Treading Water

When I was a young girl, my sister Melanie was like a fish in water. She not only tanned beautifully, she swam beautifully. She was the quintessential Southern California beach babe.

I, on the other hand, was a redheaded, fair-skinned treader. I was very, very good at treading water.

When we were in grade school, our parents kept our bathing suits and beach towels in the trunk of our car. This may seem a bit odd, but in Southern California in the 60s, not everyone had a pool in their backyard and we were a member of the pool-less club.

Often, we would head out to see friends on hot summer days, especially on Sunday afternoons following church. We would be sweating against the plastic covered back seats, wishing for a/c (something else not everyone had, and we again were part of the a/c-less crowd) until we parked at the curb in front of a friend's home and jumped out of the car. And then we would hope....!

Hope was everything on those hot days to two Southern California girls.

We were never allowed to ask our parents' friends if we could swim, even if their kids were in the pool. Even if we were sweating rivulets. Even if HOPE was beaming from our silently begging eyes. And even if Marco Polo (our favorite game) was underway.

My parents made it clear that asking was rude; so we waited, mutely counting the passing minutes of lost swim time until finally someone would comment that it was too bad we hadn't brought our suits. But wait! Weren't our suits ALWAYS in the trunk of our car? Yes!! (My mother was brilliant!)

And off we would go, my sister and me, quick-change artists diving into a deep, cool swimming pool without a moment's hesitation. One tan, one white, both thrilled to be swimming - or treading - again.

Life isn't much different than swimming. Some of us easily swim along with the flow, some choose to make it more difficult and swim upstream, some are show-offs and love to cannon ball through life, some of us never really learn to swim at all (my grandma Mimi never learned to swim, she wouldn't even fill her bath more than 2" deep for fear she would drown), and sadly, some of us do drown; then there are those of us who end up treading water when we least expect it, no matter how many swim lessons or life lessons we've experienced.

Treading is not my chosen way of life, it just happened. Swim lessons began when I was 5, and I loved them and always passed; I even certified as a Junior Lifeguard (Melanie, of course, was a full-fledged Lifeguard). The point is, I have always enjoyed swimming, but I often prefer to just tread water and watch everyone else frolic around, making mental notes as I wait to join in the fun at the right moment, or in the right game, or with the right partner.

Similarly, downtime following the loss of a job has its moments, and I've certainly made the best of them, but surrounding those fun-filled moments of travel and leisure are large pools of empty time that must be endured. So here I am, treading again, only this time I'm treading time, not water. Still watching, still making mental notes. Just waiting to jump in at the right moment, or with the right company, or for the right job.

Treading definitely has its benefits. It allows a person to save their energy, plan their strategy, breathe evenly, enjoy the view, think clearly, strengthen their talents, assess their assets (and maybe some others), and bide their time, all the while staying involved from a safe distance on the sidelines - observing quietly, considering the next move. Treading has been good for me.

Soon, as always happened in the pool, someone or something will come along and force me to take a deep breath and duck under the water with a quick push off the side, or break into a still-not-perfect crawl stroke to carry me to the other end of the pool.  In any case, I will love the rush, the thrill of change, the soothing satisfaction of knowing that, as nice as treading has been,  I can - and will - do whatever it takes to get wherever I need to be. All with appropriate exceptions, just as my parents taught me so long ago - I won't be rude, or mean, or dishonest, or unethical.

I may regret that I was never really a fish in water, but I am ever grateful that in my life I've never felt like a fish out-of-water. Even now, between jobs, between homes....I'm in a good place and treading easily.

I think I'm almost ready; I may need a little more treading time before I finally drop to the bottom, bend my legs, pump my arms and push off, but I'm close. I love that moment when I burst upwards and break through the surface with a smile on my freckled (and now wrinkled) lily-white face. I love it when life finally makes sense again, after a period of tread-ful wondering.

It feels triumphant. It feels joyous. It feels new, and life-giving, and right. It's rejuvenating. I can hardly wait!

Those are the moments we live for, we work for, we strive for, but treading is part of the plan. After all, isn't much of life spent "treading water" as we wait for those exceptional ah-ha moments of clarity, of love, and of success? What would we do in between, if not for treading? Treading keeps us honest. It keeps us busy. It keeps us out of trouble. Sometimes it saves our life.

Treading - patiently waiting, planning, pondering - has a place in our lives, even if we think we are ready to jump.  So tread on....I know I will, because as I said above, "I am very, very good at treading water."

As for Melanie, she's still tall and tan....and a swimmer, but oddly after decades of summers apart, we are finding ourselves in the same pool again. Unemployed and treading. But not for long...

Hey Melanie?

Marco....!

There's Comfort in Structure

After 55 years of a lifetime of what many would consider chaos, my friend Karen's statement to me, "There's comfort in structure" has hit home. A solid bull's eye.

It's comforting to know what to expect.

It's comforting to know what's coming next.

It's comforting to know that things will get done because there's a schedule in place to make certain they do.

It's comforting to shuffle through your house early in the morning wearing fur-lined slippers as the day's first rituals begin.

It's comforting to know that every 1st and 15th you will get paid.

It's comforting to know that bills will be paid on time because you have time and money set aside to make certain that happens.

It's comforting to know that you will not starve because meals are coordinated at approximately the same time every day.

It's comforting to know that you will get enough sleep because you go to bed at about the same time every night and wake up at the same time every morning.

It's comforting to look ahead and know where you will be, because you set realistic goals and put a plan in place to reach them.

It's comforting to have a faith you can rely on because you have set aside quiet time to study and meditate.

It's comforting to know you have every chance of living to a ripe old age, because you made appropriate time to take care of your health and your body.

It's comforting to know you will not die alone because you share and play and serve and communicate with family and friends.

It's comforting to know that you will not become cynical, pessimistic or selfish because you make a point to keep yourself grounded in reality, elevated with a positive attitude, and grateful through the gift of service.

It's comforting to look across the table and smile into the eyes of someone you know will love you forever, because you genuinely and consistently honor and nurture that person and relationship.

It's comforting to look into the mirror and know that the person you are gazing at is someone you would want as a friend, because you make a point to be kind, honorable, forgiving and friendly every day of your life.

Routine and rituals and schedules and dependability and structure are comforting. Proactive, healthy living is its own reward.

My life is finally settling into a comfortable, balanced rhythm. I look forward to every day. It can only get better and better.

Today is the first day of the rest of my life. And tomorrow is the second. I am comforted by that.

And I am comfortable with who I am. Finally, and thank God.

Enjoy the Ride

Life is just full of surprises. Some good, some bad, some benign. Since I get bored easily, the surprises are almost always a welcome, well...surprise! I love the spontaneity they often demand, the new slant they give to the story.

Obviously there are some surprises that are not welcome: health issues, the loss of someone close, unexpected financial challenges.

I am a planner. (Remember the backwards planning post on this blog?) I like to map things out so that I know where I am going. You can't plan surprises, but you can plan so that your life will work in spite of them. A plan of attack - so to speak. What is the famous quote? I think it's "If you fail to plan, you plan to fail."

The great thing about planning is that it usually isn't absolute; detours and changes can and do and will happen. Oddly, planning allows for greater spontaneity and flexibility, and those are two things I do well.

One thing that's a surety is that the ups and downs will inevitably show up somewhere in the middle of the maps we outline, the plans we make - hills and valleys, successes and failures, triumphs and challenges.

I remember riding in the back of our car while driving between San Bernardino and Upland in California as a very young girl. It was about a 30 minute drive east from Upland to Berdoo on Highland Avenue in the 1960's. My Dad worked for the Sun Telegram in San Bernardino and we lived on 18th street in Upland. For a period of time he worked from 3 PM until midnight. We had one car and Mom had two little girls and lived in the boonies. She won the car battle.

So, about 2:30 PM in the afternoon and then again at 11:30 PM at night, Mom would pack Melanie and me into the car and head east, driving past the Sunkist Packing Co. and the "birthday cake" lights of Kaiser Steel in Fontana, and UP and DOWN and UP and DOWN the few hills between our house and the huge newspaper plant where Dad worked. There were only two hills, I think, but they felt like a lot more and I waited for those two hills every time we drove back and forth. I loved that ride for some reason. I am amazed that I remember it; you would think that I would have been asleep.

On the leg of the trip when Dad was driving, we went a lot faster than when Mom drove, and in the daylight he would take those two hills with gusto; in the dark he would surprise us with a less-intense increase in speed as we dropped down and then climbed up again. I loved that bottomless feeling in my stomach on those ups and downs.

Not much has changed in 45 years, those long ago ups and downs were not a lot different than the ups and downs of my daily life now, especially the surprises. It's interesting that on the hills and in life, once you hit that downward slope things seem to speed up and the descent can be rapid, but once you hit bottom creeping back up the opposite side is always a slower process.

Life is a series of bumps. Sometimes we can plan for them, sometimes we cannot. Our best bet is to hold on tight and enjoy the ride.

Wheeeee!

Morcheeba "Enjoy the Ride"

Killing Time

Time. It's either on your side or not.

Airlines. They are either on time or not.

Travel. It's usually on your side, unless the airlines are not cooperating.

Delays. Sometimes delays can be on your side, if you know about them in advance and can plan something fun and useful to fill the extra time you suddenly have.

Time. I have always struggled with time. I am either early (which drives me nuts because I am not very good at sitting and waiting, mostly because I have a hard time being still or twiddling my thumbs with nothing to do), or I am late (which drives everyone else nuts, but may be the only reason I can still claim some degree of sanity).

Today, I was on time.

Today, DELTA was late. No, DELTA was delayed. No, DELTA was not going anywhere, at least the plane I was on time for was not going anywhere soon. Or so they said.

I should be on my way to Boston right now on the 6:20 AM flight, but instead, because I live so close to the airport, I have wandered home (this circles back to the inability to sit still and twiddle my thumbs for more than 5 minutes at a time) to do a few chores while I wait for the 8:20 AM flight.

My bag is checked. I am ready to go. DELTA is not.

I have my silly preferences when it comes to airlines, and DELTA used to be one of mine. Today they were bumped way down the list for the following reasons: 1) No flight (I could stop here but there is more), 2) No cute little DELTA paper envelope for all the boarding passes/luggage claim tickets/receipts, 3) $15 charge to check a bag.

I flew Southwest on Saturday, and they were on time, they checked my bag with a smile and they gave me a nice little paper Southwest envelope to keep all of THEIR required paperwork. This was very nice since I have a bottomless purse that often reminds me of the carpet bag Mary Poppins carried around causing me to remove countless items before ever retrieving anything I am looking for, including THEIR paperwork when necessary.

So, what to do with 2 hours of free time between 6 and 8 AM, when you are already showered, dressed and ready to hit your day?

A nap sounded good, since I have about 3 1/2 hours of sleep...but 7:15 AM is a bit early to take a nap. Breakfast is done, I am showered and dressed..."my bags are packed and ready to go, I'm standing here outside your door, I hate to wake you up to say goodbye, but I'm leaving on a jetplane, don't know when I'll be back again"...(wait, no, that's not what I meant to say/sing, or maybe it is!)....so what better thing to do but to sing a little song and write a little blog entry. I guess I could make paper airplanes and fly them in my house, they are more dependable today than DELTA is. I could even make my own little paper envelope and send a prototype to DELTA since they seem to have increased charges and cut costs beyond practicality.

At least now I remember why I am typically right on time or usually a bit late, and very rarely early.

When you're early with nothing do to, it's such a waste of time...and paper. But today wasn't a waste. I got to dance around my house and sing "Leavin on a jet plane....", and that just might have made it all worth it. See, being on time is not all it's cracked up to be. I guess I will forgive DELTA, but I "....don't know when I'll be back again....."

Peter, Paul and Mary "Leaving on a Jet Plane"