During my 10 mile bike ride this morning, my thoughts and observations flitted to and fro...like the butterflies.
The sunshine feels good.
80 degrees today..again!
Boy, I hope I can ride a cool red trike like that at his age!
My tires buzz on the path that is surrounded with color as plants and flowers bloom.
I wonder what I should make for dinner tonight.
Check out the crazy looking ducks floating peacefully in the placid waters of high tide.
I remember my father-in-law grumbling once that he would know he was dying when his oldest daughter called.
She called yesterday.
A couple meanders down the path. She on her cell phone, he on his, texting, holding hands, but not connected. I want to yell at them to put down the phones...look in other's eyes, listen from the heart, laugh from the belly...LIVE. Life is short.
I pass a biker...and another.
I can feel the warmth of the sun on my skin. I am grateful for the gentle breeze off the bay.
Tomorrow morning my husband has to be at the airport at 4 AM. My daughter has to be at the high school by 6:30 AM. The track meet is south of San Jose...let's see...if I leave at 8 AM I could probably be there in time...
My mind flashes back to a title of a book I stumbled upon earlier this week, Things To Do Today. Are you kidding me?? Who would buy such a book? Tomorrow is the first day of spring break, and as I am scheduling in my head, I haven't even made it past 10 AM...at which point I will have been up for 6 hours!!
The pain in my butt is becoming more real...just ignore it...it will go away...maybe...
Hey! Did the biker I passed a mile back just pass me?? Okay maybe his calves look like he has a few more miles under his belt...or maybe he didn't like a girl passing him up? lol
Pick up the pace, girl. Burning legs? Work harder. Focus.
Slowly I gain on him. I am beginning to understand the psychology of the simulated screens on the bikes at the gym.
Finally, after a mile, I reach him. I slow a bit to make sure I have the strength and stamina to pass him again.
Of course, I do.
Girl Power!!
A strong finish thanks to my unsuspecting competitor.
Now, I have one hour before I have to pick up Chayse from kindergarten.
The jasmine is starting to bloom along my house. I can't wait until the sweet scent greets me in the evening!
Friday, April 1, 2011
Thursday, March 31, 2011
Little Snail
Yesterday on my morning walk beside the bay, a little snail was slowly moving across my path. I hesitated and then paused to study him as he slowly crept along. The anatomy of a snail is fascinating because what look like antennas are really eyes at the end of his tentacles.
The child in me wanted to scoop him up and bring him home and study him, but the adult in me refrained and resumed walking.
Though memories of snails came gliding back from when I was very young. I would play with the tiny snails in the run-off water from the stock dams in early spring. My brother and I would explore for hours in that little stream that held all kinds of wonders. Then we would gather whatever was handy to create dams...delighted when they would hold for a few minutes.
A child's play that taught me so many important lessons.
Last night the kids played in the cul de sac with the lingering sunshine. Their voices echoed down the street.
I smiled. Sometimes I really believe that our children are missing more than they gain as we immerse them in their nightly homework...
The child in me wanted to scoop him up and bring him home and study him, but the adult in me refrained and resumed walking.
Though memories of snails came gliding back from when I was very young. I would play with the tiny snails in the run-off water from the stock dams in early spring. My brother and I would explore for hours in that little stream that held all kinds of wonders. Then we would gather whatever was handy to create dams...delighted when they would hold for a few minutes.
A child's play that taught me so many important lessons.
Last night the kids played in the cul de sac with the lingering sunshine. Their voices echoed down the street.
I smiled. Sometimes I really believe that our children are missing more than they gain as we immerse them in their nightly homework...
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
Sisters.
One of my favorite books is Sisters of the Heart. Sometimes I think I love it just because of the title because for me relationships with sisters truly transcend directly to the heart. It is an unconditional relationship no matter the differences.
On Sunday evening, my mother-in-law's sister arrived. Yesterday I could hear the smile in her voice and the throaty chuckle I love. I could sense a calmness had returned. I knew that the presence of her sister brought these gifts.
I met her sister 20 years ago when Aunt Judy came to recover from a divorce and stayed until she retired recently.
I remember browsing at Christmas time with my mother-in-law as she looked for the perfect little gift for her sister. She wanted a rose, a purple rose. She knew exactly what her sister wanted and she patiently searched. I remember watching her with a smile in my heart. She knew what her sister wanted and though Christmas was tough this year, she wanted to give her sister something special. It was her way of saying you are really special to me. Most of the time it goes without saying, but sometimes we don't say it enough...and we each say it in our own way...sometimes with a purple rose.
None of the girls in my mother-in-law's family like to drive, and some no longer drive, so when I heard Aunt Judy was en route, I knew her sister needed her and my heart smiled. I am sure she didn't even hesitate. I love this about relationships with sisters.
Yesterday I heard the spunk in Aunt Judy's voice as she chatted. Together they had a good day with Hoss.
Today is not so good, but the voice of my mother-in-law remains strong. I feel guilty that we aren't there to help, but today I realize that her sister is who she really needs right now. In this intimate journey with her spouse, she simply needs her sister.
Hospice is coming this morning.
My father-in-law is growing weary.
And here I sit, thinking about how this family has also become mine over the years and differences ;)
With the wisdom of the years, I embrace the memories.
Mother's Day is coming. My mother-in-law loves her flowers and her yard is a testament. Her flower garden is her joy. For as long as I can remember, Hoss always said, "It is time to get mother's flowers." It is his gift for her every year. It is his way of saying you are really special to me.
One of my favorite books is Sisters of the Heart. Sometimes I think I love it just because of the title because for me relationships with sisters truly transcend directly to the heart. It is an unconditional relationship no matter the differences.
On Sunday evening, my mother-in-law's sister arrived. Yesterday I could hear the smile in her voice and the throaty chuckle I love. I could sense a calmness had returned. I knew that the presence of her sister brought these gifts.
I met her sister 20 years ago when Aunt Judy came to recover from a divorce and stayed until she retired recently.
I remember browsing at Christmas time with my mother-in-law as she looked for the perfect little gift for her sister. She wanted a rose, a purple rose. She knew exactly what her sister wanted and she patiently searched. I remember watching her with a smile in my heart. She knew what her sister wanted and though Christmas was tough this year, she wanted to give her sister something special. It was her way of saying you are really special to me. Most of the time it goes without saying, but sometimes we don't say it enough...and we each say it in our own way...sometimes with a purple rose.
None of the girls in my mother-in-law's family like to drive, and some no longer drive, so when I heard Aunt Judy was en route, I knew her sister needed her and my heart smiled. I am sure she didn't even hesitate. I love this about relationships with sisters.
Yesterday I heard the spunk in Aunt Judy's voice as she chatted. Together they had a good day with Hoss.
Today is not so good, but the voice of my mother-in-law remains strong. I feel guilty that we aren't there to help, but today I realize that her sister is who she really needs right now. In this intimate journey with her spouse, she simply needs her sister.
Hospice is coming this morning.
My father-in-law is growing weary.
And here I sit, thinking about how this family has also become mine over the years and differences ;)
With the wisdom of the years, I embrace the memories.
Mother's Day is coming. My mother-in-law loves her flowers and her yard is a testament. Her flower garden is her joy. For as long as I can remember, Hoss always said, "It is time to get mother's flowers." It is his gift for her every year. It is his way of saying you are really special to me.
Monday, March 28, 2011
You are my sunshine,
My only sunshine.
You make me happy
When skies are gray.
You'll never know, dear,
How much I love you.
Please don't take
My sunshine away.
Chayse's sweet voice tumbled from the backseat as we cruised down the road last week. The words chirping from her heart as she practiced for her open house performance bring sunshine to me rainy days.
Today I can hear her voice again, as I gaze lovingly at the morning sunshine after a long absence. It is radiating in through the branches...across the sky...smiling on my flowers.
I can find those elusive rays wherever I look, and my heart sings.
The sunshine is even reflected in my new kimono (a very clever surprise from my husband). Its vibrancy seems even livelier today as I touch the soft silk. I am curious. I want to wear it perfectly. I wish my friend Yoshi were here to help me. She and her little boy would meet Chayse and me frequently in Pittsburgh. I miss her friendship. She would know how to make my kimono beautiful on me. She would smile patiently as she worked with me. Her eyes would twinkle. We would laugh.
I know someone else can teach me, or I can uncover the secret via the internet, but today, I am basking in the warm memories of our friendship. One of the bright rays that my life's adventures have brought me.
My only sunshine.
You make me happy
When skies are gray.
You'll never know, dear,
How much I love you.
Please don't take
My sunshine away.
Chayse's sweet voice tumbled from the backseat as we cruised down the road last week. The words chirping from her heart as she practiced for her open house performance bring sunshine to me rainy days.
Today I can hear her voice again, as I gaze lovingly at the morning sunshine after a long absence. It is radiating in through the branches...across the sky...smiling on my flowers.
I can find those elusive rays wherever I look, and my heart sings.
The sunshine is even reflected in my new kimono (a very clever surprise from my husband). Its vibrancy seems even livelier today as I touch the soft silk. I am curious. I want to wear it perfectly. I wish my friend Yoshi were here to help me. She and her little boy would meet Chayse and me frequently in Pittsburgh. I miss her friendship. She would know how to make my kimono beautiful on me. She would smile patiently as she worked with me. Her eyes would twinkle. We would laugh.
I know someone else can teach me, or I can uncover the secret via the internet, but today, I am basking in the warm memories of our friendship. One of the bright rays that my life's adventures have brought me.
Saturday, March 26, 2011
"If you are out hunting for the bear, and the neighbor comes out in a bear coat, what would you do?" inquired a Japanese manager.
"Shoot them," quipped Ron.
Horror flashed across his face, as Ron continued, "It is the culling process."
After Ron laughed uproarously, he had to try to reassure him that he was merely teasing and then tried to explain that hunters wear bright orange in the woods or mountains.
**************************
The Japanese are not accustomed to American sarcasm, as Ron is fully aware since he has worked with several Japanese colleagues, but that does not keep him on his best behavior. It does however guarantee a memorable night for everyone.
"Shoot them," quipped Ron.
Horror flashed across his face, as Ron continued, "It is the culling process."
After Ron laughed uproarously, he had to try to reassure him that he was merely teasing and then tried to explain that hunters wear bright orange in the woods or mountains.
**************************
The Japanese are not accustomed to American sarcasm, as Ron is fully aware since he has worked with several Japanese colleagues, but that does not keep him on his best behavior. It does however guarantee a memorable night for everyone.
Thursday, March 24, 2011
Monsoon
The rain doesn't stop.
My backyard is flooding.
The ground is so saturated it cannot absorb anything more...anywhere.
And yet it keeps pouring.
I can hear Johnny Cash amidst the steady rhythm of the rain.
My mama always taught me that good things come from adversity if we put our faith in the Lord. We couldn't see much good in the flood waters when they
were causing us to have to leave home, but when the water went down, we found that it had washed a load of rich black bottom dirt across our land. The following year we had the best cotton crop we'd ever had.
I remember hearing:
How high's the water, mama?
Two feet high and risin'
How high's the water, papa?
Two feet high and risin'
"Ron the water is a mere foot from the backdoor. What should I do?"
I could hear him thinking in the quietness.
I continued, "A lady at the kindergarten told me I needed to get sandbags."
Now I have never had to buy sandbags, and it rains in Pittsburgh too. Then I heard Ron's voice tell me I could probably wait.
I know he is busy, and I really do hate being a damsel in distress.
As I looked out over the rising water, I knew I did not want the water flowing into my house.
As my mind raced, I realized I could just roll up my pants and find my favorite flip-flops and wade in to find this drain the little Asian neighbor insisted we had. Admittedly, I started looking for a high tech drain, but then as I moved things around, I realized that it was merely the three inch gravel strip between the sidewalk and fence. However, it was blocked with debris, so I started working. As the water slowly started to flow, I realized it wasn't level enough to be efficient, so water adventure continued.
By the time I came inside, my feet were a bit cold, but the water was receding. I had rescued myself, so of course I proudly phoned my husband. His response?
"You really are an irrigator!"
Let me digress, I graduated from a rival high school that called themselves the Irrigators. A scary mascot, admittedly, but reflective of how the farms survived there.
Dad, I may not have been technically irrigating because I was not watering crops, but I did manage to divert the water despite the rudimentary design.
I wonder where I got such a crazy idea anyway ;)
My backyard is flooding.
The ground is so saturated it cannot absorb anything more...anywhere.
And yet it keeps pouring.
I can hear Johnny Cash amidst the steady rhythm of the rain.
My mama always taught me that good things come from adversity if we put our faith in the Lord. We couldn't see much good in the flood waters when they
were causing us to have to leave home, but when the water went down, we found that it had washed a load of rich black bottom dirt across our land. The following year we had the best cotton crop we'd ever had.
I remember hearing:
How high's the water, mama?
Two feet high and risin'
How high's the water, papa?
Two feet high and risin'
"Ron the water is a mere foot from the backdoor. What should I do?"
I could hear him thinking in the quietness.
I continued, "A lady at the kindergarten told me I needed to get sandbags."
Now I have never had to buy sandbags, and it rains in Pittsburgh too. Then I heard Ron's voice tell me I could probably wait.
I know he is busy, and I really do hate being a damsel in distress.
As I looked out over the rising water, I knew I did not want the water flowing into my house.
As my mind raced, I realized I could just roll up my pants and find my favorite flip-flops and wade in to find this drain the little Asian neighbor insisted we had. Admittedly, I started looking for a high tech drain, but then as I moved things around, I realized that it was merely the three inch gravel strip between the sidewalk and fence. However, it was blocked with debris, so I started working. As the water slowly started to flow, I realized it wasn't level enough to be efficient, so water adventure continued.
By the time I came inside, my feet were a bit cold, but the water was receding. I had rescued myself, so of course I proudly phoned my husband. His response?
"You really are an irrigator!"
Let me digress, I graduated from a rival high school that called themselves the Irrigators. A scary mascot, admittedly, but reflective of how the farms survived there.
Dad, I may not have been technically irrigating because I was not watering crops, but I did manage to divert the water despite the rudimentary design.
I wonder where I got such a crazy idea anyway ;)
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
Chicks
Cheep! Cheep! Cheep!
One sound asleep on his feet. Another fascinated by her reflection in the fireplace glass. One atop the feeder dining with a friend below. They posed for the photo about like any group of kids...with complete disinterest in me!
Daisy was named for her sweet disposition.
These gentle hands were so cozy it became naptime!
All the kids were enamored with our suburban chick adventure.
For me, it brought back my farm memories when I was a very little girl. I would put my hand in my grandmother's and we would walk across the yard to visit the chicken coop. Together we would uncover the wonders from uncovering freshly laid eggs to nurturing the springtime chicks huddled under the heat lamp chirping incessantly. In my child's eyes, I loved the magic of the chicken coop.
Paul Revere became the black chick that always cheeped on top of the feeder. Lemon was another yellow chick who could be a bit of a sourpuss sometimes. Peanut butter was merely the creamy color.
Cheep! Cheep! Cheep!
One sound asleep on his feet. Another fascinated by her reflection in the fireplace glass. One atop the feeder dining with a friend below. They posed for the photo about like any group of kids...with complete disinterest in me!
Daisy was named for her sweet disposition.
These gentle hands were so cozy it became naptime!
All the kids were enamored with our suburban chick adventure.
For me, it brought back my farm memories when I was a very little girl. I would put my hand in my grandmother's and we would walk across the yard to visit the chicken coop. Together we would uncover the wonders from uncovering freshly laid eggs to nurturing the springtime chicks huddled under the heat lamp chirping incessantly. In my child's eyes, I loved the magic of the chicken coop.
Paul Revere became the black chick that always cheeped on top of the feeder. Lemon was another yellow chick who could be a bit of a sourpuss sometimes. Peanut butter was merely the creamy color.
Cheep! Cheep! Cheep!
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