by those aggressive bugs. maybe they were unhappy about the invasion of the city folks. i should have stretched once my leg was over (you know hindsight and 20/20 vision) but we all were ready for a shower and change. so, we got into the, now off, van and drove off to a friend's house. we were lucky to have one of those because we were actually able to take showers, eat some food and lie down for about a half hour. while we were doing this, our friend and team member, baked up another batch of cookies! then, in no time at all, we had to pack up the van and head out for the second change over. it was getting dark at this point and we were about to begin our second leg of the relay.

did i mention that we were running our race on open roads? that the roads were not closed so we were running with traffic doing what it does? that our starts were staggered so we would each be pretty much running alone so we could run on the shoulder of the road without disrupting traffic? so it was like going for your regular run, except for when your team van zipped by and your friends tooted the horn and cheered in support. so, once it got dark, so we could see where we were going and so that traffic could see us, we added head lamps (that we strapped to our foreheads) and butt lamps (do i have to explain) to our running gear. it was friday night and we were in pretty rural parts of upstate new york. my leg happened between 1am and 2 am on route 9 (a pretty busy highway) and was not scenic at all. my legs were beginning to feel the effects of not stretching and the effects of the 5 miles i had run earlier in the day. but i set off into the dark night with my headlamp and butt lamp.

i'll tell you this, there sure are some interesting people out on the streets between 1 am and 2 am. and there sure are some interesting thoughts that go through one's head between 1 am and 2 am on a friday night, like how most of the people driving at this time of night on a friday have probably been drinking. or how most people driving are not expecting to come across a bright light trotting along towards them and may not respond in a safe manner. or, who the heck is that guy in the white dress shirt and black jeans? and why is he running pell-mell towards me with his hair flowing out behind him like he's a character from a trashy romance novel? it's 1:30 am!! i'm tired, do i have the energy to escape him if i need to. oh, whew, he's got other things on his mind; he just zipped past me like i'm not even there. am i here? or is this a dream? could a dream hurt this much? i would have woken up at this point. oh my gosh, what the hell is that beast coming out of the bushes with eyes that glow in the dark. it looks like a hump-backed alien giant rat! is that a raccoon? does it have rabies? i did hear about a rise in rabid raccoons in upstate new york. how fast can a raccoon run? how hard can a raccoon bite? oh the oncoming traffic just freaked it out - it's disappeared back into the bushes. if i run past will it pop out? but i must run past because the van is waiting on the other side of this spot. oh lord, make me brave. whew. my knees hurt but i can do this. i can get to the end. it's 7.5 miles - i can run that. oh here is the sign saying there's one mile to go. this is the longest mile i've ever run. they must have miscalculated it. oh, hallelujah! i see the changeover point!

this time, there were no houses to go to so we parked our van in the parking lot of a high school. hi-def (van driver volunteer) and i headed into the school gym which was already well populated with bodies in various states of unconsciousness. at this point we were so exhausted - it was almost 3am and we had to be up at about 6 am in order to get ready to run again. there was a bathroom and the line was long. i was sweaty and i was exhausted. so, hi-def laid down, on the hard wood gym floor, an unzipped sleeping bag and a random blanket we found. we lay on top of them and before we could realise just how yuck we were, we passed out.

when i woke up a couple of hours later, the line for the shower was shorter so i hopped in for a quick wash off. what a gross shower! the walls were mouldy and i couldn't believe that people actually used them. that said, desperate times... i showered off and dressed in preparation for our third leg. we were tired. all of us. each would run their leg, get back into the van and the pass out for about 30 minutes. It was as though we had prepared ourselves to run our distance and not a step more. my knees were really hurting but i couldn't expect anyone else to run for me - we all had a lot we signed up to do.

that last leg, for me, was torture. i took it slow and i took many walk breaks. a friend guy caught up with me and offered me water. others drove past, as they headed to their exchange points, and shouted words of support. it kept me going. 6.5 miles later, as i came to my final finish line, i looked and felt rought! the baton exchanged included a hug of victory and then i took my turn at passing out in the back of the van. it wasn't over - we followed our van, cheering the remaining six runners, until we headed into the bronx. all of us congregated close to the finish line so that we could all cross the finish line together!

200 miles (almost)! 30 hours! 12 women - the XX-Tremes!!! and we were still talking at the end of it all. and talking about doing it again next year. even though i'm in physiotherapy now, paying the price for running too far and stretching too little, i would do it again in a heartbeat. what an awesome team.

then, a week ago, in the mail... a "bronze" baton. the XX-Tremes came third among the women's teams. i'm a bronze god...ess!!!

Violated!

so this morning i mosied on over to go through the morning ritual that helps make my day faceable. i typed my blog address: amo-et-odi.blogspot.com and clicked enter. as the page loaded, i moved my mouse over to the right side of the page so i would be ready to clink on the links and instead i received a message. my blog had been disabled! Disabled! what was that about? there was a blurb about my perhaps violating the terms of service. what had i done? i know sometimes i go off on a rant or two but doesn't everyone? what was i to do?

my voyage of clicking on links led me back to my email account. i was prompted to enter my password and the response to my efforts was - your account has been disabled. Disabled? and after that was a little blurb on "suspicious activity" with respect to my account. i wasn't even using my account over the weekend so how could have been suspicious? briefly i wondered if i had indulged in any sleep-internet-surfing but i can barely surf when awake and so i doubt i would have the skills to do it in my sleep. so, this left only one thing... some nefarious somebody had broken into my account and was using it for their own evil deeds. how dare they? what kind of person does that? how do they live with themselves? they used my account to send out spam to friends who were probably now cursing me for filling their inboxes with nonsense. it was almost as though someone had walked into my apartment (without my permission) rifled through my drawers and left graffiti on my walls. and people coming over to visit would tsk tsk over the marred walls and would barely believe me when i said - i didn't do it! some stranger came in and did it! oh you hackers and spammers! shame on you.

shame on you even more for forcing me to have to prove that i am me, forcing me to reset my password and come up with something complicated enough that i'm bound to forget it at least once a month. but you haven't beaten me yet. and hopefully for the next couple of weeks, at least, the World Cup will keep you away from me. the next game is up soon...

Summer's In The Air

so, this is how it happens...

a train pulled up and, in pavlovian mode, you hopped in. maybe you came running down the stairs and barely made it through the doors or, perhaps, you were exhausted after a long day at work and didn't give stepping in a second thought. it was rush hour and yet the car was suprisingly empty - there were empty seats all over the place - in fact almost the entire car was empty. fantastic, you thought, you'll be getting a seat all the way home. and then a thought makes it way through the tired fog covering your brain - how can this be? how can you have so many seats during rush hour? a moment too late you realise that there is something wrong. something terribly wrong. you lurch towards the train doors but reach them just as they squeak shut. you are trapped. you try not to, but you have to inhale.

and nearly pass out. the stench seems to be an impossibility. what could have come together to create this toxic odour? you look around and spot the mass of garbage bags piled around a seat and, in the middle of it all, a grey form. it is always grey colour cannot live among such smells. it dies and leaves behind only its shadow - like ashes after a cremation. you see a few people huddled on the opposite end of the train car. they are they ones who have decided they are going to try to survive the ride, in the name of a seat. their feet hurt enough that they are willing to let some nose hairs get burnt away for a little bit of rest. and then, there are those like you, squeezed against the train doors, trying (without any luck) to take in wisps of air from the tunnel outside. others try to find a scarf, sweater or piece of tissue to breathe into, hoping that the material will filter the poison out of the air. you all just have to last until the next stop. then you can dash out and run to the next car.

you make it and as you make your escape, and breathe in the less poisonous air of the subway, you see others jump on, lunge towards the empty seats. you see that familiar look of relief turn into horror as the train doors close...

It Could Be Worse

my fellow travellers,
you know how you get up and get dressed and grab your keys to leave your home? and then you step out your door onto the street? and suddenly, like a miracle, you are out in public? and then you walk however many blocks it takes to get to the subway station and hop onto your train? well, guess what? strange as it may seem, you are still in public. i think, perhaps, that is one of the reasons they call it public transport. and all those strangers standing (or lucky enough to sit) around you - well they are part of the public.

so, why all these rudimentary lessons in the lines between public and private? because it appears too many have no idea. none whatsoever. it's like walking stepping into the (hopefully) temperature-controlled car and hearing the words "stand clear of the closing doors, please" feels like walking into one's bedroom. as the doors close, the toiletry bags zip open and all manner of items come out. there is the flossing of teeth, and the cutting and painting of nails. toenails are not excluded. there is the brushing of hair, with absolutely no regard for those who have the unfortunate fate of swallowing stray hairs. and there is a the full make up session. the other day a woman pulled out a spoon from her bag, which she then used to curl her eyelashes. a spoon.

so i see people that i don't know from adam, getting themselves ready to go out in public and i want to tap them on the shoulder and say - you know you're already there, right? i understand that things are tough in the morning. odds are you haven't had enough sleep and have had to drag yourself out of a comfortable bed to face the drudgery of another workday. perchance you have decided to sleep in an extra 30 minutes and that has resulted in your not having the time to do a lot of prettying up before stepping out. but, let me in on something - if you feel that you are presentable enough for the blocks between your home and the subway, if you feel you are presentable enough to get into a subway car, you are presentable enough for the rest of the ride and presentable enough until you find the privacy of a restroom or an office marked "private".

or you may find youself being tapped on the shoulder by a stranger, and member of the public, which may scare you and smudge your mascara (or very smelly nail polish), who will say, "hello! you're not alone. we are here and we are the public!"