May 7, 2013: Had a typical conversation with my sister on the way to work this morning. Amy: “Shoot … one of my socks is longer than the other. That’s gonna feel weird.” Me: “Why don’t you put on another pair?” Amy: “Because then I’d have to find the other set that has one longer than the other.” Me: “You could just pick some other pair.” Amy: “In five minutes or so, I’ll be used to it and it won’t matter.” Me: “Alright.” Amy: “Damn! I think my shirt is on backwards.” <Sound of shuffling.> “No, I guess it’s just too tight.” Izzy: “THEN DON’T WEAR IT!” Sister, I love your quirky self.
Month: September 2017
Oh, gnats.
March 26, 2013: cycling briskly in to a gnat swarm with a broad grin is less than pleasant, and not at all recommended.
589 Extra Days
January 30, 2013: Dear Dr. Kures …
589 nights ago, you fought for me. You didn’t even know me, yet you did everything in your power to save my life. Your skills, knowledge, and decision-making that night allowed me to experience so much over the last year and a half. There have been big, loud, raucous times … mud runs, sunny days in a kayak, admiring Eddie Van Halen’s moves with my sister, watching my dad show us all how to properly operate a (child’s size) hula hoop … even a 5k run in a peanut-butter sandwich outfit. I got the opportunity to celebrate Felix Hernandez’ perfect game with 39,000 other yellow-clad baseball fans. I bought a house! There have been quieter moments … enjoying a beautiful sunset with friends, my mom’s smile … kissing my son’s cheek on his 28th birthday. And a profoundly joyful moment celebrating LIFE with a thumbs-up from my beloved nephew, home from one tour of duty in Iraq and another in Afghanistan, with a chest full of medals and a Purple Heart.
What you do matters. I will never forget, or take for granted, the gift you gave me.
Thank you …
My Dad
February 7, 2014: The Jefferson Awards were founded in 1972 by Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis, Senator Robert Taft, Jr. and Sam Beard. The Awards were designed to celebrate “change-makers” and promote volunteerism. I have nominated my dad. Whether he wins or not, I am so proud of him. I love you, dad.
………
My father has been President of the Snohomish County chapter of PFLAG for nearly sixteen years, beginning in 1998. When he started this journey, he didn’t technically have any skin in the game. A heterosexual man in his “winter” years (his words) with three heterosexual daughters, he simply saw an injustice that he couldn’t let stand. In addition to his work with PFLAG, he was instrumental in advancing the mission of his church to formally adopt an open and affirming position of inclusion for all. He has encouraged, advocated for, and loved countless GLBTQ friends as they struggled for acceptance and fought for their identities. He has been the calming voice on the end of many desperate phone calls … day or night. In celebration, he has been the best man at three weddings. He will continue to fight for equality and revel in the diversity that makes our communities so rich and bright.
In 1998, the same year he accepted his position with PFLAG, Matthew Shepard was murdered … the victim of an anti-gay hate crime. Today, the tide is changing. Today, same-sex marriage is legal in 17 states.
My father is now 76 years old. A retired financial planner. The silver hair and wise eyes … the stable career. He is smart, and he is mainstream. And I think that is a part of the reason why he has been able to effect so much change within his circle of influence. A beautiful, intricate fabric is woven when the conventional meets the fringe.
Many of us feel outrage at the presence of injustice. Some of us even feel called to action. Fewer still actually show up. My father has … day after day, month after month, year after year. And every day, he lives the example of his beliefs.
Athlete Wannabe
Interesting epiphany today. It looked like a lovely morning to ride my bike in to work. And it was. There’s a steep climb that parallels I-520, and at the “summit” is an intersection where bikers gather, waiting for the light to change. I’ve always viewed myself as a bit of a fraud … an athlete wannabe. I apologize for being in the way, scoot over … give all the “real” athletes the right of way. Well, today it pissed me off. One of the serious bikers, in full-on racing gear, tried to cut me off. We made eye contact, and I gave him “the look”. You know – the stink eye that moms give their children when they’ve gone too far? He yielded.
I thought about this on the ride home, and starting thinking about the things I’ve been able to accomplish with my imperfect 51-year old body. Three triathlons. Bike MS. STP. The breast cancer three day … twice. Fourteen 5Ks. A 10K. Ten half marathons. The survivor mud run. A 35-mile hike to climb Yosemite Half Dome. Hiked Hanakapi’ai Falls. It really is remarkable how your head controls your body. Tonight, choosing to think of myself as an athlete made me feel strong and powerful. I got in to a rhythm that shaved about twenty-five percent off my typical time home. I know I’m not the only one that races on, feeling like an impostor. But you’re not. And neither am I.
Phuket, Thailand
November 4, 2013: This was a magical day, and I don’t want to forget a moment. My sister and I intended to spend our first day resting by the pool and maybe taking a beach walk. That lasted about seven and a half minutes before we decided to check out what sorts of other trouble we could get in to. We settled on a day-long boat and kayak trip that went in to the evening. It started with about a 45-minute drive through Karon and Surin Beaches. What a city of contrasts! I had heard that Phuket had, for the most part, recovered from the 2004 tsunami. And it had … for the wealthy. The less fortunate have patched up their homes with old wood and rusty, corrugated metal sheets. There are roadside shrines, construction, and ghost homes that were a mere shell of what they once had been. We saw goats and cows wandering roadside, and small motorcycles rule the roads. People load their motorcycles down with their families, and we saw everything from a man riding wearing nothing but a speedo and a good tan, to a local woman in head to toe traditional Thai clothing, completely adorned with sequins. Helmets are NOT preferred. The electrical system here is comprised of hundreds of loosely-draped wires. I am bewildered as to how an electrical issue is found and resolved.
Once we arrived at the pier, we took about an hour ride out to the smaller islands and did some cave exploring by kayak (including one with thousands of bats!), had a wild monkey jump in to my lap, and participated in a Loi Krathong ceremony, where we made lotus flower floats, and sent them off, lit with candles, into the hong (lagoon). This last part was done in the pitch dark, and it literally took my breath away. As we made our way out of the hong, I dragged my hand through the water. The phosphorescence was like watching hundreds of fireflies dance from my fingertips. The last and final adventure of the day (you know me – there had to be at least one more) … we grounded our (big) boat, lost a propeller, and had the boat spitting black smoke and spinning. I think there is something just the tiniest bit wrong with my psyche that this can happen, and all I can think is, “this is going to make a hell of a story.” The scenery and the people here are like no other. I said this was a once-in-a-lifetime trip. I hope that’s not true. There is a specialness to this place that will never leave my heart. Wonder what tomorrow will bring?