Octopus Week

My Friday morning commute has long been one of my favorites on account of traffic has always seemed light.  I can sleep an extra 12 minutes and make it to the job site in record time.  This past Friday was a different story of course.  Perhaps it was because I pushed the limits of "sleeping in" and slept until 7:22 a.m.  My fear is that it was because of the unkind things I thought of the United States Postal worker who seemed less than eager to help me mail a big box the afternoon before.  Bad karma can destroy a good commute.

I take Hwy 99 south through downtown Seattle to work.  My least favorite part of this commute is when I am on the stretch of this highway that is a Double Decker viaduct.  Southbound is sandwiched between the pavement below and the northbound lanes above.  Though I am not Catholic I often wonder if a Hail Mary would be appropriate when I enter this contraption each day.  There have been years of controversy in Seattle over how to replace this decrepit piece of highway that will surely collapse if the right person just blows on one of the posts too hard. Thus, we keep driving on it on a hope and a prayer that today isn't the day it will tumble down.

Well, this past Friday traffic was at a standstill on the viaduct.  (Insert racing heart and irritation here.)  I always wonder if today will be the day the thing crumbles and my red car is flattened into a pancake.  Because traffic was crawling I had the opportunity to read every sign and billboard on the boardwalk to Elliott Bay down below.  In the midst of my irritation with traffic I was elated to learn that Octopus Week is fast approaching at the Seattle Aquarium.  For starters, my mind was taken off the traffic for about thirty seconds as I searched my memory banks to see if I had any prior knowledge of an Octopus Week.  Nope.  This was new learning for me, people.  So, as I pondered what it meant I crawled my way to work on the viaduct.

Late Friday afternoon I posted on my Facebook page that Octopus Week was fast approaching.  A smart colleague of mine posted back that indeed it was true and that two octopi are united during this week and have a sort of frisky encounter on February 14th, if you catch my drift. - This was a jaw dropper.  Who knew that octopi were having scheduled "play dates" for an audience to see?  I couldn't wrap my mind around how octopi even engage in this adult activity, but I was ever curious.  A quick Google search later and I had more information than necessary.  What was most alarming was that the male octopus often just gobbles up the female octopus after the fun is done!  Who knew?

At any rate, here is to a successful encounter on February 14th at the Seattle Aquarium.  I hope the lady octopus doesn't get gobbled up.

An Airport Run, Candy Cane Lane & A Fender Bender~

2:40 p.m. - I stomped out to the "Hot Tamale" (a.k.a - my red car that is nearly on its last legs but I am too cheap to buy a new one).  A fine time awaits me on an airport run to pick up a colleague who was flying back into town after a weekend in sunny San Diego.  I piloted the red rig to Sea-Tac to meet my bouncy colleague who was ramped up and ready to grab a bite.  So, we scooted over to The Cheesecake Factory for some grub and a de-brief of the trip.  We took cheesecake slices to go, of course.

The afternoon was young and my colleage suggested we hit IKEA since we were in that part of town.  OK by me.  I like to look at the Scandinavian wares with wordless directions for how to assemble anything you buy there.

6:30 p.m. As we careen out of the IKEA parking lot and head north on Interstate 5 my colleage said, "Hey, have you been to Candy Cane Lane?"  I haven't ever been. Candy Cane Lane is one circle drive in Seattle where each house rigs up their lawn with oodles of lights, signs, blow up characters, etc. to celebrate the holiday season.  You can throw a few cans of non-perishable goods in a box at the end of the lane as a thank you.  Since we were sans any canned goods, we took the tour for free.

7:05 p.m. As we waited in what felt like a nine mile long line of cars waiting to hit candy Cane Lane I suggested we pop open the cheesecake containers and have a light snack while we crawl along waiting to enter the lane.  We did just that.  Mouth fulls of cheesecake and whip cream are just what you need to get sugared up before a trip down Candy Cane Lane.  We were about half way through the slices when it happened.  Ding- Dong - Bam - The car behind us ran into the Hot Tamale.  This has happened to me before and I am getting used to people running into the car.  My colleague said, "Do you want me to act like my neck is injured?"  We both laughed and I declined the thoughtful invitation. We pulled over and hopped out to have what turned out to be an entertaining and slightly concerning experience.

The white car behind me that left its calling card on my red bumper came to a stop and out hopped the driver.  Rumor has it that everyone has a twin out there in the world.  This guy was the twin of Charles Manson.  I kid you not.

After ensuring we were all OK he said, "Well there is no damage."  The damage was minimal.  So, I did find it as my civic duty to point out the scrapes on the red bumper to ensure that he realized his car had given my car a kiss. "Oh," Charles Manson replied.  I asked if he had a piece of paper so we could exchange information.  He scurried back to the car and came back with a book and opened it to the first page.  I asked, "Can I rip this page out?"
"Yeah, I guess." - I wondered what he expected me to do?  Make a photo copy here on the side of the road of whatever I wrote down on the first page of his book.

As I recorded his Driver license info. I asked if he had an insurance card. He produced a card from USAA Insurance company that was expired.  I shared this info with him and he dug around some more in the car and produced three more insurance cards that were also all expired.  He proclaimed, "I am current on my insurance.  I always pay, man.  Don't worry."  OK, I wasn't too worried until my colleague got out of the car and stomped back to give him the evil eye.  I appreciated that.

Charles Manson proceeded to tell us that his girlfriend has just dumped him and that it had been a really bad day.  He lives a mere block from where we bumped into each other, though his license gave a Tacoma, Washington address.  He then laid the most interesting news of all on us.  "This is the second fender bender I have had today."  Yes, you read that correctly.  Word of advice: If you have a series of fender benders in one day it is advisable not to tell the next person you bump into that they are not the first of the day.  It is sort of like being told by a girlfriend that you aren't the only one. 

He went on,  " The lady I ran into earlier said it was OK since there was no damage.  Can you please, please, please not call my insurance company.  I am getting to the age where my rates are supposed to drop."  Now, here we stood, Charles Manson, my colleague and I on the side of Ravenna Blvd. with a mere two hundred automobiles in line next to us dumping exhaust in our faces waiting for their turn down Candy Cane Lane.  I wanted to think clearly, but the exhaust was fogging my thinking.  We were at a crossroads of Ethical Dilemma and Sock it to Him.  So, I repleid, "How about I find out how much this will cost to repair and you can just pay it yourself and we don't have to go through insurance."  Charles Manson thought that was a splendid idea.

Thinking this was ready to be wrapped up I ripped the page out of the book he game me and closed the cover.  The book title was "ALCOHOLICS ANONYMOUS".  I am all for people getting a grip on their addictions.  I thought for a moment how nice it was for Charles Manson to be getting the help he needed. My colleague caught a glimpse of the cover of the book and her face told a horrible story.  She asked him, "Have you been drinking?" - I cringed with fear that this would turn into a street brawl on Candy cane Lane, but had an ever dying curiosity to know the answer to this question myself.  (More props for my colleague.)

"No! No!  I am clean and sober.  I am clean and sober.  My insurance rates are going to go up.  Can I just give you my car.  It is a piece of crap, but it is an offer."  Ummmm, give us your car?  Why? Because you bumped into the Hot Tamale? - I have one hunk of junk. I don't want another.  This is the first point that I realized something is amiss here with Charlie. We don't simply offer our car to people we bump into.  This isn't the 1800's where you barter.  I declined the offer and said I would give him a call and let him know how much it costs to repair.  He waltzed back to the white heap and got back in the line to Candy Cane Lane.

It was an eventful evening and one that made me appreciate having my rock solid colleague with me.  She gets a shout out- Always calm under pressure.  Thanks, Heidi!

Watercolor Bonanza

It was an ordinary Thursday in Kindergarten.  The five and six year olds assigned to my tutelage bounded in the door at 9:00 a.m. ready to crank out the rigor!  I was in good spirits, better than usual, which lead me to believe that it would be a fantastic morning of “shaping” lives.

We soared into the first activity of the morning….Art!  (My favorite)  The project taught the budding artists about how to show depth in a two-dimensional drawing.  So, we were off!  The kids were armed with Sharpie ™ markers to draw the outline of their pictures.  The hum in the room was remarkable.  I stood back for a few seconds and took note of how every one of the twenty-five Kindergarten learners were actively engaged.  This rarely happens.  Typically you have at least one child who is whoopin’ it up with a peer by trying to antagonize a table-mate or spinning around on their chair.  Neither was the case at this moment in time.  I marveled at how independent this crew was and smiled. It’s only mid-December and these five and six year olds are whipped into shape.  They are independent and can handle multiple step directions, or so it seemed.

I am not sure what time things turned sour.  If memory serves me correctly it must have been around 10:13 a.m.  It was as if the water color painting God’s had teamed up to pay me back for all of the times I had misbehaved as a child.  I looked over to the sink and saw one of my charges holding a bowl of water over his head and pouring it down into the sink.  We literally had a waterfall as the water splashed toward the sink, mostly missing the basin and splashing on the counter.  Water then proceeded to pour down the front of the cabinets.  It may have gone un-noticed by me, the supposed teacher of this group, had the youngster not been howling with laughter.  Disappointed doesn’t even begin to express how I felt given that we had just come off of the “please keep the water in the sink when you pour out your bowl” speech. Just as I took a step in the direction of the sink I heard a ruckus from the other side of the room.

I did an about face and looked at the students who sit at the basketball table.  (All of the tables in the room are labeled by sport. Basketball, Baseball, Football, Soccer and Refs.) A second Kindergarten child was smashing her paint brush deep into the tray of watercolors and laughing with glee as the paint splattered out with the velocity of your typical projective vomit experience.  She had just re-loaded her brush with water and slammed it into the red paint tray. Red paint splattered on the table, the girl’s paper, her shirt and on the paper of those seated nearest to her.  This caused a chain reaction of revolt from those who now had red droplets of paint on their projects. “Stop it!”  “HEY!” and a host of other reactive statements were being shouted from her tablemates.  I managed to get there just in the nick of time before blue was added to the rainbow shower of drops being projected across the basketball table.

It got worse.  Just as I am confident that I am losing my touch as I near forty years old I happen to catch a boy out of my peripheral vision.  What was he doing?  I can’t be for sure, but it seemed he was a Bloodhound.  He had his nose to the ground while he was on all fours with his rear high up in the air.  He looked to be hot on the trail of some scent.  I heard one of his tablemates exclaim, “He’s a dog!  He’s a dog!”  I was glad that there was at least one other person in the room who had come to the same conclusion about this behavior.

When Kindergarten falls apart like this I find myself taking back control, reeling them in and bringing the circus to a halt to “encourage” folks to step back into line.  This is known as a “Come to Jesus” speech. Typically it involves the teacher (me) clearly laying out what went wrong and what I can do to help folks re-align with “how we do things here.”  The teacher paints such a clear picture of how unpleasant it will be if you don’t “come to Jesus” that you quickly see that there are no other options but to do just that.

There is never a dull moment…

Spasm & Reflection

Four days ago my spine went out of alignment.  This is nothing new for me.  It seems to happen once or twice a year when I get overly confident on the limits of what my body can lift, do, or perform.  So, for the past three days the pain has intensified.  I have tried nearly every position known to man to try and get comfortable.  I have sat cross legged on the floor with my back against the wall.  I have laid flat on my back on the hard wood floor in the kitchen staring up at the recessed lighting and wondered why the builder of my house chose to install the can lights asymmetrical in the ceiling.  (Disappointing to discover this five years after the house was built.)  I also noticed a few cob webs, but they only serve as a reminder about how much I don’t like cleaning.  I have laid on my back with both knees brought up to my chest for cycles of three minutes up and two minutes down over the course of an hour. I have lain on top of a swimming pool noodle on my bedroom floor hoping to relieve the pain.  I learned this trick from a physical therapist a number of years ago.  Her claim is that this noodle provides enough resistance to your spine so that your shoulders will fall back to touch the floor, thus stretching your core. I always hope it works, but end up feeling like I am five because I start rolling back and forth on the noodle until the spasms are so intense I howl out in pain.  Laying and being still has never been one of my strong suits.

Last night I feverishly searched the Internet while lying on my stomach on the floor propping my head up with one hand in an effort to “stretch” my spine.  I was looking for any video, article or suggestion for how to alleviate the intense spasms and the sciatica that has joined the intense spasms that jolt through my body like 240 volts of electricity.  I found an interesting technique which didn’t seem to come with any endorsement from a physician.  I threw caution to the wind and tried it out anyway.  It calls for you to get into an empty bathtub and slowly move your back up and down the edge of the bathtub.  It looked twice as strange it sounds.  I didn’t know if you were supposed to have your clothes on or off.  So, I opted for on since there wasn’t any water in the tub. Why would I need to disrobe? Getting into the tub was a fifteen minute expedition.  Raising your leg high enough to get over the edge of the tub sent waves of spasms throughout my back.  I howled some more with the hopes that noise will somehow lessen the pain. It doesn’t.

After the less than miraculous tub experience I realize how thirsty I am.  So, I slide down the stairs on my bum step by step.  I don’t recommend this on hard wood steps, sans carpet. I arrived on the main floor of my house and rustled up a glass- staring out the window as I pour a glass of cranberry juice.  Refreshing!  The spasms began and I took the cue to lay down on the floor again.  I stared up at the ceiling for who knows how long watching the smoke detector blink every few seconds.  I wondered if my dragon breath could set the alarm off if I blew upward hard enough to send the fire-like breath upward to the sensor.  It did not.

So, in between all of my efforts to quiet the physical pain I am forced to be here with my thoughts.  Driving has been out of the question because getting in and out of the car would require an act by Houdini.  Here I am, stuck at home.  I’ve pondered a lot of things this weekend.  I can’t busy myself enough to stop the flow of thoughts I have had the past three days.  With reluctance I’ve worked on answering some questions that I typically manage to push aside when I have the freedom of easy mobility.  You know, things along the lines of “What really matters to you in life?” and “Where are you going?  What goals do you have?” – None of those questions should be asked when you have nothing but time on your hands. Trust me. You’ll end up hating yourself.

After three days I am confident of these things… The cob webs need to be knocked down in the kitchen, the hard wood steps in my house are not comfortable to slide down on and I am sure that nobody in the world has ever realigned their spine using the edge of the bathtub.   The light in the smoke detectors in my house blink 8 times per minute and they truly must only detect smoke, not dragon breath.

Looking forward to joining the work world again tomorrow provided the Motrin and heat pads will get me through!  Here’s to personal reflection time.  Do whatever you can to avoid it.  J

Maybe I Should Do Something Nice For Someone?

God only knows why I think I can achieve a state of physical fitness and good health.  I have yet to achieve such a state in my thirty-nine plus years on Earth.  Yet, for the last seven months I have stomped into the fitness center close to my home in an effort to achieve this goal.

I waltzed into the center this afternoon and hopped on the treadmill.  This part has become routine.  I flip the channels on the connected TV, punch the wide range of hieroglyphic picture buttons and await the magic of when the treadmill begins to move.  Often times it tips backwards to provide a more rigorous workout with an incline.  Those aren’t my favorite runs when this giant contraption of metal, plastic and hieroglyphics tips backwards, but I am dealing with it as I can’t quite figure out how to make the thing operate with a more level plane.  Of course I could ask someone for help, but at the age of nearly forty I figure I should be able to figure this stuff out.  Seven months into this quest I still haven’t managed to master the buttons.  All in good time, right?

After my run I stomped over to the weight machine and free weight area.  This is where the real show begins.  I weave between the muscle heads and yoga girls to take my turn at a variety of machines, the likes of which remind me of some space-age looking contraption that could transform into a robot at any second.  I am convinced that my carefree operation of these machines brings much amusement for the other gym goers.  Am I a gym-goer?  I am not sure I can technically fall into that category as my time there is spent attempting to look like I know what I am doing, but none the less I am there, I go there. So, maybe I am a gym-goer.

This afternoon had plenty of humor evoking moments.  Take for example my time on the leg press machine.  I hurl myself aboard the contraption, select the weight and heave my body backwards to move the weight off of the floor.  Audible sounds of exerted energy fill the air and ears of those around me. – It is on the first set and eighth repetition that I feel it happening.  My body temperature rises instantly.  I begin to sweat profusely.  Then it is confirmed with the narrowing of my field of vision.  I am on the verge of passing out.  It is by some stroke of luck that I manage to throw my self off of this machine and onto the floor.  By now I am crawling to the pillar in the middle of the area so I can lean against the thing and put my head between my knees in a weak attempt to regain my faculties.  Sweat is running down my face, neck and back.  At least I look like I have been working out hard.  Nobody needs to know it is the physical response to my lack of physical fitness and overdoing it.  My field of vision has nearly closed completely by this time and I see a large object moving toward me.  Yep, one of the muscle heads comes over and says, “Dude, are you gonna be alright, buddy?”  Now, I should be appreciative that someone gives a rip enough to check in on the tall, lanky, clearly ill prepared gym goer who is in a heap on the floor.  Oh, no.  Instead I am embarrassed and muster a thumbs up sign and say, “Oh, yeah, I’m cool here.” – I’m cool here?  Who says that? – Apparently I do.  The guy stood there for a minute.  It is at this time that a cute yoga girl slid over to check on the goings on.  Maybe she is his girlfriend.  I think they look like a good couple, but I am taken off guard by this growing group of gym goers who is focusing on my clear inability to manage the workload.  It is only by a whim and a prayer that my tunnel vision begins to widen, my breathing slows and color comes back to my face.  The yoga/muscle head couple smiles at me and ask for assurance that I am really going to be OK.  I am.  Yet, they continue to keep a close eye on me for the rest of my time at the gym.  As I scurry through the remaining exercises I am sort of appreciative that some one- actually some two- took time to notice me in my hour of need.  Chivalry is not dead, people…. It inspired me to be on the lookout for someone else in need.  Now let’s see if I do just that.  With any luck there will be someone in need that I can pay the kindness forward to this week.

Memory Lane

I remember the time my mom, my brother, Heidi our Yellow Lab, and I drove to the Popcorn Stand in the middle of our town square.  I must have been all of ten years old.  My mom pushed the accelerator of the blue Cadillac Sedan Deville to the floor.  We all sunk into the seat backs and howled with excitement.  My mum is the WORST driver, as is evidenced by her countless fender benders.  Yet, we love the anticipation of wondering if today's adventure will result in the Cadillac having any rearranged parts.

We whizzed by the Dairy Queen - another of our favorite hot spots for a mid-summer night treat with fixed determination to get to the Popcorn Stand before they close for the evening.

My mum squeals the tires of the Cadillac around the corner of the parking entrance to the town square.  It feels like we might have been two wheeling it, but who really knows.  We flee the car and stomp up to the Popcorn Stand window.  The aroma of the freshly popped corn makes me feel like I am in the movie theater.  We all start salivating.  Rounds of snow cones and buttered popcorn are ordered for all, including Heidi our Yellow Lab.

We sat barefoot in the grass in the town square sucking down hand fulls of popcorn and snow cones.  The feeling of satisfaction overpowers us as we have beat the clock once again with my mother's crazy white knuckle driving.

Yet, as I take this walk down memory lane I smile and wish that as an adult, all these years later, I still had some sort of connection with all of the core members of our family.  I have a connection with my oldest brother who sees things similarly to the way I do when it comes to some of the members of our family.  For that I am grateful, but for an instant I wonder how the desire to be close to the other members of the family has faded away.  Though I believe it is healthy to distance yourself from some people, even if they are family, it still strikes me as odd that I feel so disconnected from some of them.  Then I am reminded that you don't owe anyone anything, even if they are a family member.  Trust, respect and unwavering love are earned, aren't they?  Or is it that they have clipped me and I am under a false illusion that I am the one who has clipped them?  Too deep of a topic to ponder now..... I need lunch.

Digital Age

A student came in from recess one day this week sobbing.  I swung into action thinking there must have been an altercation on the playground.  I was ready to take this on and seize that teachable moment to help these young learners resolve conflict by arming them with a few strategies for how to handle frustration. 

Too soon! - When I inquired as to what all the hub-bub was about I couldn't help but smile.  The child in tears managed to say the following through the sobbing.  "My cousin went to Washington D.C. and now we can't Skype."

We are living in the digital age.. How do I know this?  When a five year old is stressed out over when they are going to be able to Skype a relative you know it is for sure. :)