Simply Beautiful

A weekend with nothing to do but read a good book and catching up on a few TV shows that are among my guiltiest of pleasures. Yes, those weekends are simply beautiful. Too bad it's about to end with a simply boorish Monday morning and a gun to the head boring project update meeting. But still, work is one of the evil's of the world that one who is not independently wealthy or has a trust fund must endure. Thankfully I kind a like my job - sometimes.

This next week will no doubt drag by. See next Saturday you will find yours truly leaving on a jet plane to where I left my heart - in San Francisco. I've not ever been there (which has you wondering why I left my heart there huh? I mailed it. I didn't need it so why shouldn't San Francisco have it?) and can't wait to explore the fabulous city on the bay.

I won't be going alone. Oh no, no traveling alone for this girl. But don't get all excited I won't be traveling with someone who has a Y chromosome either. No much more fun than that - mom, Seattle Sister-In-Law and a good family friend. 4 Women loose in SF. One with a camera - oh boy.

We have our list of things we "must" do and our list of nice to do's. If you've left your heart in SF and know of something that is a "must" do that isn't an obvious must do (Golden Gate, Fisherman's wharf, Ghiradelli's, etc) then do share.

Anyhow, as I mentioned, this weekend has been - well in a word - glorious. I ate breakfast yesterday in a Seattle icon with my favorite PM teacher. It had been way too long since we last got together to chat, so breakfast was not only filling, but she and I are now caught up so we can go another couple weeks before a breakfast is required. And sadly, with as much is happening in my life, we could, most likely, go a month or so before I'll have anything exciting to say. I'm just sayin.

I picked up a book - well three - for my San Fran trip. One must have a good plane book! It's a requirement I believe. One small carry on, one small personal bag and a book. The airlines havent' started charging for a book yet. But give them time.

About a week or so ago I spent way too much time and way too much time at my hair salon. The hair stylists were all a flutter about this book that's been passed around the store. ALL of them have read it and insisted that I too must read it. I had never heard of this book, it's character or the cult following - so I had to investigate. I ordered all three books in the series and started with book one yesterday afternoon. Twilight. Laugh if you must. Its a good book - if you like romantic vampire books. The setting is in a small town here in the Seattle area - Fork - and is a not so average look at a vampire and his human girlfriend. It's easy reading, but the story most certainly has me captivated. It's rare that a book comes around that I can't put down, but I've found one for now. Though I'll have to put it down in about 25 pages cuz that's how many I have left. Then I have to try to restrain myself to not read the other two before my trip. I'd hate to be a girl without a book on a plane - that would be sad. I'd have to *gasp* read a magazine or talk to the person seated in the middle seat. Oh and if you're not a reader, but prefer to watch the movie - you're in luck. Twighlight the movie will be out - sometime soon.

The other guilty pleasure I've partook in this weekend is getting up to speed with Gossip Girl. Again, must you laugh? I saw one episode a couple of weeks ago - realized it was season 2 and knew what I had to do. Log into Netflix and put season one to the top of my queue. Three discs down - and so addicted I may have to check myself into Betty Ford.

And with that, I'm going to do something constructive today - like clean. The MomUnit will be here in a week and we can't have the white glove have anything on it.

The Past

A few weeks ago I traveled to Odessalet for Duetchesfest. I've been to Odessa a hundred times and never really wanted to remember or more accurately put document the past. Because the past was still a real memory for me and one very accessible. I could visit the past any time I wanted - within reason.

This year, for the first time I thought the past, my memories, and those of our family, may be a thing of the past and will soon be forgotten altogether.

I won't go into details, but I will go into some history so that the photos below make some sense.

Somewhere around 1980 I was shipped off to this farm in the middle of wheat land in Washington state. I was, for all practical purposes, a Southern California girl who lived and thrived in the city. Sending me to a farm in the middle of no where, to a town that had 11 people in it (not counting the dogs) all of whom were relatives, and expecting me to enjoy myself was a joke. I wanted to go because it was to Grandma and Grandpa Wraspir's house. Grandma and Grandpa Wraspir were new grandparents to me since mom and dad had just married (he's a stepdad, but a dad nonetheless). I loved these grandparents. When they came to visit they smelled of the past. They smelled of simple folk who, while they had almost nothing, had everything. They were real people. People who worked the earth for a living, who kept bread on my table. I didn't realize then just the sacrifices they had experienced in their lives, but I knew the depression was at least one - so I respected them. Well that and they were my elders and I was brought up to respect those who were older and more knowledgeable than me.

As I was getting on the plane in LA, dad told me Uncle Gene would be meeting me at the airport with Grandma. I hadn't met Uncle Gene yet and had no idea how I'd know him. Asking dad he responded with, "He's a big, tall cowboy - you can't miss him." Cowboy? I thought they only had those in Wyoming. But whatever. I dutifully got on the plane and fretted for 2 hours. This was back in the days (which makes me sound old) where you could actually meet people at the gate - remember those good days where you's step off the plane and someone you loved was there to meet you with a hug? God, I miss those days.

So I stepped off the plane, no cowboy and no grandma anywhere in sight. I started to walk down the aisle of the Spokane airport marveling at how small it was compared to LAX of which I had just 2 hours ago departed. Amazed that two hours could transform me to a world so vastly different from where I came from. And then I saw him. As if he was a beacon of light calling to me. He was "running" - as much as Uncle Gene could toward me holding out these enormous arms that I knew would crush me if he got a chance to wrap them around me. Behind him - Grandma, who to me was a tall woman, and yet was dwarfed by this man. He spoke in a deep voice, "Suzie, I thought you'd never make it." The dolt didn't even know my name - he called me Suzie until the day he died. It was his endearment he bestowed on any girl, child in his life. I eventually became very fond of being called Suzie.

And so we departed to Irby. This little town my dad grew up in. These farm houses that have seen years of life in them, - let me say that again - YEARS of life. Uncle Gene slept in the same room he was born in. As we pulled onto the dirt road to Grandma and Grandpa's house, there's a worn down building. Grandma begins to recount to me tales of this old hotel and how she and Grandpa used to work there. It looked like a pile of wood t me, but they worked there and it was and is still part of their heart. A little further down the road was the old school house. Grandpa schooled there. He and every child in the immediate area. All ages, all grades, all in one room, one school house. Just like on Little House on the Prairie I thought.

To the left was acres of cattle land. Green and lush. Covered in pipes for watering and - well - cows. Lots of cows. I had never really seen a cow up close before and really had no desire to. Ick - cows. Those same cows I would grow to love and look forward to seeing again some day.

And there it was, sitting on a very slight hill, the house. Small and modest. It housed all the love all the pain, all the joy, all the heartache, and my grandparents. I'd later find out it housed a lot of people in it's years, but it was full of love. There was no doubt of that. I won't romanticize it by saying that only loved lived there, anger lived there too fueled by alcohol - but above all it was a symbol of welcoming to anyone. And I do mean anyone.

I settled in to a small room that had a piano in it and a little dressing table. On the walls hung pictures of something. I can't tell you what they were because they became such a part of that little room that they don't have their own memory. The bed was lumpy and comfortable. It was the room. Nothing fancy, but it served it purpose.

I could go on and on about farm memories, I eventually looked forward to my summers at the farm. It had history. It had strength. It had animals, and it had a junk yard.

This trip to Odessa I decided to go take photos of the junk yard. It had sat up there in the hill for years and I knew it would eventually no longer be available to us for all sorts of reasons. On the way to the junk yard, though, we had to pass this little modest house that held so many family dinners, so many family stories. Almost too much for it's four walls to hold. This little house was condemned. The yard that grandpa and grandma took care of (in later years my middle brother did as well) was overgrown and brown. The house looked sad, lonely even. I knew if I entered it would no longer feel as warm has it once did. We moved on to the junk yard. I barely wanted to even look at the house.

In the junk yard we found a treasure trove of old cars, old refrigerators, old washers, twine, barbwire, glass, nuts, bolts, everything. Some of the cars up there looked like the owners surely couldn't have survived the crash that had apparently happened by the looks of it.

If you want to see all the photos, click here.

Cold AND Cheap

It’s cold and I’m cheap. The two are not mutually exclusive – always.

I was reading OnePath and bummed that he took my idea for a blog today, but decided it didn’t hinder me from writing, instead reinforced my current situation.

BRRRR…I’m cold. All. The. Time – it seems.

A handful of years ago, coats weren’t in my vocabulary. Well, that’s not entirely true I do love to buy them, but rarely wore them. My closet is a testament to the many warm, cold negating outerwear I just had to have. It looks good in the closet. The closet is, no doubt, warm. I was the girl you’d see in the dead of winter in shorts and a sweatshirt. I never wore a coat. I figured from the apt to the car – car to the office building – didn’t really require a coat. I was young(er) and apparently had warmer blood. Things have changed. Oh have they changed.

I won’t blame global warming on my own internal thermostat going haywire – I’ll blame age.

Even as I sit here and write this my fingers scream in pain as each tap of the letter from my frozen phalanges hurts. The nerves are frozen. It’s only October for goodness sake. It shouldn’t be that cold. And yet it feels like I’m living in the artic (I suppose there are a few out there who may argue that Washington is – in fact – part of the frozen tundra. I look outside to see if it looks as cold as I feel. It’s sunny, but it has that fall like look to it that tells me it might be a bit crisp out there. Oh and there’s a guy sitting in his convertible with the top down out there, bundled up. Weirdo!

This coldness isn’t new. Last night I got home, walked in the front door and was greeted by the Beast wearing a parka. I believe if I could translate cat – and remove all the cuss words – he was telling me to “Turn on the !#$%^ heat!”

I hate turning on the heat. It’s expensive and I’d much rather spend the extra $150 it’ll cost to heat this apt on say – oh cat parkas, or parkas for closet. Still, I twisted the knob to where I heard the familiar clicking sound that announces the heat has turned on. And I stood to wait for it. You know what I mean. That smell the heat puts out after its not been turned on for months. The burning dust smell. Oh yah, good times.

I changed my clothes into flannel pants and a sweatshirt, grabbed the down couch blanket and settled in for the night. Only then did I realize I was meeting someone for dinner and had to *gasp* change into real clothes. While Megan wouldn’t mind me showing up in flannel PJ bottoms and a sweatshirt; Red Robin may. I removed the frozen cat from my lap (while doing that I giggled to myself about “Frozen Cat on A Stick” – don’t ask!) and changed to go meet Megaroony. Thankfully the car heater hadn’t had too much time to cool down so it warmed up pretty quickly – which heaters do on full blast.

So the apt heater has been unceremoniously turned on. I wasn’t expecting a ticker tape parade or anything, but something more exciting would have been nice.

The Second Amendment

So on occasion – okay weekly – PMDude and I will get in an picture email “war”. There’s never a rhyme or reason to it, but somehow we find great humor in responding to each other with pictures. Today, I want to share with you such a thread. And this one, by comparison, is small.

Email #1 from PMDude:



My Response:


And he wins the war with:


Of course followed with a question, "You do know what the second amendment is right?" The right to bear arms!
bhahahahahahhahaa!

Oops I did it again

OMG...Poor Pookie. If I were to follow the recommendations of all the so called "vets" in my life and shave the cat, I guarantee you this is the look I'd get for the rest of my life.

In other flea related news, no fleas last night. No new flea bites. I think the threat of shaving has worked. Though I'm not convinced the threat worked as much as the medicine, but you never know, that cat is powerful.

Now what to obsess on?

Fleas of the world...Unite!

Flea count since last post:
3 - all found on the cat. All dead now thanks to scolding hot water and soap.

Total flea bites:
10! All of them itch, mostly at the same time. I’m convinced they are intermingled so when the one of my foot starts to itch, it transmit the itching-ness to the one on my right knee, which then tells the one on the ankle on my other foot. It’s like the hip bone is connected to the ______ bone.

Discovery about fleas: 1
They are useless little creatures. Most things I despise I can find a logical reason for them existing. Bees for example. While I hate them, I realize they have an important role to play. Fleas? They have no redeeming quality and should therefore be made extinct. All those in favor? Oh and they can cause tapeworm. Oh goody.

I did find an interesting article on the web about creating a Flea Trap. It’s very elementary and it just might be my next course of action.

As I was combing the beast last night I did have a profound moment. An epiphery if you will (and if you’ve watched the Office you’ll know that Michael Scott calls an epiphany an epiphery.) Anyhow, I was thinking how trying to comb through the beast’s hair to get these little creeps is a lot like we go through when we turn inwards and try to work on some of our less than perfect traits.

I’m a very introspective person. I don’t always do anything about little gems I uncover, but I know they’re there and will deal with them as I need to. Scraping for fleas is the same thing. With each swipe of the comb, I uncover a little bugger that needs to be dealt with. Sometimes it hops off and back into the beast before the hot water bath, other times I am quick to deal with it.
With each swipe of my inner being I find little “traits” that need to be held under a hot water bath. Sometimes, okay most the time, they hop off and scurry back into the depths of my fur. Hiding. Waiting for the moment then can take a bite and remind me they exist.

Other times, I am able, or more accurately at a stable mental point of my life, to deal with the dreaded “trait” and move on. The dealing with the trait may leave a sore spot that requires some scratching, but ultimately it heals.

I cannot believe I just associated cleaning fleas with dealing with unsavory traits in myself. Wow. Maybe the flea medication is getting to my noggin’.

The 2 Day Itch

So, the cat has fleas.

I hate fleas.

I have no idea where the big black beast of burden would have picked up fleas - considering he's indoor royalty. And yet, he has fleas.

I came home Friday night to a pile o' hair...and by a pile I mean I could have scooped it altogether and had a second cat. Albeit one that eats and poops less. Anyhow, something seemed odd about these tufts of fur. First and foremost they were as if someone had yanked a handful of fur out and left it on the floor. Not the normal smattering of fur. It's hard to explain unless you have a cat and understand how they shed. I almost took a photo because it was clear where he sat and scratched his itch. There was a void in the fur covered floor that surprisingly looked like his outline.

Having seen this before - last time he had fleas - I knew immediately. Grabbing the cat in one hand and the flea comb in the other, we went into the bathroom. Three little buggers weren't fast enough and they were unceremoniously dunked into scolding hot soapy water. Die you little bastards. Did I mention I hate fleas?

Fleas on the other hand LOVE me. I must have some fine tasting skin to them. A flea feast if you will. I have 6 flea bites and I'm none too happy about this.

After the flea scrape I knew I had to go get the poor little beast some medicine. I decided to wait until Saturday, so three more times Friday night we "scraped" for fleas. The cat loves this by the way...NOT. He squirms and lets out these god awful sounds that makes it sound like I'm drowning him. He just doesn't understand I'm actually helping him. Freak.

So after finding a few more fleas, I let him rest for the night. Bright and early Saturday though, after a restless sleep of me squirming - sure fleas were all over me all night - I was at Petco buying flea medicine. Oh, if you think the cat liked the scraping, just imagine how much he loved the medicine. It's simple to apply really. Just a dab on the back of his neck. Nothing serious. But, again, you'd think I was torturing the beast. I kept telling him it was for his own good, but as a cat would he ignored me.

I also bought a new vacuum filter and cleaned the apt from top to bottom. Which served two purposes really. The first to get any fleas (agh - I itch even as I type this) and two PhotoGirl and The Yank were coming to dinner. (Which by the way was delicious - thanks for asking. Parchment Salmon with pesto, zucchini, carrots and onions. OMG so good.)

Sunday we found just one flea on him. I have two new bites.

Sunday I also broke a record for sleeping. I was supposed to walk in the Walk for Hope 5K - instead I slept until 11Am - which I never do. Got up. Had lunch. Went back to bed. Woke up at 7pm. Got up. Had dinner. Went back to bed. I feel great today - aside from itching like a mad woman.

Welcome to Seattle Weather

This was the forecast on Monday. This is what we get to deal with in Seattle on a regular basis. Light to dark.

It did, however, get me thinking about my own moods at times. Let's say, for example, I'm just sitting at my office desk minding my own business. I've just read the Dilbert online, a comment from Rabitt on my previous blog, and the Dilbert on my desk calendar. I'm in good spirits.

Suddenly I hear the key in the door and the lights in the outer office turn on. I know instinctively who it is. Suddenly, my mood turns dark.

Every generalization is dangerous, especially this one.

I took a trip down memory lane yesterday, and recalled a conversation with my grandmother when I was a preteen. You know the age, I was just on the verge of knowing everything and there’s no way someone WAY older than me could know anything. Well, Grandma and I were in a local store - see Grandma lived in what was then a relatively small town. Well, it was to me coming from the thriving metropolis I called home (only later years would I realize that the place I called home was neither thriving nor a metropolis). Anyhow, it was the summer, and it was hot in Southern California. There were two teen boys in there that were being obnoxious. I can recognize that now, but then I just stood oblivious to their actions. They were being loud, and making rude comments about some magazine they were rifling through. We paid for our groceries and left the store. As we walked out Grandma says, “These kids today.” That’s all she said. I remember thinking there was nothing wrong with “kids today” because I, as it turned out, was one of them and I seemed fine. I was, after all, almost 14.

As I’ve grown up (read: aged) I’ve noticed that the “kids today” comment is coming out of my mouth at an alarming rate. And I often find I extend that “kids today” comment towards other who are not from around here (read: other nationalities).

I was at McDonald’s about 2 months ago (side bar: I went through a week of needing fries – salt – after walking). It was 11:30 am. Behind me stood three teen – brats – who looked like they hadn’t been introduced to a hair brush, or a washing machine.

TeenyBopper #1 – looked to be about 16 says, “So they like, um, end their like breakfast at like 11am. How lame is that?”

I’m not making this up.

TeenyBopper #2 – looking like she needed a Q-tip to remove the mascara under her eyes says, “Like, I know. Who gets up that early anyhow?”

It was 11:30AM. And as quickly as I looked at the clock and saw it was 11:30am, a thought skirted through my mind, “Kids today, sheesh!” And just like that I’m old.

On to a new rant and off of my old rant – get it? Old…

Let me state for the record, I am all for the American dream. If you can come to the US and make money and have a better life, by all means. Come on in. Get a job. Pay your taxes. But please, I beg you, learn to speak the language. I’ve lived in foreign lands and while I wasn’t a permanent resident not did I actually have a job there, I did my best to learn bits and pieces of the language. And I do recognize that English is not the only language in the world. But in Belleuve, Washington it is the language on the street – well it used to be.

And now is when you get to see the not so flattering un-PC side of me that rears its ugly head every now and again when the stars are aligned just right.

Pet Peeve #690,876
If you are working in a service industry – let’s say fast food, and facing the public, hypothetically, please, I implore you, learn English. Having to speak Spanish at a Subway (or Japanese for that matter) isn’t my favorite things to do.

Now, the rest of the story …
Yesterday I decided to go to Subway for lunch. A decision that is not taken lightly by the way. There are several other boring options in the neighborhood, so Subway was fortunate that they were chosen. Their most recent marketing campaign is $5 footlongs. So, I offered PMDude the other half of a foot long – should I go to Subway. He hopped all over that and I was off.

At subway, the worker bee – we’ll call him Paco (see Pet Peeve listed above) asked in broken English – I think – what I wanted? He could have asked me to marry him for all I know. So I said I wanted a foot long Tuna – and confirmed that it was on the $5 list. I had to confirm because not ALL their subs are on that list you see. Paco said, “Jezzz” (please use heavy Hispanic accent) and I progressed with my order. I asked him if he could cut it in half. His puzzled look indicated that 1) either he didn’t understand or 2) that was not part of the process as he had memorized it. He said he couldn’t because it would then be two 6” subs.

Stick with me here.

I agreed with him that yes, they would indeed be two 6” subs, but they were – “cut from the same bread”. Paco said again, that no they would be two 6” subs and thus I’d have to pay for 2 6” subs (which by the way a 6” sub is roughly $4 and some change). So I asked, “Will you be cutting it in half eventually?” Paco’s response, “well? Jezzzz.” So I said, well then if he was going to eventually cut it in half, why did it matter if he was doing it here or there? His answer was simple response really – because apparently I might put different vegetables on the two halves. By this time there was a line queuing up behind me so Paco announced that he’d do it for me this time. I felt surprisingly victorious. It’s the small battles that do count after all.

Down the line my footlong cut into two 6” pieces went.

“ChIIse?”, says Jose (Paco’s cah-ssin – with a strong Hispanic accent)
“Yes, please American,” I respond. Neither of them noted my “American” accent, but whatever.

I loaded up PMDude’s with lettuce, tomatoes, pickles and mayo. Mine – just plain please. No veggies.

Shifting continents now, the Wrapper is Japanese. She and Mr. Manager appear to be “cah-ssins”.

The Wrapper says, “Two tuna 6” subs.” At which point, I go through the SAME conversation with Mr. Manager that I had with Paco. My point is simple, it’s 12”. Does it matter WHERE it’s cut? Mr. Manager said, as Paco had, that I could put different vegetables on each and thus they’d be different.

So, I naturally responded with my witty sarcastic rebuttal, “Well, then by those standards, the sub that has no vegetables on then, should be less?”

He yammered something about making me happy and how ridickerous (spelled wrong on purpose – please no emails) I was being and that this time he’d do it, but to next time I’d have to have it cut in the end of the process.

I get back to work – laughing my ass off because you can’t make this stuff up – and explain to PMDude that our lunch $$ almost had to go for bail money had I kept pressing the issue.

Common sense told me that regardless of where you cut the 12” sub, it was going to be 6” each (let’s not quibble about whether you actually cut it in half or not because it totally could be 5” and 7” – I’m just sayin’). Paco had a process. He was being guided by such process. And as a PM I respect process, and appreciate it - half the time. That being said process should also allow for flexibility. And in some cases you have to have common sense to even recognize when you need to be flexible – and I don’t mean in a bendy – touch – you – toes sort of way. I’m not sure what bothered me more, the fact that I had to whip out my Spanish almost to order at Subway, or that their $5 foot long only applied if you kept it a foot long for the duration of the order until they “deemed” it time to cut it? Imagine the horror and confusion I would have caused had I asked them to *gasp* not cut it.

Whole Lotta Creativity Goin' on

I'm sore.

Now, normally you'd hear that after I walked 18 miles. But now I'm sore from non stop scrapbooking for 2.5 days straight. Laugh if you must. I tell ya, sitting in the same chair, maneuvering around a bunch of supplies, reaching, stretching, cursing, - it's a lot of work! And my shoulders and back are sore from sitting basically in the same position.

The end result is 37 pages done. You'd think I'd be done right? Hah! I am only about half way. I take way too many pictures. The book is turning out awesome though - if I do say so myself. The goal is to have it done by next weekend. No reason - other than I just want it done.

Funny enough, I sorta missed walking this weekend. Weird.

I did take a break to finish the Day 3 video. I knew you were dying to see it. So here's the day 3 video - just because I care.

Every body's working for the weekend, everyone wants a new romance

Ahhh, finally Friday. . . Ahh Loverboy. Whatever happened to him? Did he love boys? ahem.

This week ... is finally over. I've been soooo looking forward to this weekend. Nothing on the calendar. Nothing to do. Just me and well, nothing.

That's not entirely true. Tomorrow is National ScrapPink day. Scrapbook stores around the nation are doing an all day salute to breast cancer. I will be doing my own personal salute in my apt with my 632 photos I have printed off, and tons of pink scrapbook supplies. My goal - to have accomplished at least 10 double layout pages. I can do it. I feel the creativity getting ready to flow. Or, I suppose that could be indigestion. ahem.

So - you ready? Here's Day 2. More of the same as day 1, and still amazing!



Oh and take a look to the right...see that...SIX THOUSAND - SEVEN HUNDRED AND FIFTY BUCKS!!!!

Two big shout outs.

First to The Company! Thank you for your support.

Second - To Leadership Woman #1 - You are quite frankly one of the most amazing people I know. I am - lucky - to have you in my life.Thanks.

Wishing You Were Here!

Did you like yesterday's video? Did ya? Huh?

Well, lucky you. I have the creative mojo flowing and now you get to see Day 1 - in photo/movie/thingymabob! You are so lucky! I could win an Academy Award for this work.

Wanna know a secret? I cried - again - when I watched this.

Just How Far Would You Walk?

I've put together a massive video of the 3 Day experience. Sadly, Blogger won't allow the 23 minute video to be posted - or rather I can't get it to allow it. And so, I broke the videos up.

Welcome to your first installment of "The 3Day Experience". This little zippy video is our training walks from late January through August. I still get goosebumps when I think about all the walking we did to get to our end goal.

You know what?

Can you keep a secret?

I kinda miss it.

But just in case I miss it too much I can come and see this video. Enjoy. It's only 8 minutes of your life you won't get back.

**Important message about video**
It contains naked hot dogs! You've been warned.

The Master Squirrel

Last night on my way home, I decided to go the scenic route (read: through the neighborhoods instead of the freeway). I've driven this route many times and am always stunned at the mansions that are being put up all around. This sprawling neighborhood that's been taken over by The Kind and I.

But I digress.

As I was driving, the speed limit, about 200 yards in front of me I see a squirrel dart out into the road. I'm not too alarmed because he has plenty of time to get across and he's running for his life. He's running, he's leaping, he's doing all he can to get to the other side.

And then he stops.

He stops dead in the middle of the road. Not literally dead. At least not yet. My car was getting closer, and I was growing more alarmed that I'd have to slam on my breaks should he decided to...and he did. He turned around and went back from where he came.

I hit my brakes so not to get squirrel guts on the bottom of the Mustang (they're a bitch to remove I hear) and the little guy jogs back into the trees he had just recently darted out from.

I laughed in spite of myself at the fact that this little squirrel was all gung-ho to get to the other side. Something on the other side, something was moving him forward. Then he stopped and went back. Was it fear that made him turn around? Was he leaving someone behind and had to go back? Or was he just a dumb squirrel with a pea size brain who had forgotten - like so many of us - why he was going to the other side and thought going back would remind him?

Then as I drove on I had a thought about how frequently I do just that. I'll be moving forward with a plan, get scared, and stop. I call the "stopping" regrouping or readjusting, but really its stopping. Am I, like Mr. Squirrel, too scared to see what's on the other side? Am I too afraid I'll be leaving someone behind? What do I need to do to make sure I keep moving forward? That something is on the other side that I must reach?

I suppose I'm not unique in my nature to be afraid of the unknown, but I sure would like to know what the squirrel was so intent on getting to on the other side of the road. Maybe the other side has all the answers. Mabye the other side has the nuts he buried and can't find. Or maybe, just maybe, the other side has a much better view. Either way, I'll keep moving forward. Maybe I can find my nuts I've stashed.

Odessalet

I made it. There and back without any scars - well physical ones anyhow. I do have some mental scars from spending the entire weekend in a small town in the middle of Washington - but that's neither here nor there.

The fam all seems well. And by fam I mean the entire town of Odessa - good lord. I saw family members I've not seen in years. And some of their kids I've never met. How is it that these kids are all grown up now and I've not aged a bit? Huh? Odd.

I've had some time to reflect still on the 3 Day. I am still slightly in shock by the overwhelming-ness of the entire thing. I don't let me self think too much about it because, well because it makes me cry. I did get asked this weekend why on earth we would do something so crazy. And I didn't have a good answer other than, "Well,why not?" One of the 3 Day characters we met - when we asked why he walks he said, "Because I can." That pretty much described it.

And yet, I found today, a better reason. Jenne Fromm who is the spokesperson for the 3 Day has a blog. She's a woman who you love to hate at the 3 Day. She's incredible. She's inspirational. She's the 3 Day spirit in physical form...but she makes you cry. Even trying not to, you can't help it when she gets up there on stage and gives her 3 Day speech (which I'm trying to get a copy of by the way).

Anyhow, on her blog I found a FAQ about the 3 day. One of the questions is "Why do people do it?" And this is her response. Oh go get some Kleenex. I'll wait.

Okay, ready?

"Why do people do it?
People do it because there is goodness and light in this messed up world.

They do it because they refuse to sit by and watch while breast cancer systematically picks off their loved ones.

They do it because they have to.

They do it because Courtney, who walked in Atlanta this year, was diagnosed at age 28 with breast cancer after meeting and marrying the love of her life and had to have her eggs harvested and frozen before she went through treatment so that on the off chance she lived, they'd be able to try to have the family they've dreamed of.

They do it because Mary Ann, who walked in Michigan, lost her mom at the tender age of 13 when girls need their mothers the most and don't want to have to ask their dad to take them to buy tampons and shouldn't have to ask the neighbor to curl their hair for the prom.

They do it because Jeff, who walked in Seattle, finally met his soul mate after 43 years and knew it nearly immediately and grabbed her up and married her only to have her diagnosed, treated, and ripped from his arms and life a short 4 years later.

They do it because no sister should have to say goodbye to her best friend. Because no child should be without a parent. Because no parent should have to bury their child.

They do it because they are determined to live in a world without breast cancer. "

Oh.
Dear.
God.

*sniff sniff

The 3 Day really is the gift that keeps on giving. I got another donation over the week from HikerGirl - which confused me. But it's mo'money for the cause. Our team has broken $20,000! We rock.

I also keep getting emails from friends/family congratulating me on this adventure. It really lifts the spirit.

For three days we walk as one!

This time last week I was fretting over the following three days. I knew it would be life changing, but I didn't know it would change my life.

So many had spoken of the 3 Day spirit. I didn't truly understand until I was there. It's an amazing spirit that I wish would be a part of my daily life. No, not people cheering me for walking into the office, though I wouldn't mind that. But rather the love, the warmth, the healthy way people cared for one another, and above all the respect for each other. It's hard to explain but it's an energy you've never felt before.


When reflecting on the 3Day three things come immediately to mind: so much gatorade, so many honey buckets, and so many miles. There were other 3 Day memories I'll carry with me always. They might not be as amusing to you as they are to BigBro, Blue and I, but I'll give it a try.

We proved the Pavlov Theory several thousand times during the three days. In fact we had three studies going on at the same time. A car honking = waving your hand. A cheer station = tears. A person looking you in the eye and saying "Thank You" = tears. And god forbid they tell you that you're their hero.

There were route signs throughout that said "Share the Path" - Blueberry misread it on Day 1 to be "Share the Pain" and so all during the three days I reminded her I was "sharing the pain".


Molting Flamingos - So many pink boas. So many feathers. I started seeing them everywhere and made a comment about a flamingo molting. Then I decided to start collecting the molting and creating my own boa.

Now to be serious.

As I stood there during closing ceremonies on the green fake grass of memorial stadium, I looked around and saw something absolutely breath taking. Hundreds of survivors, women, and men - we were all exhausted - and yet we all looked so fantastic. We all had a layer of sweat on us that glistened in the late afternoon soon - or - was it love I saw glistening?

During the three days, the most common phrase was “Thank you.” We heard that a thousand times a day, and I never got tired of hearing it or ever stopped thanking them back for being there. These were people who didn’t know me and yet they had an unspoken understanding that we were changing lives and changing the world. They were thanking us for being there. Sure, we could have been somewhere else, and “somewhere else” may have been easier. But I was there. I was there putting all my effort into making a difference. I was a part of something really big, and I was part of something that shows what heroes dare to do in the face of such a great challenge.

All the aches (well for me not so many thanks to Hanna Montana cream), the pains (see Hanna Montana), the blisters, were all taken in stride. People walking with pains that would normally cause us to quit, and yet I think these pains and aches somehow didn’t put a certain hitch in our giddy up. And yet, we were determined to ignore these great obstacles – at least for as long as we could. For me, I knew I had made a promise to myself, to my loved ones, to other’s and their loved ones, and to loved one’s lost, I found the strength because I had to. And strong I am.

I tried every minute to take in as much as I could. I wanted to remember every sight, every smell, and every feeling. I knew it would soon be over and I’d be sitting at my pink laptop trying to tell everyone just what it was like. It was during one of the moments I was taking it in when I realized that as long as there are women and men that live under the strain of this disease, or as long as we are missing our mothers, our sisters, our daughters, and our friends, we need people who are willing to do more. And if I could PERSONALLY thank every single walker in the 3 Day events in every single city I would. Oh wait I can.

THANK YOU ALL!

This was most likely the greatest physical challenge I’ve ever rose to do, and I hope I have inspired you all. No matter how tired I was, I was never too tired to cheer on another walker, or to comfort a tired sole (spelled that way on purpose), or to support a stranger. I perspired, yes, but I also inspired with grace and dignity. I honored the names I said out loud at opening ceremonies and carried with me. We became each other’s heroes.

On Monday I went back to work and back to the world where too often people move fast and they were going to be too busy to tell me just how wonderful I am for what I had done. And I certainly knew I wouldn’t get a round of applause when I crossed an intersection, and there probably wouldn’t be a little girl holding a sign that says “thank you” when I walk into work, but no matter I have the precious memory of three glorious days in September 2008 where my presence changed the world in ways we can’t know yet.

Let’s take a moment shall we. I ask you to turn your attention to the scrolling list of people who supported me. Because of you, the world has been changed. You have made a mark. Not only on me with your support and generosity, but on the world as a whole. You, my supporters, are a symbol of hope. I walked because I believed. You supported me because you believed. Together, we can find a way to end this.

Oh - One more thing - my team, my little three person team, has now raised $20,890!!!!!

Day 3 - The final 16

And here we are...day 3. It's been a long time to get to this blog, but alas I'm here. Still not ready to put my actual emotional thoughts down on the blog - sifting through them still. But I promise tomorrow or Saturday they'll be here. Cuz I know you're dying to hear them -er um - read them.

Day 3 for practical purposes was a lot like day 1 and 2, walking. Though the nice thing about day 3 is you have a significant goal in mind. You can see the pink light at the end of the pink victory tunnel. You're almost there. Just 16 miles between you and the light.

I felt better on Sunday and was determined to walk the 16. We got up early and headed to BigBro's house where he Frankenstein'd my foot so I had some extra padding to walk on. He did a good job too cuz it only hurt for a bit.

Sunday's trek took us through the streets of Seattle. In fact, it took us through a lot of streets in Seattle that were our training ground. Oh the familiar - the stable - the uneven sidewalks...welcome home. We started off at the Arboretum and head through the University of Washington campus. I had to do my usual "GO COUGs" as we marched through (UW and WSU Cougs are rivals you see - and I'm a Coug). School hasn’t quite started for the U yet, but Greek Week was just getting underway. We walked through Greek row who’s many houses had music blaring at unacceptable decibels for these old ears.

Our first cheer station was to be at Greenlake. Our old friend Greenlake. Many a training walks started and ended there. Many miles around her shores. It was like visiting an old friend. The cheering erupted as we crossed the street. Three days in and I still get a lump in my throat from the “thank you’s”. Whenever possible we’d respond, “NO thank YOU.” It really is what keeps us going. You get little energy in your step when walking through a crowd of people who think you’re a hero – see – tears!

Rounding the north end of Greenlake we saw them. Our walker stalkers. Well, truth be told, we heard them long before we saw them. You gotta love a loud family sometimes. But there they stood waving and cheering every single walker that passed. I suspected they’d be voiceless by the end of the day. We did our hugs and “how are you?s” and we were off. Destination – lunch.

We wondered through more streets of Seattle that we knew all too well. Hit a pit stop, then headed into the home stretch that would be on Lake Union – lunch. One more questionable tasting lunch. The food throughout wasn’t so great, but then again you were worried more about sustenance than gourmet. I knew that a cheeseburger was in my future so whatever cold, soggy sandwich they gave me would be fine.

The final hill down to lunch my foot started the sharp pains through the entire body act again. That was getting old. I figured I’d rest at lunch and I’d be good to go. Dropping down off the hill into the park, again, we heard our stalkers. We sat. We ate. We changed socks. We drank. We pee’d. We were ready – well almost. The next Grab n’ Go would be a mile away. I figured the 15 minutes it took Blueberry and BigBro to walk it would give me amble time to rest my foot so I could finish the last leg. So The MomUnit took me to the Grab n’ Go. She, Blue’s sister and I sat and cheered on walkers until our walkers came in.

And we were off. Just 4.4 miles left. Wow. I had to stop and really think about that. All the effort, all the sweat, the pain, the early mornings, the blistering, the water, the changing of socks, all of it would be over in 4.4 miles. I felt a pang of sadness.

While we walked on, we waved as people honked and I hit a stride. Wow, did I hit a stride. At one point Blueberry and BigBro were both behind me, which rarely happened. From the Grab n’ Go they said the next and last pit stop would be 2 miles. That was the longest 2 miles in history. Good lord. I thought we’d never get there. The 3 Day was teasing us too, we literally walked around the Seattle center – which was where the finish line was. We could see the Space Needle, but we couldn’t turn right…we had to go left. So unfair.

We walked past Pike Place market and down to the waterfront. Normally not a bad stroll, but on a sunny Sunday in September the place was packed. Which made walking a bit more difficult. The waterfront was no different. A cruise boat was in and had deposited all her tourists on the streets of the waterfront. So not only was I ready to be done, but I had to Jack Nicholson my way through the crowd. I am not a big fan of crowds.

And then we were there, at the top of the hill that drops us down into the Victory tunnel. The tunnel (which isn’t really a tunnel as much as it’s a walk way covered in trees) would be lined with cheering families waiting to welcome their walkers home. Waiting to tell them how proud they were of them and how much it meant to them for us to be out walking. At the top of the hill, we could hear it already. But we had to stop and “dress” ourselves.

Remember the big pink beehive wig of the great Flamingo costume? The one I figured I’d never wear again…? Yah, well it had to be worn. How could I not? So pink wig in place, we started our walk. Wise BigBro was telling us over and over, “Slow down ladies – take it all in”. We crested the hill and as we looked down – well – how do I explain it without crying? Covered in people. Each side was full of people applauding and cheering and yelling “thank you”. Truly amazing. Not something I will soon forget.

And then I saw it. The “Wraspir Friends and Family for the Cure” sign. THOSE were our peeps cheering for us. And no doubt they recognized us instantly, between my foot high beehive and Blueberry’s feather hat. We tried as best we could to take it slow, but the end was in sight. We could literally see the a goal line that would signify months of effort and commitment, we had arrived. We had done it!

Hugs were passed out. Congratulatory comments were made. Tears were cried. Photos were taken. All of it…

ONE

BIG

BLUR

We did our hugs and well done’s and headed into the real party to “check in” and get our shirts. The holding pin – as they called it – was one big rockin house.

We went back outside for photos with the fam and friends. All I wanted to do was sit. My poor tootsies were super sore. So BigBro did what any BigBro would, he helped me get my shoes off and my tootsies into my pink croc flip flops (which for the record rock the casbah for tired feet).

And then it was time to go in for the official closing ceremonies. We lined up, we entered the stadium and we cheered some more. A few tears found their way out too when I saw Blueberry carrying her "Commitment" flag one last time.

And just like that, it was over. The culmination of 9 months training and fundraising - done. In a blink of an eye.

3 Days. 60 Miles. One crazy, wild ride.

Would I do it again? Maybe.