The Beauty of Flying….and Rocks
I am not fond of flying…until I’m actually up in the air. I recently flew out to Phoenix via Las Vegas; and as I prepared for the trip, I was a nervous wreck. Off the charts anxious. Boarding the plane I was sweating. I’m sure everyone already sitting on the aisles are being checked for concussions as I navigated to my seat with my carry-on bag and purse. Of course my preferred seat is near a wing by the window. I don’t believe this is the safest part of the plane, but I figure if we are going down seat choice is not significant.
I’ve also come to the conclusion that no matter where you fly, if you are flying out of south central Texas, 3/4’s of the trip will be over Texas. The last time I flew, we were in the air for two hours on the way to Denver and I’m fairly certain we are over Oklahoma, or Northern New Mexico…until the pilot decides to share that if we looked out the right windows we’d see the lovely city of Amarillo. About 20 minutes later, wah-lah…we’re in Denver. It wasn’t any different this time as we flew into Las Vegas.
However, as we flew over the desert, I was utterly amazed by the beauty of the topography of the land below. I’ve never flown that far west. The ground colors were beyond description. Pinks blending into grays blending into blacks blending into reds. The massive rock formations content to stand alone in the midst of mustard colored sand. But wait….there’s more….
Flying from Vegas to Phoenix was even more amazing. The colors, the rock formations, I was overwhelmed by the colors and the way the sand formations shifted; blending into something out of someone’s genius imagination.
And Phoenix…I was mesmerized. Perhaps I should have been a geologist because rocks fascinate me. My trip was cut short because of health issues, but I will definitely go back for exploration.
And being the most awesome Grandma ever, I brought back the greatest treasures ever for my kiddos….stones infused with the many colors of the desert. I will of course gift these beauties with t-shirts that boldly declare…My Gammy went to Phoenix and I all I got was this stupid t-shirt and a rock.
I so ROCK!
1 Freakin’ Pound
I was true to my word. I joined a gym that provides nutritional support as well as comprehensive workout plans. I’m eating like I’m supposed to; I’m going to Barbell Strengthening and Yin Yoga classes. I could ride a stationary bike in the Tour de France in record time. I’m drinking 3 liters of water a day; no bread; more protein than carbs. And in 1 month I….have…not….lost a FREAKIN” POUND! In fact, I gained two. What the hell is up with that?
I have noticeable bicepts and tricepts (I probably have a cept also, but not sure where that is.) I have 3 discernible muscles in my calves and my thighs feel like tree trunks. I’m even getting a semblance of an ass (God was not kind to me in the backside – he moved it all the to the front.) I have elongated my spine and stretched the little muscles that are between my ribs (at least that’s what the yoga instructor says.) I have twisted into a pretzel form. I swim laps; I sit in the steam room – note to self: don’t wear glasses in the steam room. (If I have to explain you do not wear glasses.)
I am not a dieter. I have tried the pill and some of the commercial weight loss plans a la Marie Osmond and Kirstie Alley. Honestly, the food was nasty. There was moderate weight loss; but not enough to continue the plans. This time, though, this time I’d do it most effective way – healthy eating and exercise. I’m doing that. And nothin’…except Tylenol and Advil post work-out.
Losing weight is a test of patience. I’m not good with patience. Patience and virginity are both virtues…I have neither; so this whole muscle pain drinking army green protein shakes infused with “super” greens is a bit daunting. And not 1 pound gone.
People, I have sunk to visualizing my muscles gobbling the fat cells in cartoon fashion hoping the fat will get the message. Perhaps they are deaf or blind or both.
Albert Einstein said, “Insanity: doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results”; this does not bode well for me in this journey. I’ll keep going to the gym because I apparently have more muscles to discover; and in a sick, twisted way…I like working out. (I’m grimacing as I type this ’cause I just don’t understand the depth of my crazy sometimes.) I like the army green protein shakes. I like everything I’m doing; just wish there was a little more encouragement from my body.
One day I will read this post again and either be glad I continued because I lost the weight; or ambivalent because I’m still doing the same things at the same weight. Or, perhaps I should do as my sister suggested…throw out the freakin’ scale.
Just one pound. That’s all. Just one. Work with me here…..
The Significance of Messy
My house is messy right now. There is not a room that is not effected. I used to beat myself up over a messy house; I’ve been severely criticized for having a messy house. Over time, I’ve come to realize the significance of my messy.
“If you change the way you look at things, the things you look at change.” So says Wayne Dwyer. I’m changing the way I look at myself; I am changing. Not so much a physical change – although I am finally taking my physical self more seriously and doing more to care for my body – but in my emotions. Life has brought me to the place where I must deal with deeply hidden past emotional pain; the place I put off delving into for a very long time. I never wanted to be here, but here I am. And it’s messy.
Confronting negative emotion is messy. I mean who really wants to revisit times of deep betrayal, rejection, and abandonment? Who really wants to recall the deeply scarring words uttered by those who were supposed to be the closest, most trusted ones of all? All of us have these places; the criteria may be different, but the places are there. And life will determine when we deal with them.
Emotion is more loudly expressed in actions than words. When my emotions are positive, my house is more organized than Martha Stewart’s. Everything is neatly put away; the carpets are properly vacuumed; there is no dust. Right now, I have items strewn across my couches, my living room; the carpets are in dire need vacuuming; and the dust has it’s own social club. But I understand the cause of the messy; and I know eventually, everything will be Martha Steward again.
This isn’t the first time negative emotions have poked their skeletal fingers through the wound; but I was able to push them down, or allowed a bit of the pain to be felt. This time, though, the whole of the arm came through..then the torso and head. At first, I thought I had no means for dealing with the destructive hurt. However, life reminded me I do. Life gave me time. Time to develop my own sense of self independent of the views and constructs of others. By just living, Life gave me weapons that, over time, will assist me in finally blowing all this crap to kingdom come and be done with it. I will always have scars; but they will harbor no hidden infection. Excising the wounds hurt like hell, but they will be clean to heal properly.
So my messy external reflects my messy internal. I’ve come to understand this. This is the significance of my messy. I can say, in the past, I’ve gone beyond messy to downright filthy; but I eventually cleaned that up, so I know there will come a day when I clean this up too. And please understand I do not condone living in or with filth. Nor do I assume that people with messy/filthy houses are in a state of emotional turmoil. I understand the significance of my messy – awareness which developed over a long period of time. I cannot comment on anyone else’s.
Knowing the significance of my messy allows me to be gentle with myself during this time of emotional transition. I’m not mentally beating myself up over the symptom, but dealing with the cause. As I deal with the cause, another spot of mess becomes organized. Perhaps it’s no longer the significance of messy, but the significance of healing.
It’s a good thing.
Pocket Full of Content
I recently read a post by fellow blogger, Jeff Stephens http://www.crazydadlife.com/, regarding the storage of web-based content. He titled the post “Bookmarks are so 1997 – Discover how to Save Content More Effectively”. Two things drew me in: “bookmarks” and “1997”. Don’t badmouth my bookmarks! And 1997 happened to be a good year for me. I let him know of my discontent with this title; but I enjoyed the read.
I love my bookmarks for content storage and use them quite often. Yes, they are messy – somehow, I set up three different places to save stuff – but the ease of access from my PC is awesome. I never tried to access from my mobile because, well, I never thought about it.
Jeff suggests upgrading from bookmarks to using an app like Pocket (http://getpocket.com/) for content storage. “Have you tried Pocket?” he asked. No, I hadn’t; and all I heard in my head was “ARGH! TECHNOLOGY! GET IT OFF ME!”. I’m not one to seek out the new and different – especially in the web world. It took me forever to join Face Book, and setting up a Twitter account for 2.4 Hours took nearly 24 hours; so I’m not inclined to explore the tech world for the latest and greatest of anything. But I told him I would venture into the unknown and try the app.
Feeling daring this morning, I did indeed upgrade to a Pocket account. Signing up and installing on my PC was easy. I now have a nifty new addition on my PC toolbar allowing quick save of a particular article or interest. I now use 1 click as opposed to 3. Accessing the content from my PC is a challenge. I haven’t found a quick way to get to the content without first logging into the program. Much easier on the mobile side; open the app and my content list immediately appears. A bit more intricate on saving mobile content. I used my Face Book newsfeed as my primary source for articles; and although I opened the content with Face Book, I found I also had to open it in my mobile browser. At that point, I could choose the “share” option with the destination of Pocket. It took me about 30 minutes to figure this out; the opening once then opening again was irritating but remember I’m from the age of actual reference books and Pong.
I definitely recommend trying Pocket for ease of content storage across PC and mobile; access stored content from phone rather than PC. I’ll save the content on my PC, then read on my phone. My beloved bookmarks are now relegated to sign-in sites only. Thanks, Jeff, for the pushing my big toe into the digital pond.
AS for 1997….VH1 introduced “Pop-Up Videos” and “Behind the Music”; dial-up internet was zinging phone lines; and my life was relatively drama free. 1998, however, is a whole other story…..
Mozart’s Mistake
My dear young man, don’t take it too hard. Your work is ingenious. It’s quality work. And there are simply too many notes, that’s all.” I laughed when I first heard these lines from the movie Amadeus. Only an Emperor would tell a genius composer his musical score contained too many notes. I studied piano from the time I was 5; I’ve played Mozart. Every note is placed perfectly for maximum beauty of sound.
“Oh my God! This is your blog?! It has too many words!” 
I felt Mozart’s confusion and pain. I checked the word count – exactly 161. The word count was exactly what I needed it to be to convey my message. There were neither too few or too many words. The judgment was based on the paragraph size; not on the words the paragraph contained, or the message conveyed by the words.
“Remember English and Journalism classes? You should condense that down to 1 sentence.”
I won awards for my journalist writing; albeit many years ago. So I’m rusty…but I’m not THAT rusty! And if the goal of journalistic writing is to sum up an event in 1 sentence, then the goal of English composition is to draw the reader into the story. Two different styles of writing. I’m composing – not reporting.
And I hate that I let the critic get under my skin. If, in the words of Shakespeare, “all the world’s a stage” then every audience member is a critic. Criticism should be constructive – “constructive criticism”. It’s intent should be to hone the recipient’s skills – cause their understanding of their craft to increase, become refined. It teaches without being demeaning.
Unwarranted criticism is most often destructive. Hearing or reading it may, at first, bring confusion and a What the Hell? response; but if it drains the creativity, then it’s destructive and, in my opinion, should be discarded.
The movie, Amadeus, won best picture for depicting the interplay between Mozart and his critics. Mozart continued to write his music with as many notes as he wanted. So I decided to do the same. I wrote more words. And I will continue writing words. As many as I need to get my thoughts coherently on the screen. Don’t be dissuaded by anyone in your writing efforts…not even an Emperor.
“You are not the only composer in Vienna, Mozart.
“No, but I’m the best”
KSOENTPS.ROCKS 