SUCK IT IN FOR GOD'S SAKE

If I monitored my cranial chatter like Al Qiada at the state department, I'd have to say we're at the orange alert level. My own amusing dialog, silent entertainment, unhindered by complete thought processing or political correctness has gone wild.

You're mother probably told you- "Don't say anything if you can't say something nice." Those are really good words to live by especially if you ever visit an extremely overpopulated day spa.

I gulped back lots of thoughts that could have easily become words. Not only words, but left unfiltered some really snap one-liners, and brilliant cutting-edge fashion critique. The scenes still burnt on my retinas came with subtitles, and dubbed with involuntary gasping sound effects.

An overpopulated day spa. I'm not sure you can fully picture it or appreciate it without contrast. Go to any spa website and you'll see the epitome of serenity. Sparkling glass-like water with the slightest rippling born from the perfectly pedicured toe of a lone goddess draped at water's edge with arched back and eyes closed. Every body part angled, curved, cut, bronzed and barely swathed in designer labeled strings and triangles. Not another soul in sight. The mere setting evokes the scent of plumeria and coco-butter. You picture yourself there, possessing that body, silently floating off in undisturbed quiet meditation.

Wrong- Try bulges, rolls, dimples, tattoos, and hairy parts, in every color imaginable. The pool- surface obliterated by a flotilla of deformed overstuffed sausages adrift on aqua-colored sponge mats. Over-stretched lycra, sarongs, thongs, and makeshift cover-ups blur the eye. The ear is distracted by squishing flip-flops, slapping flab, blasting hairdryers, and the cash register ringing up the exorbitant bill. Quaking, quivering, involuntary dermal-mobilitus (a word I've just created) would register a good 7.8 on the Richter scale, especially at ground zero- Massage Hut #2.

This spa is famous for it's mud. No- this isn't where you immerse yourself in a deep gleaming porcelain tub with fresh cucumber slices over your eyes and pristine turban to protect your hair. It's a scene out of Animal Planet were the Kalahari drought has reduced the only watering hole in all of Africa to a pit of clay smeared elephants and hippos playing slip and slide.

American's aren't used to nudity. Even though we are the world's greatest purveyors of sex and porn, we're still uncomfortable when faced with it in the flesh. Maybe it's because we're fast becoming the world's fattest nation. Which brings me to the locker room. They freak me out, especially when they're so overcrowded you can't open your locker without someone's bare ass pushed right in your face.

Now I'm not saying I didn't have several rolls and dimples of my own to add to the party. In fact a lot of my inner dialog was a stiff dose of self-loathing. Last year's $100 designer swimsuit was now obviously 2 sizes too small. My inner-thighs and inner-thoughts now match; grossly overindulged masses of insanity. But I guess like all the other (self talk here-) "poor slobs" I have to put it aside and just enjoy myself as is.

Don't get me wrong, I had a very nice time. My face is radiant after a piercingly refreshing facial. Ouch- those extractions hurt. My body feels like the marshmallow it looks like (pure white and disgustingly soft) after my 1 hour massage, (the best I ever had, thank you Dharma's twin.) I enjoyed a delicious lunch and dinner with two of my favorite people. And a fun day of "un"forgetable sights, sounds, and secret narrative.

CATCHING UP

I've been absent. Too many things going on in my little pea brain to come up with something brilliant to bolg about so I've intentionally stayed away. In case you think my celebratory life pooped out on the 4th...I say "no, no, no," to coin a phrase from the new queen of soul, Amy Winehouse. The 4th did slow me down through the 5th but I was back in the saddle by the 6th.

This week's Celebration Calendar could be considered a bit ho-hum, kicked off with Video Game Day and ending with Bastille Day on Saturday. Not much in between except for a couple notable items; Dick Clark hosted his first American Bandstand broadcast July 9th 1956. So sad for you if you weren't born soon enough to catch it in it's prime. All the great ones made their debut on the little screen. Another little screen debut this week in 1960 was the Etch-a-Sketch. Hours of fun spent turning little knobs trying your darnedest to create a stick figure masterpiece or write your name. Our perfectionized culture has evolved- from knobs to joy sticks; TV screens to I-Pod windows; even Paris and storming the Bastille is late-breaking-news. Since I'm not the least bit superstitious I'm ignoring Friday the 13th.

Instead I've decided to celebrate all the others on Saturday- Bastille Day. "How and why" you ask? Bastille Day is the celebration of the common Frenchman's liberation from the Monarchy. No more King. In my case, the King (The World's Best Husband) as I call him, is going fishing for the weekend- (translation) freedom, liberation, vive la France! It's actually the 2nd weekend fishing trip in a row. I'm treating myself to the royal treatment at a day spa. Facial, 1 hour massage, mud baths, mineral pools, lunch, yep the whole 9 yards. Sure beats fishing! I'll take my I-Pod and listen to Amy, have a rum and Coke and doodle on my pocket sized Etch-a-Sketch by the pool. The little smile on my face? Always having something to celebrate.

HAVE FUN ON THE FOURTH

Here's to having a blast on the 4th! We get to sleep-in in the middle of the week, stuff ourselves with burgers and dogs, hit the beach or the park, and top it all off with a good buzz and fireworks. Ah- just what our forefathers had in mind.

Here's some warnings and ideas to make your Independence Day celebration safe and sane or insane (whichever you choose.)

#1- Use a good sunblock

#2- Or a good cover-up

#3- Have a good selection of beer on ice

#4- Plan on a few party games
like this- (click here to view)

#5- Snuggle up with someone
you love and watch the sunset

CELEBRATE CANADA DAY!

Eh?! Happy Canada Day to all our favorite Canucks! We couldn't let this day go by without bowing to our only true friends in this hemisphere. One of my favorite people- TWBH (translated "The Worlds Best Husband") was born and raised till the ripe old age of 2 in Edmonton Alberta. Even his Uncle was speaker of the house in Vancouver way back when. But who cares really?

Just think of all the special things Canada brings to the good old USA...hockey, maple syrup, mounties, their special type of bacon (which is really just ham.) Our northern neighbors may be considered stuffy and behind the times but think of the great ones who've made us laugh- Adam Sandler, Jim Carrie, Tom Green, Mike Myers, Dan Akroyd, Norm McDonald, Phil Hartman. Hey, wait a minute, there would be no Saturday Night Live without Canada! At least the good years anyway!!!

So how about the really brilliant actors like Keanu Reeves, Rick Moranis, Donald & Kieffer Sutherland, and last but not least William Shatner. There's more to these Canucks than meets the eye.

Anyway, we have one special Canadian who means the world to us (me and Melissavina) go check him out. Grab a perogie and have a HAPPY CANADA DAY!

Say Cheeze George

Friday- CAMERA DAY

Posers unite! From pin-up girls to mug shots what would we do without cameras? One of the world's most incredible inventions from all the way back in 1888, thank you Mr. George Eastmann.

Just think we wouldn't have movies, TV, Google Images, YouTube, what would we do. The little old camera has changed our world. With all the fantastic images that entertain, delight, and even arouse us everyday (yes you sickos included) we can't forget some of the other ways the camera has evolved to affect us. Another George- Mr. Orwell predicted "Big Brother" would be watching. Now we can't get away from them, like cockroaches they're everywhere; elevators, grocery stores, on our computers, in our cell phones, rear end of our cars for parking...it's an unending list. Now Google Maps come complete with panoramas shot down every street in America.

While were on the subject of streets- don't get captured in the lens of a traffic cam or you'll be shelling out a huge fine.

Here's my advice for celebrating Camera Day right from here, right now. Check out this fabulous blog:
Things Look Like Things
It will do for you what cameras were invented to do- please, delight, inspire, and capture life. Here's look'n at you!

Covered?

Thursday- Insurance Awareness Day
I was going to let this one slide but this picture caught my eye- He's the winner! The outcome of a bad idea he tried to run up a pole to see if it'd fly. Hope he was covered.

I'm torn about celebrating this cause. I'm employed for the sole purpose of fighting insurance companies so believe me- I'm aware of insurance. These companies survive by sucking us dry with rising premiums, dirty tricks, confounding rules, and withholding coverage just when you need it the most.

We pay billions into auto, home, and medical coverage and where does it go? Into the pockets of the big insurance companies. Companies who pay those freaking geeks who deviously devise and design their insane EOBs (Explanation of Benefits) which I'm sure are some form of ancient Chinese puzzle. Once you decode the cells and columns you realize it's just a notice informing you that you're going to get spanked for the entire balance. It's all a ploy to send you into cardiac arrest, dial 911, and start the meter ticking all over again.

So, celebrate insurance awareness anyway. It keeps me employed. Just don't forget to buckle up!

Made in the Shades

Wednesday June 27th- SUNGLASSES DAY
Gotta love your sunglasses- they're the go to thing in my purse! Can't leave home without them. They're the one accessory that immediately tells you a person's style. Right now I'm on cue with the big-movie star type. Some like white, jeweled, wire, or wrap-around. Old guys like to sit behind a pair of mirrored shades to check out the girls around the swimming pool, lechers! Sunglasses are great for hiding a black eye, no make-up, dilated pupils, or just making the scene. Here's some famous people in shades- or shades that made people famous.

Celebrating Beauticians Day

Ever cut your own hair? Bad idea- always! Just look at Britney. Hair is our number one image factor. Let's face it from comb-overs, to Jennifer Aniston's layers, to the never ending mullet, hair is the cover your book is judged by. There's always one other person involved in creating you, besides your own follicles- your beautician, barber, stylist, or beauty operator! Why we allow that responsibility to rest in the scissors of someone we don't know is insane- they're always pushing the boundries. We put our heads literally in the hands of these hard working men and women, some spiked, some bearded, some plain crazy. Actually mine is really nice and does a good job...I think? Take a look at these follicly challenged photos, then take a good long look in the mirror, and ask yourself what these people should've asked..."What the hell were you thinking?"

Nice- you won't have to worry about your hat flying off!
(I wonder if that's him from the back too?)

I think she was flying over my house last week-

The circus called and what their cotton candy machine back-

Dude, dreads aren't your thing-

Beam me up Scotty-

This one just scares me

(yeah- focus, it takes a minute)

Like that's going to convince the jury

I'm going to stop by the salon and take my stylist a good bottle of wine and wish her the happiest of Beauticians Day!

The Last Week of June

Can you believe it- 2007 is half over? Summer's here, the weather's fine, and whatever junk you might be dealing with- just remember I'm here to help distract you from the everyday grind. This week's calendar of CELEBRATE EVERYTHING has some thought provoking items sure to fill your trivia data bank with useless yet entertaining information. I have great plans for blogging you silly on Tuesday and Wednesday, so check back in. (Leave a comment please...is anyone reading this?) Paris get's out of Jail Tuesday- Wow! Party down Paris!

So what difference does any of this make? #1, It gives me fodder to write about. #2, It gives us all something to look forward to. #3, It gives you something to say in those awkward silent moments like; "Say, did you know today is Camera Day?" Conversation starters and good pick-up lines like; "Hey, today is National Swim a Lap Day, wanna go skinny dippin'?"

Here's an interesting tid-bit you can use; Log Cabin Day was the brain child of Virginia Handy, head of the Bad Axe Historical Society. I'd love to meet Virginia and her Bad Axes- doing their darndest to preserve America's heritage.

Actually I'm hoping that you'll make everyday a party, something my family & friends excel at. In the last year (not to mention the knock-out regular holiday celebrations) we've had housewarmings, a pumpkin carving/Halloween costume party, gourmet thank-you dinners, a Miami Vice theme party, Country Music Awards celebration, a bridal shower, a Pirate Birthday party, 50-year-old kids theme party, a toasting rehearsal dinner, a fabulous beach wedding & reception, a Sloshball double birthday, Cinco-de-May & Father's Day bar hopping bike rides, and a Monday Night Cajun party. All of these events were attended by adults who know how to have fun! Most of these were thanks to my brilliant son & his wife, and my ever clever, creative daughter.

So- pick at least one of these dates and get the party started!

Bummer Beginning of Summer

Blap, blap, blap. blap, blap, blap- 5:30 AM sounded like the airlift of Saigon on top of my house. I'm not sure if the birds were already chirping on the FIRST DAY OF SUMMER (the longest day of the year) but they couldn't be heard if they were.

I went to bed early in anticipation of greeting the sunrise, chirping birds, good coffee "the world's best husband" always has waiting for me pipping hot. Instead it was the whacking rotor blades of a helicopter hovering directly overhead. Even the grass was flapping. Fortunately the dogs were mindlessly asleep in the garage or they would have been barking.

Bing jolted out of those last horded moment's of sleep with roaring thunderous noise is confusing. The mind speeds, data-bursting questions like- the world's coming to an end? No, a plane crash (we live close to an airport). I'm still asleep dreaming of Apocalypse Now, weirdo Marlon Brando is going to burst through the French doors. I come to- see my coffee right where it should be, there's no fuselage in the back yard, I'm awake but the blap, blap, blapping continues getting louder by the second.

I try looking up through the closed windows- no good. Check out the back door, then the front. There it is- hovering fixed in one spot like a giant mosquito trained on it's victim. Ok, it's just a traffic news-chopper, carrying some wanna-be reporter ready to scoop the next big slam-up on the 405. We're only 3 blocks from one of LA's busiest freeways. I should have guessed. I flipped on the TV hoping to see the dork that ruined the start of my celebration. There it was- a 3 car pile-up just clearing. Right then a fire engine with sirens blaring zips down the ramp and past our street. The scratchy voice of the pilot plots out the spot for drivers to avoid but no sexy little smiley face beaming from a headset- too early for reporters I guess. Not to early to wake up the whole freaking world below though!

The start of summer grabbed me by the throat, punched some of my loved-ones in the gut (see My Daughter's blog) and left a few cars wrinkled. But as they say- "The sun shines on the good and the bad." Guess I'll go buy some éclairs.

Good Morning Sunshine

Tomorrow- or today, depending on when you read this- is the longest day of the year, The Official Beginning of Summer. Yippee, it's finally here! We can all use those typical catch phrases in the office like: "Wow, won't this day ever end?" or "Man, this day just seems to go on and on!"

The mere word "Summer" strikes a chord of excitement. Remember when you couldn't wait for school to end for summer break? It meant hanging out in the neighborhood until dark, which meant in some places until way after 9 PM. Having crazy times with your friends sleeping in the back yard like quasi campers in sleeping bags, sneaking out in the middle of the night to raise all kinds of hell.

So, don a really cool pair of shades, your sharpest shorts or mini-skirt, and kick up your flip-flops. The party starts at the crack of dawn with a Tequila Sunrise and ends with Sex on the Beach if you're lucky.

I'm going to bed early (warding off my insomnia) as the kid next door rolls by on his skateboard at 8:49 PM- all in preparation of completely enjoying the longest day of the year!

Solstice Salutations & Cheers! Me-Shelle

Going for Stage 5!

What?

"You're snoring."
Darn! I was 30 minutes in. That was 2 hours ago. Now I'm listening to him snore. I'm an intermittent insomniac. Sometimes it lasts for months on end. Lately it's been hit or miss, once or twice a week. If I can make it past the 30 minute mark with no disruptions I can usually go back to sleep. Bother me before then and I'm up watching my weird next door neighbor through the blinds in my office at 3 A.M. He's material for another blog.

I love to dream, but according to the website "How Stuff Works," if you don't sleep well you don't enter REM sleep and you miss out on all the fun. REM is when you're body twitches and your eyes roll around under your lids like a pair of possessed eggs. I know my body does a lot of uncontrolled things when I finally go under. I admit I snore, drool, and am known for some serious farting, animal-like grunts, and whistling. You'd think I'd be having spectacular dreams with all the entertainment I'm providing. Nope, the guy that wakes me up gets all the fun. He flies in his dreams, and most of the time he's naked. Yeah, we checked out a website that explains what that means and yes, he's got issues.

Houses are a re-occurring dream theme for me. Probably because I've moved over 11 times, 6 moves to different states. I search through the houses and find things left behind, or people hidden behind a secret door. Coo-coo! My daughter frequently dreams about her wedding; that I've abandoned her to handle all the plans by herself. Isn't that what most brides wish for?

Ok, I spent a couple hours thinking about this post. It should have been much better considering all the thought I put into it. Tossing and turning, kicking the comforter into a berm separating me from my snore alarm. Once the decision was made to actually get up- all those fabulous prose and witty one liners disappeared. I creep silently to the kitchen, grab a glass of water and flip on the computer in the office. Check the back porch light and see Joe's TV next door flickering as usual- sometimes till 4 A.M. Now that I've put my ramblings into this little box, my legs are frozen, retinas burnt, and I'll be making my way back to bed like a blind man. Wish me luck, I'm hoping I'll have a spectacular stage 3 through 5! If I'm back spying on the weird neighbor Joe in a couple of hours I'll just skip the glass of water and do a shot of Tequila.
Nighty night.

Celebrate Everything!

In honor of one of my favorite foods I am proclaiming today Cheetos Day! Even though they make your fingers look like a bum with a bad nicotine habit, they're the best. Crack open a Miller Light and a fresh bag of the delicious crispy orange nuggets and you've got a party started. But this here blog isn't just about Cheetos- it's about celebrating! Our world is in love with celebrations. You can't get through the grocery store checkout without seeing graduation balloons, Dad's Day cupcakes, or buckets of 4th of July flags this time of year. We all buy into it, if there's nothing on the calendar, Hallmark will make something up. But it's not just Hallmark- it's everyone, that is except Jehovah's Witnesses.

I've been a party planner, wedding coordinator, hostess, and mother both novice and professionally, which gives me the utmost credentials. So I feel the need to keep my blogging buddies posted on the next big celebration. There's actually a day to celebrate just about everything. In fact my self proclaimed Cheetos Day, June 16th, coincides with National Hollerin' Contest Day. Now that's something to shout about! Tomorrow is of course Father's Day but get ready because there are at least 16 more reasons to party down before Independence Day, so don't buy those firecrackers just yet.

What's Next is dedicated to looking ahead . . . so to "celebrate" here's a list of next week's reason to get out of bed:
6/17- World Juggler's Day (try balancing your checkbook today, maybe it will work)
6/18- Go Fishing Day (Yeah, take Monday off and join the guys at the end of the pier)
6/19- World Sauntering Day (Stroll like you mean it- or shuffle like you've got slippers on)
6/20- Ice Cream Soda Day (Yep, I'm down for that)
6/21- 1st Day of Summer (Yeeha- finally!)
6/22- National Chocolate Eclair Day (Hmmm, not sure- the pudding inside always glops out)
6/23- National Pink Day & Take Your Dog to Work Day (Double your fun, die your dog pink!)

If you're not into any of the daily dedications June is the National Month of:
Aquariums, Candy, Dairy, Accordion Awareness, Adopt a Cat, and Roses. Now there's some reasons to celebrate!

Don't forget to look ahead to next week's list.

What Men Want

Sunday's paper was stuffed with crap gift-giving ideas for Father's Day. It's the same for Mother's Day. Junk people really don't want, and they really don't want other people buying for them. How many men crave another polo shirt or bass printed boxers. You've got to wonder about a guy who wants a Homer Simpson dashboard bobble head. I got a meatballer and a book on pioneer women one year. Believe me it sucks.

Kmart's flyer showed the top of a guys head with cartoon bubbles above containing the most sought after items a Dad could wish for. They were close; an LCD TV, Stainless-steel gas grill, and a Craftsman 18v cordless drill. But as usual, shorts and golf gear were thrown in- at least they didn't suggest a Kmart tie. Linens-n-Things added a 12-pc. BBQ set in a stainless-steel case or a cordless grill brush (a wire brush on a wheel). Yeah, like that's going to work. Your choice for either obvious piece of junk for only $19.99. But who wants a TV from Kmart, or why would you shop at Linens-n-Things for Father's Day?

The real cartoon dream bubbles would be filled with things like Pamela Anderson, riding nasty motorcycles, getting the big promotion handshake, winning at poker, or crossing the Triathlon finish line. They know they'll end up paying for the TV, tools, or Eddie Bauer bocce ball set anyway. It's the stuff they can't buy that they want.

I asked a Dad I know what was the most memorable Father's Day gift he ever got. He couldn't remember any. I asked if any Father's Day celebrations were memorable...nope. So I thought, do I remember anything special I ever bought for my Dad? Nope.

My Dad has been gone 17 years. I really wish I had him back for just one day. I helped clean up his garage and go through his things with my Mom after he died. He had a lot of crap. Two things he kept that hit me were the pictures of my sister and me he carried in his wallet, and my 6 year-old hand print in finger-paint with paper plate frame. The junk is all gone now. It's the things about him I remember, the things we did together like ride horses, go on his rickety boat, and share banana splits.

Last weekend we played sloshball (yeah, running the bases with beer in hand) with an assortment of people at least 20 years younger. They couldn't believe we liked hanging out with them. That Dad I know, manned the keg at 2nd base, climbed the backstop, and made friends with everyone. He was amazing. The fact that he was invited, enjoyed, and had so much fun won't be forgotten. So, forget the boxers, gadgets, and beer mugs. Go make a memory instead.

Worry, Shmorry

I am going to become a Jewish Mother. Yes, the stereotypical kind. It would relieve me of pretending I don't feel the way I do most of the time. JM's get away with everything; complaining, kvetching, (oops maybe complaining and kvetching are the same thing,) punctuating every instance with melting drama, bossing, worrying, and backseat driving, to name a few.

"Why don't you call your mother?" I'd say just looking at a picture of my children. I'd drop obvious hints about any little concern I might have over their relationships. I could get away with demanding every holiday, birthday or special occasion be at my house. Like the wave of a wand, guilty pleasures would be turned into pleasure guilt, with a mere roll of my eyes.

Health conscientiousness would be a specialty. Chicken soup is just the first course, when you've got the bigger family issues of closet smoking, sleep deprivation, sleep desperation, and all the other unmentionable overindulgences. I'd lovingly spoon the most intuitive JM remedies, sweetened with a select dose of advice, right down their throats. "You'll thank me later," I'd say.

Carrying on like Mrs. Castanza over an argument with my spouse even once, would be unbelievably transcendent. GPS? Put me in the car and throw out that pitiful map quest print-out, and insanely stubborn errant sense of direction. I wouldn't be bullied by those threats of directional finger amputation. Ha!

Here's a good JM joke...Know why it took Moses 40 years to get the Israelites out of the desert? Because he wouldn't ask for directions!

JM's don't get scolded for bragging about their children, mentioning how much (or how little) money someone makes, or comparing themselves better than the "Jones's." It's expected. You can rely on the fact that a JM will fight like a mother bear over threatend cubs if someone belittles her darlings.

Fortunately becoming a Jewish Mother doesn't entail the same "a-hem" circumspect torture it would to become a Jewish father. Oy vey! But I refuse to gain any more weight, grow chin stubble, or let my dye job go any brighter red. I do like the JAP idea, but then I digress into another stereotype. I'd really just settle for being- Drama Queen for a Day. Win all it's consolation prizes, wrap myself in the luxury of demanding and directing everyone's life, and then eat a brisket with all the carb-filled trimmings! Diamond earrings thrown in would be good too.

Dead Man's Hill

When you're 10 years-old riding your sister's (too big for you) bike, taking Dead Man's Hill strikes an Al Qiada terror in your soul. Raking up at a sheer 85 degrees, with bumps, turns, and patch of gravel at the end challenged even the toughest hot dog bikers on the block. The show-offs would ride it like a roller coaster, standing on their pedals, with no hands, and shirts filled with air like the Michelin Man.

My sister was a sissy, what you'd call a major wuss in this era. She'd walk her beloved bike, which she gloated about, down it's almost double distance of a regular city block. It was the fastest way to get to the park entrance where the popcorn wagon parked during the summer. She gloated because she had a bike, and I walked. It was rare to ever see anyone make it back to the top without walking. So it didn't matter, up or down, there was always somebody facing the challenge of Dead Man's Hill, especially if you wanted a snow cone.

Now, I was no wuss. In fact, I rode shotgun (literally) on the back of one the biggest show-offs bike one time. He had a pump action bee-bee gun we loaded with dirt clods, which I shot at the wanna-be bullies of the neighborhood. A sport I wouldn't recommend if you don't want to be jumped and pummeled with water balloons. My charade as Calamity Jane was more to win the attentions of my Wild Bill. It worked for some 10 year-old kissing in the bushes and a few snow cones. But, back to the hill.

My sister, of all people, had taken the hill that summer. We couldn't believe it. She wouldn't ride on a sled, never put on a pair of roller skates, or even attempt the little kids merry-go-round at the park. Her having a bike instead of me was a waste. However, we're not really sure what happened. The story goes that some big kids were chasing her and a friend. The only escape was down Dead Man's Hill. Maybe they thought they wouldn't be followed when they took the curve to Hell. Some people tried a fast start and breaking half way down, but it was never a good plan.

So, there I was- hand grips slippery with sweat, unnaturally clammy for the middle of August, and Dead Man's between me, a cherry snow cone, and Wild Bill. I was going to take it. "Go slow, coast with intermittent braking at least half way, then take it easy until the curve, keep from skidding on the gravel, avoid the dip, and ride across the finish line in glory."

The big green Schwin rattled as I hoisted myself up on the seat. Once perched I couldn't reach the ground so it was all or nothing. The fenders and my heart pounded over each crack in the sidewalk. The speed picked up. Coasting got faster. I pictured myself standing on the pedals. "No- that would be suicide, don't even think of letting go of the handlebars!" Breaking, "don't skid, don't skid. Look ahead." I see my sister's face, white with panic. She was standing at the curve. She raised her arms. The sling on her cast looked like a flag at the finish line.

"No, she shouted, slow down. You're going to kill yourself." The gap between her chipped teeth appeared as she said the word "kill." The basket on the old green Schwin bounced so hard it flew right off. I dipped to one side to avoid running over it with my back tire. I began wobbling. The gravel only 10 yards away. There was the phone pole that gave my sister the gap in her grin and I was heading straight for it.

"All or nothing, what's next?" The end was just past the gravel and around the bend. I got up on the pedals. It probably looked like typical show-off stuff, but it was a power break move on my part. My blouse filled with air. I let up, skiddless through the gravel and then felt my hands slide off the wet grips and catch the wind. The big green Schwin rolled me past the phone pole and my sister's dumb struck face in slow motion. The sling went down on my finish line.

Dead Man's hill was mine!

What's Next?

Ok! Here we go, my first blog...

I decided looking back mostly makes me sad, not depressed, just wishful in a crappy sort of way. So I decided to keep thinking about what might be just around the corner. That spot that's just out of sight. You know it's ahead, you're going to get there, and just because you can't see it- it's all the more enticing. Depending on how your week went you may be stuck freaking to the point of stalling out. My mantra is keep looking beyond...even if you can't see it. Look, because everything in you says sit down and bawl, but don't forget to look ahead.

Imagine a mark on the calendar, a date set in the future. Write the words Tahiti Cruise. Now picture a map with a push-pin stabbed directly in the circle that marks your town. Push a fat hot pink highlighter from the push-pin, off the edge of California, over the deep blue Pacific, until you find the little cluster of dots Southwest of Hawaii, yep way down there. Calendars and maps put me in an immediate state of transcendental meditation. Suddenly I transport in time, I'm there, flying or floating on the Pacific, sun in my face, sails flapping overhead, Mai-tai drooling from my straw. Are ya with me?

It's when I forget that I will be "there," that date on the calendar, the end of the hot pink highlighter line, that I let the freaking out issues get to me. I get bogged down in the shitty parts, tied up in knots, held hostage by other peoples attempts to mess me up. That spot may not be as exotic as Tahiti, but sometimes just knowing I'll get past what I'm in now makes that spot around the corner seem exoticotastic!

You're probably thinking about all those who've realized my new mantra long before me. "This too shall pass,"- King Solomon "All Things Must Pass"- George Harrison. "Faith is the substance of things not seen"- Hebrews 11:1. Yeah- it's not new, but it's what's ahead for me.

Remember what's ahead before your look back!