While a family of four frolicked in the surf a few yards away from me, my father sat upstairs in our beautiful, beachside rented house -- fully clothed, playing a game of chess with himself on the dining room table.
His excuse all this week for not enjoying our beachside haven is that the mosquitos gave him some kind of infection and the surf is too smelly and full of bacteria to swim in.
It's all about perception. It's about living in the now.
To my almost 80-year-old father, this week at the beach is everything his memory of a perfect week at the beach isn't. He is living in the past ... comparing this beach to others in his memory.
Meanwhile, the family frolicking nearby in the surf is very much living in the moment. To them, this is the perfect beach vacation. Perhaps they are from a country where there are no beaches. To them, this is what a beach is supposed to smell like because they don't have anything else to compare it with.
And even if they have had other beach vacations in the past, this moment is perfect in and of itself because they are together enjoying it.
Who cares if it smells a bit out of the ordinary. Who cares if everything isn't the way it's 'supposed to be.' There is no such thing as supposed to be. There is only now. And now is perfect.
I am trying not to be judgemental. But for crying out loud, just enjoy yourself and stop whining.
Stop demanding that everything be perfect. Stop demanding that everything fit into a perfect mold. Stop dragging everyone down just because your expectations are not being met.
Have no expecations. Just be and enjoy.
Does aging make people forget how to be spontaneous? If so, it's a lesson I want to remember so that I catch myself before it happens.
Sometimes I forget I'm fifty and I do things that 50-year-olds aren't 'supposed' to do. I hope I keep on forgetting.
This morning I heard of a 70-year-old woman who graduated from the police academy in Fort Myers. I guess she forgot that 70-year-olds weren't supposed to do that.
Every day people forget that they're not supposed to do things. And those are the people who are creating excellence in their lives and the lives of others.
I hope I always forget how old I am. I hope I always live in the now. And I especially hope that I can forgive myself and others when I fail to meet those expectations. Because at the end of the day, even the best intentions are expectations destined to fail ... once in a while.
And that's when we most need to cut ourselves some slack.
Thursday, July 31, 2008
Saturday, July 26, 2008
Beachin' With The Parents, The Partner & The Queen
Do you hear that?
It's the sound of nothing. I can't hear a thing.
But the Queen, her Royal Highness of 10-pound dachshund can hear it.
Oh, wait, I hear it now too. It's the sound of grass growing through the sand dunes.
We planned this vacation around her - Queenie - our soon to be 10-year-old black and tan doxie who is getting older, but neither she nor I are ready to accept it. We're both in denial. I still call her my puppy. She still runs around like she believes me.
This vacation is my parents' 50th birthday gift to me.
What started out as an invitation to a cruise, turned into renting a house on Fort Myers Beach for a week so we could bring The Chuchi - one of Queenie's dozens of names.
If truth be told, it was my idea. I knew I could not enjoy myself on a cruise knowing that Queenie, The Chuchi, Pookie Wookie, was staying with someone else for a week so we could go cruising.
I love my little dog.
Despite having spent 40 years of my life sans canine, I have turned into one of those 'dog people.'
She stresses me out and I yell at her and she's extremely high maintenance. But one look from those adoring big eyes is enough to melt my heart.
She's 10. Not young for a dog. I know I must prepare myself for the ultimate responsiblity of a pet owner, but whenever my mind tries to go there, it quickly retreats.
Look at her right now. Sound asleep on my dad's lap. The sound of his snoring lulling her into peaceful doggy dreams. I look across at the two of them and I can't help but feel a tremendous sense of gratitude.
I am blessed.
They both can annoy the hell out of me. But how fortunate I am to have them.
My mom and Kelly, my melt-my-heart partner are out looking for a Petsmart to buy two gates so Queenie won't escape the patio and we can all relax.
Two adult women are driving around aimlessly so a 10-pound little fur ball can be safe.
I can't think of a better way to continue to celebrate my 50th birthday.
It's been an incredible year.
I am surrounded by the people -- and pet -- I love most in this world.
This is the best gift I could have asked for.
Yes, family, dogs, our jobs, our stuff and life can stress us out. But if we take a moment to just stop, God fills our hearts with joy.
I know that when Kelly and my mom come home there will be a lot of running around to do and putting away of groceries and stuff to take care of. And I will quickly hide the computer and feel guilty about having taken this moment to write.
But why?
Why do we feel guilty doing the things that recharge our life batteries?
The fact is, I am blessed with an incredible partner. And I will relax this week so she can too. Instead of being defensive, I will just be. I will stop myself from being selfish and sarcastic as I can be and just let go.
Ego has no place on this vacation.
I really needed this time to just be. Despite all the great things in my life right now, I needed to just stop. My body was starting to say ... whoa, chica, rest.
And so, here we are.
The little dog keeps perking up her vigilant ears as my dad continues to snore. It's all good.
I let go and relax.
I'll let the little dog keep watch.
It's the sound of nothing. I can't hear a thing.
But the Queen, her Royal Highness of 10-pound dachshund can hear it.
Oh, wait, I hear it now too. It's the sound of grass growing through the sand dunes.
We planned this vacation around her - Queenie - our soon to be 10-year-old black and tan doxie who is getting older, but neither she nor I are ready to accept it. We're both in denial. I still call her my puppy. She still runs around like she believes me.
This vacation is my parents' 50th birthday gift to me.
What started out as an invitation to a cruise, turned into renting a house on Fort Myers Beach for a week so we could bring The Chuchi - one of Queenie's dozens of names.
If truth be told, it was my idea. I knew I could not enjoy myself on a cruise knowing that Queenie, The Chuchi, Pookie Wookie, was staying with someone else for a week so we could go cruising.
I love my little dog.
Despite having spent 40 years of my life sans canine, I have turned into one of those 'dog people.'
She stresses me out and I yell at her and she's extremely high maintenance. But one look from those adoring big eyes is enough to melt my heart.
She's 10. Not young for a dog. I know I must prepare myself for the ultimate responsiblity of a pet owner, but whenever my mind tries to go there, it quickly retreats.
Look at her right now. Sound asleep on my dad's lap. The sound of his snoring lulling her into peaceful doggy dreams. I look across at the two of them and I can't help but feel a tremendous sense of gratitude.
I am blessed.
They both can annoy the hell out of me. But how fortunate I am to have them.
My mom and Kelly, my melt-my-heart partner are out looking for a Petsmart to buy two gates so Queenie won't escape the patio and we can all relax.
Two adult women are driving around aimlessly so a 10-pound little fur ball can be safe.
I can't think of a better way to continue to celebrate my 50th birthday.
It's been an incredible year.
I am surrounded by the people -- and pet -- I love most in this world.
This is the best gift I could have asked for.
Yes, family, dogs, our jobs, our stuff and life can stress us out. But if we take a moment to just stop, God fills our hearts with joy.
I know that when Kelly and my mom come home there will be a lot of running around to do and putting away of groceries and stuff to take care of. And I will quickly hide the computer and feel guilty about having taken this moment to write.
But why?
Why do we feel guilty doing the things that recharge our life batteries?
The fact is, I am blessed with an incredible partner. And I will relax this week so she can too. Instead of being defensive, I will just be. I will stop myself from being selfish and sarcastic as I can be and just let go.
Ego has no place on this vacation.
I really needed this time to just be. Despite all the great things in my life right now, I needed to just stop. My body was starting to say ... whoa, chica, rest.
And so, here we are.
The little dog keeps perking up her vigilant ears as my dad continues to snore. It's all good.
I let go and relax.
I'll let the little dog keep watch.
Monday, July 21, 2008
Thank God For Dry Cleaning
I consider myself a very handy person. I can take on just about any project and enjoy the process of learning by doing. I particularly love the sense of accomplishment that comes with mastering a new skill.
Recently, for example, all three toilets in my house got together and decided to practice harmonizing The Ode to Leaky Toilet. It’s something that happens at least once a year. And every year I pay a plumber a gazillion dollars to silence the symphony.
This year, I decided to tackle the project myself. I Googled ‘leaky toilet,’ watched two very detailed video clips and was confident I could proceed. A trip to Home Depot and about an hour later, my toilets’ singing career was over.
You can ask me to do just about anything and I will give it a shot. It’s a skill I picked up from my mom. Nothing intimidates me. I can balance the pool chemicals, build a cabinet and set up a secure internet network while I barbecue steaks to medium rare perfection on the grill.
But there’s one thing that you can ask me to do that will send me running under the bed like a scared dog on the Fourth of July.
Can you iron this for me? To me, that request is identical to the sound of fingernails scratching on a blackboard.
I know it sounds silly, but I don’t do ironing.
I can starch, press and hang a blouse on a hanger until the ironing board begs for mercy. But somehow during the long trip from the laundry room to my closet, the blouse shrivels up like a raisin ready for a rendezvous with bran.
Don’t even get me started on linen -- that wrinkle-loving material that looks great until you decide to put it on something other than a store mannequin.
I don’t hate ironing. Ironing hates me. Even the smiling ironing instructor on the internet video showing me how to iron a blouse stares at me with a patronizing look that says, “Look, who are you kidding? You’re never going to get this right.”
Years ago a friend who was visiting me from out of town asked me where I kept my iron and ironing board so she could iron a pair of pants. Being a good hostess, I decided to iron them for her. I finished the job, laid the freshly-pressed pants on the bed, ready to accept her thanks and praise.
Instead, she took one look at the pants, said it was sweet of me to get them out of the suitcase and without missing a beat, went downstairs to iron them!
It’s not that I don’t try. It’s just that the more I try, the worse it gets. And that’s when I seek the services of a professional.
There’s a fine line between being handy and being hard-headed.
Paying for dry cleaning services for wrinkle-free clothes isn’t accepting defeat, it is accepting reality. I don’t iron and that’s OK.
If something is going to take too long or cost too much money to do, then I don’t mind paying a professional to do it.
That leaves me time for more fun things -- like walking past one of my bathrooms and listening to the sound of … silence.
Recently, for example, all three toilets in my house got together and decided to practice harmonizing The Ode to Leaky Toilet. It’s something that happens at least once a year. And every year I pay a plumber a gazillion dollars to silence the symphony.
This year, I decided to tackle the project myself. I Googled ‘leaky toilet,’ watched two very detailed video clips and was confident I could proceed. A trip to Home Depot and about an hour later, my toilets’ singing career was over.
You can ask me to do just about anything and I will give it a shot. It’s a skill I picked up from my mom. Nothing intimidates me. I can balance the pool chemicals, build a cabinet and set up a secure internet network while I barbecue steaks to medium rare perfection on the grill.
But there’s one thing that you can ask me to do that will send me running under the bed like a scared dog on the Fourth of July.
Can you iron this for me? To me, that request is identical to the sound of fingernails scratching on a blackboard.
I know it sounds silly, but I don’t do ironing.
I can starch, press and hang a blouse on a hanger until the ironing board begs for mercy. But somehow during the long trip from the laundry room to my closet, the blouse shrivels up like a raisin ready for a rendezvous with bran.
Don’t even get me started on linen -- that wrinkle-loving material that looks great until you decide to put it on something other than a store mannequin.
I don’t hate ironing. Ironing hates me. Even the smiling ironing instructor on the internet video showing me how to iron a blouse stares at me with a patronizing look that says, “Look, who are you kidding? You’re never going to get this right.”
Years ago a friend who was visiting me from out of town asked me where I kept my iron and ironing board so she could iron a pair of pants. Being a good hostess, I decided to iron them for her. I finished the job, laid the freshly-pressed pants on the bed, ready to accept her thanks and praise.
Instead, she took one look at the pants, said it was sweet of me to get them out of the suitcase and without missing a beat, went downstairs to iron them!
It’s not that I don’t try. It’s just that the more I try, the worse it gets. And that’s when I seek the services of a professional.
There’s a fine line between being handy and being hard-headed.
Paying for dry cleaning services for wrinkle-free clothes isn’t accepting defeat, it is accepting reality. I don’t iron and that’s OK.
If something is going to take too long or cost too much money to do, then I don’t mind paying a professional to do it.
That leaves me time for more fun things -- like walking past one of my bathrooms and listening to the sound of … silence.
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