a broad idea of normal

in class the other day we were talking about coaches and mentors - who was that person for you, what about them made you want to follow, and what lessons were you given? one woman described a mentor who was patient and brave, gracious and funny, but the strongest fiber connecting her all together was her broad idea of normal. she knew that often times there are several right answers, more than one way to understand a situation, and countless possibilities in facing life, if we just blur the lines between what we think and what we feel and what we know. and so the length and depth of normal can be applied with comfort to anyone who needs it.

and after class i went home and finished preparations to head north for the 12th time in as many years with my best women, my best friends. we plan this trip all year long, making lists and spying perfect gifts. finally on the day of departure we load up an oversized vehicle with oversized fun: food and wine, gifts and magazines, music and two small dogs, and off we go.

the best parts of the weekend are clearly the candlelit moments spent on the screen porch, with evening breezes and we all in our places. we tell stories and offer advice, and we laugh so hard we can't catch a breath. sometimes we take turns feeling hopeful or helpless, lost or found, and i always come out of those conversations feeling better about myself, because after all they see me better than i do. whether we feel crazy or stuck, the rest of us lean in, or sit back, and offer our views on how normal we really are; and of course that idea is broadly defined. as we continue to be.

my best women, my best mentors,

and no one has better friends than i do.

except for the three other women on the porch.

breakfast with the guys

cap's is a neighborhood barbeque joint that was called a "mecca" of pleasure and taste in a recent local magazine. on the weekends, they do a fine breakfast and i go there most every saturday.



there are many things i can count on at breakfast...fluffy short stacks with sweet maple butter, hash browns cripsy and luscious, thick slices of smoked ham, hollaidase sauce speckled with paprika ... but also,

the guys.

not the same guys, always, but sometimes of course, but guys. two guys, four guys, six guys...all chatting over coffee and it is so nice to see. today there were two sets of guys who hadn't planned on seeing each other but there they were. a table of eight, and behind them, a table of four.



eggs were ordered, coffee poured, and the guys talked. ages from mid 30's to mid 60's, all nicely dressed in neat and colorful polo shirts and plaid or kakie shorts, one with a grey goose hat. they talked about golf and their daughters, politics and sports. they wore pretty watches and all were tan and seemed so happy. arms were folded and jokes were told and some of them went back and forth from table to table, catching up and visiting generally.



good friends. good food. a good day.

the words around the water

in a book called "the hidden messages in water" a very wise japenese man tells stories of his experiments in speaking with water. masaru emoto begins with the premise that "learning about water is like an exploration to discover how the cosmos works", as after all, we as human beings are at least 70% water ourselves.

using music, words, cool temperatures, a good microscope and a fine camera, he discovered that clear water responds to the messages we offer it. among his many experiments, he wrote words on paper and taped the messages to the bottle (words facing in), froze them, and then photographed the crytals that emerged. words of thanks, love, gratitude and hope created perfect jewels of amazing clarity and beauty, while harsh words or images created only tumultuous images, or none at all.

the lesson we can learn from this experiment has to do with the power of words. the vibration of good words has a positive effect on our world, whereas vibration from negative words has the power to destroy.

we know about the tremendous power of words, don't we? we do. we wander though our days speaking our minds, sharing our stories, reaching out to communicate. if we could freeze our words in water and reflect on the crystals at the end of the day, what would we see? would we find perfect but temporary crystals that sparkle and express the contents of a happy soul, or chaotic images that form nothing but confusion?

water teaches in a very clear way how we must live our lives.

i wonder what the words i spoke today would look like if i could see them cold and still.

i hope for crystals.

a stunning achievement

in the opening ceremonies at bejing yesterday, 2008 masters of tai chi swirled around and around in perfectly choreographed circles in the glowing center of the birds nest. each one bathed in white cotton and delicate blue light, each an equadistance from another, arms and legs rising and falling in defined unison. matt lauer called it a stunning achievement, and went on to explain that they find their place for the next moment based on where they are in this one. and to do that, they look to their neighbor, a mirror, a guide. how far is my hand from yours, how high is my head next to yours...when i understand and see the place where you are, i can find my own place.

funny the journeys we endure to find our place in the world. we travel to places on the globe, we hide in places in our hearts, we do it with someone else or we do it alone. those of us who are truly alive will keep asking ourselves, "where is my place? have i found it? if this is not it, i must keep looking until i find it."

perhaps it's not an individual quest afterall. maybe the place i need to end up is not up to me to define, but instead i can rest into it by

looking at you.

need help out with that ma'am?

the trouble with the carry-out service at some grocery stores is the carrying out part. i'm sure that the intent behind all those tidy aprons is service (1st), insurance (2nd - cart corales don't always work so well, besides those carts that go missing up the block and down lake street can get kind of expensive).



it's so uncomfortable though, isn't it? someone following you, FOLLOWING you, to your parked vehicle so as to tuck your parcels snuggly into the backseat or trunk. so, on that long journey from check-out to keyless entry, do you talk with them?

sometimes you can, talk to them that is. you can always chat about the weather, or the twins if they are playing, the holidays sometimes, or the vikings if you absolutely insist. but there is always something. except for the ones who don't talk. uncrackable nuts, those are. they shuffle behind and you can hear their silent mockings "yes mum, fast enough for you mum? anything ELSE mum?"



if you feel like i do, then i know something else about you. two things, really. first, when you go to those fancy carry out grocers and you need a lot of stuff, you circle and circle that lot to get the closest spot, thus shortening "the walk".



or, you only go there when you need just a couple of items.



and you carry them out yourself.

balloons in the dumpster

balloons in the dumpster, what an odd thing to see. a swollen archway of green, orange and white balloons, tethered tightly together are stuffed in a dumpster down by the lake. i imagined that they had marked a finish line, or a welcome station; a festival or celebration of some sort. something colorful and joyous and playful. lots of planning went into whatever it was, there must have been tents and folding tables and people with specially made t-shirts wandering around shaking hands and passing out flyers. people trying to prove a point, make a difference, and do it in a way that showcased their friendships and passion. hot dogs sizzled and a there was popcorn being passed in little white bags. kids were getting their faces painted and you could not count the lawn chairs.

and after they had raised as much money as they could, or celebrated the cause in a manner fitting the intent, the tables were folded up, the tents came down, and the balloons went in the dumpster.

the image struck me, balloons in the dumpster. a remnant of fun, or of hope, or of celebration, winds up in the trash.

is it sad? or delightful?

haven't decided.