"You'll Take This Compliment, and You'll Like It!"

"Why, thank you very much!"

I was not born the gracious gift (or compliment) receiver that I am today.  In fact, I can point to the exact moment when I learned the skill of receiving a gift, particularly in the presence of the giver.   I use the word “skill” because it is a learned behavior and over time, when used regularly, becomes easier and strengthens our relationships with others as well as with ourselves.

As my father and I were leaving a Christmas Eve party at a relative’s house, the host retrieved a gift from under the tree and presented it to my father.  He staunchly refused, even going so far as to keep his hands in his coat pockets!  “No!  I told you not to get me anything!  I have everything I need!”  While it may have been true, that he had everything he needed, the scene was downright uncomfortable and the despair on the host’s face was apparent. 

 “Here!  I’ll take it for him, and thank you so very much!  Merry Christmas!” I said.  I knew exactly what I was going to say to him in the car.

I began, “Do you know that feeling you get when you watch me open a gift from you, and you swell up with pride or whatever it is you are feeling when I say ‘Thank You, Pop!’?

 “Yes”, he admits.

“Well, you just stole that feeling from the person who presented you with this gift!  You didn’t allow them to experience that joy that you yourself love to feel when you are the giver!”

Silence.  

Lesson learned.  When we graciously receive, especially in the presence of the giver, we in turn become the giver, bringing to life the joy and recognition that is reaching out from both hearts to touch one another.  Whether it’s a material gift or a spoken compliment, a heartfelt “Thank You” is the most powerful gift you can immediately give in return.

Just Because You Love Something Doesn't Mean You Have To Own It

Is this what they mean by "owning my morning?"

I have a dilemma.  After the real estate market crash here in ground zero (Las Vegas),  I did not emerge unscathed.  In fact, there are scathed people everywhere in the real estate industry here.  Currently, my most precious possession is the mantra I tell myself anytime the "ownership" feeling starts rearing its ugly head, "Just because I love something doesn't mean I have to OWN it."  (Serenity now….).  

Which brings me to my current dilemma.  I LOVE mornings.  It is hands down my most favoritest, gloriousest, fuzziest, joyest, funnest, lack-of-anything-having-gone-wrong-yet time of day.  And now, NPR's new mantra for why I should continue to tune into their morning newscast (Morning Edition….I bow to you!) is that I will OWN my morning if I continue as the dedicated listener I have been for the past….how many years?  How can I explain to them that I am not allowed to OWN things I LOVE?  

I found myself perplexed with this phrase, "Own your morning".  To be quite honest, I hadn't heard it before, which isn't surprising because there was a time in the not too distant past that I had to ask who this Kardashian character was and which selfless act of charity was she alone responsible for that she should be so widely recognized?  So, a little research of "ownership" and "morning" led to a site that linked to an article in "Entrepreneur" magazine, and the highlights of "owning your morning" included:

• Having a routine works wonders for keeping your mornings calm and relaxed.
• Don’t press the snooze button! However tempting it may seem, snoozing can actually make us feel groggier for longer.
• Get moving! – Whether its just a stretch or a full body workout, it gets your blood pumping and keep you feeling more alert.
• Don’t check your work emails before you get to work – remember the morning is yours to enjoy!

Well, I'll be brief:
    #1.  But I DO have a routine!  However, my animals unfortunately are not routine about how and where and when they vomit or otherwise release their bodily fluids during the night, so often, my routine is thwarted by "Attention: shoppers! wet cleanup in aisle 3!", putting me already behind schedule!  Oh, crap!  Wait a minute….I must stay calm and relaxed.

  #2.  I LOVE my snooze button.  More than once, I have felt disappointed in my new phone because it only allowed 3 snooze sessions.  Maybe I should just be honest with myself and reset the original wake-up time?  But, I love the routine of swiping the snooze icon!

  #3.  See #2.

  #4.  Guilty as charged.  Ok.  I think I can do that.   I could stand a little "the morning is yours to enjoy"….

So, I guess this "ownership" they are talking about is really "taking responsibility" for how you want your day to go based on how you spend your first hours of the day, or something like that.  Ok.  Honorable.

Meanwhile, I'm really trying to rid myself of the need to own things, including time.  

Time is something we rent, not own.  It isn't ours to keep.  It is ours to use.  I don't want to "own" my morning.  I don't want to ever experience buyer's remorse for time spent doing one thing when I could have spent it on something else.  I want to "rent" my morning with the same immediate purpose that I rent anything else in my life.  I have a definite purpose when I rent something, be it a car, a tool from Home Depot, a movie, a boat, a bike, whatever.  

And when I'm done, I return it to where it came from. 

And when I'm done here, I'll return to where I came from.

"Feelin' Groovy", or Slow Down, Ya Move Too Fast

One day, as I was driving the freeway to an inspection on the east side of town, I looked over the barrier at the oncoming traffic because, of course, there was an accident.  All lanes blocked.  "Bu-hu-hu-hummer", I said out loud, while looking not at the aftermath of the accident itself, but the tragedies unfolding in every car behind that wreck.  Faces in cars whipping by me like a train, revealing the upcoming late arrivals at job interviews, or ruined lunch dates, or thoughts of doggies at home inside, desperate to relieve themselves when "mom" comes home, or a piano recital about to happen without dad in the audience, or an already rescheduled specialist doctor's appointment that will be missed…..so many cars, so many lives, so many stories, all locked up in time, stagnant on the freeway.  

This jam went on for MILES, and there was no way off for those at the front.  I kept glancing over as well as I could at 60 mph, because I wanted to see how long it went, and how the traffic was when it came upon the tell-tale stream of red lights in front of it.  Further back, cars were slowing.  Then, cars were spreading out.  Cars were lane jockeying, trying to get around the car going just the speed limit.   I could actually SEE people being mean to other people, and trying to gain the system…."WTF, you mother!  Get out of the left lane!  What, you gettin' paid by the hour?!!"….What came to me at that moment was that I, Teresa Owens, knew something about ALL of these peoples' future that they did not know…that they had no CLUE about!

Whoa!  Is this what it's like to be god?

"Hey you!  Yeah you! Passing that car at 80 mph on the right? Because you think you're going to get somewhere faster?  Guess what? "

Now, my trip had become a game of keeping my eyes on both sides of the highway long enough to be entertained by all the machinations of people trying to get "ahead" in their lives on the opposite side of the road, and yet still stay alive on my own side of the road.

I love the lessons to be learned by everyday, mundane activities.  The takeaway from this 10 minutes of my life was that it really doesn't matter who you get ahead of in life.  It really doesn't matter how clever you think you are about maneuvering your way through obstacles.  We're all on this "freeway" together, and when everything jams up, all your maneuvering is for naught.  Someone is on the other side, watching you…and laughing at how you think you are getting somewhere faster or better than someone else.

Don't worry.  We all get to our destinations soon enough.  Or later.  

If "Life is a Party", Does that Mean I'll Have to Go Home?

"Man Sets Himself on Fire After Fight Over Sword"…….

It's true.  We all have to go home.  No-one gets to stay at the party forever.  Not even you or I.  And damn it, this is a GREAT PARTY!!!!  I don't want to leave, and it just seems like more friends keep showing up!  But on Wednesday night, one of these friends who I recently reconnected with, made his exit….went home.  And the party isn't nearly as lively as it was a day earlier.  Or a month ago….or a year ago….or a decade ago….

I've been thinking lately (dangerous) about all my acquaintances, friends, and family who have relatively recently left the planet, and left me (us) here to "party on, Garth!", and the myriad ways they have made their grand exits: Motorcycle wreck, suicide, pulmonary illness, cancer, cancer, cancer, infection from too many surgeries in a row, aneurysm, stroke, heart attack, rock climbing fall, old age, cancer, cancer, and more cancer, cycling accident….There's even a book you can buy at the gift shop at the Grand Canyon, devoted solely to all the different ways people have died there.  And of course, I have it in my personal library.  

Because I find death at least as interesting as birth.  I think of it as being birthed somewhere else, just as we were birthed into this life.  Of course, the reality is that I have absolutely no clue "what happens" to me when that which I need to be alive on this planet stops functioning.  I didn't have a clue "what will happen" to me when I was in my mother's womb, either.  My comfort in any of this is to come to this party, visit the buffet table of human life, see what's there, partake of the things I know I like, maybe try a few new things (I'm really not big on that, by the way….my huge loss, I'm sure), go through time doing as little damage as possible, and then….making my exit in some surprising-to-me way.

Barry was a friend, a loving father, and devoted husband, and I wish I had bumped into him more often during the party.  I was off in some other room, chatting and gabbing and partying with others for a long time, and came back into his circle only recently.  And he was there to welcome me back, as though no time had really passed.

So I look around at the party.  Another person has gone home.  The party is a lot quieter, and getting thinner.  My husband keeps telling me, "You are ALWAYS the last one to leave the party!  C'mon, let's GO already!"  That's right.  I am.  

And that's what I wish for all my remaining friends and family:  May you be the last ones to leave the party.

RIP, Barry McCall.  We loved having you here and are GLAD you could make it!

The Reality of Safety

Another tragic gun accident splashes across my Yahoo newsfeed, and I’m transported to that place in my head where the gun control debates live.   Only this time, I just can’t shake the sadness of the event: a 29 year old mother, shot dead while shopping in a Walmart with a loaded gun in her special purse made for concealing firearms, but which was accessed by her 2-year old while the purse was momentarily unattended.   This is so tragic on so many levels, it would be disingenuous to discuss it in terms of gun control.

Instead, I asked myself, “What makes a person feel so afraid for their lives that they feel the need to carry a loaded gun into a retail store?”  Here is a worthy example.  My friend and former classmate lives in a Quonset hut above the arctic circle far from civilization and thus any available help  (she has recently become a reality TV star on NatGeo’s Life Below Zero), completely on her own at the mercy of the elements and any wolves, bears, etc., that she happens to encounter.  Is her daily environment dangerous enough to warrant carrying a gun at all times?  Let’s just say that the last time she put her gun down to fill up her water tank in the river, she suffered a nearly fatal attack by a brown bear.  So yes, the reality and her perception of her dangerous environment are congruent.  Yesterday, my husband was at a PetSmart in one of the lowest crime rate areas in Las Vegas, and the customer in front of him had a gun in his holster at his side.  Is his daily environment, including his trip to a local pet food store, so dangerous that if he left his gun in his car, his life would be in mortal danger?  Well, thousands of patrons and I visit this store each year and the number of deaths occurring there do not bear out his perception of danger.  Therefore, the reality of his daily environment and his perception of its danger are not congruent.  

This isn’t about guns, per se.  It is about the disconnect that exists between the reality of our daily routine and how safe it actually is, and the perception that our lives are in imminent danger at every moment.   

Consider the actual fact that the world is becoming a less violent place overall.  Consider the biological fact that human beings have learned to coexist better than any other primates.  Consider your own daily routine and how often you are actually confronted with a potentially life threatening situation (in my 23 years of appraising, I have felt this way exactly 2 times).  Now, compare these things with the perceptions you have about how dangerous your environment is.  If they are incongruent, what is causing that disconnect?  It actually reminds me of when I was afraid of the dark until someone would turn on the lights and all the things that were scaring me would vanish.  The reality of my overall safety was illuminated.

Nowhere is it more obvious than out here in the west that we live in a gun culture.  I’m not so interested in how that started, but am more interested in how it is perpetuated.  I have many friends who are responsible gun owners and vehemently speak of the benefits and necessity of owning them.  Some have conceal/carry permits, some would like to get their permit.  Each and every person speaks of their need for carrying a firearm due to the unsafe nature of their daily environment and having a gun would make their environment safer.  And yet, I live in the same environment and I just don’t see it or feel it.   So I ask myself, “Am I naïve, or are they paranoid and fearful?”  What is the reality of our daily environment and what is our perception of our daily environment and do they coincide?  If not, what is shaping our perception?   And does an incongruent perception create a self-fulfilling prophecy?  

This is not an argument for or against gun control.  It is merely an inquiry about the source of the disconnect that happens to so many of us, who live in such a rich, vibrant, and safe country when we begin to be filled with fear to such a degree that we feel the need to carry a gun whenever we venture out into the society that we hold to be the envy of the world.    

Yet Another Place I Belong

Westcrack, Canyonlands NP, Utah

Have you ever had that feeling of "I really know that I belong here.  THIS is who I am.", and then felt stupid because this wasn't the first time you felt this way and the last time you felt this way was half-way across the globe in the complete opposite ecosystem in which you presently find yourself?

Near Bergen, Norway

Well, being in the outdoors has always really been about being on the "indoors" for me.  Heck, just saying "being IN the OUTdoors" is kind of strange, is it not?  Being outside, I mean really outside (backyards, car-rooftops, building rooftops, wingwalking on a bi-plane, road biking, unless you are in Death Valley, don't count) means there is you, your incessant monkey-brain chatter, and that silent hum of the earth.  And the sound of the feeling you get when your chatter says, "THIS is who I am.  THIS is me, being a human.  THIS is me being a species of animal, noticing sounds, smells, sensing danger, sensing safety, sensing beauty."  

I recently had four days worth of these moments while on a mountain bike tour along Canyonlands' White Rim Trail.  Four days, 84 miles (or so), 5 companions, 2 guides, and whole lot of sky....to match the whole lot of monkey brain chatter.  Like the the descent down Shafer Trail, steep and winding, I found myself descending within, into the depths of who I was at that moment, which was of course, every experience I had ever had up until then.  Descending into Canyonlands, each hairpin turn another layer of earth's millenia, I felt like I was descending through layers of city-fied stone that had built up around my core, my strength, my who-I-amness.  

Shafer Switchbacks

Once down, after crashing on the switchbacks in order to come back down to earth and get my blood donation out of the way right off the bat, the trip really began in earnest and I set about just being my unlayered, unadulterated self for the rest of the trip.  There comes a time, I suppose, when you realize that this is indeed what is meant by "vacation".  One "vacates" their layered self so their true, buried gem-of-a-self can shine, shimmer, and breathe again.  Like Canyonlands.  It is earth on vacation.  Or, as the sign in Kanab, Utah brags (about a similar geology), "The Greatest Earth on Show!"  

Our ride consisted of a minimally maintained old mining road (high clearance, 4 wh. drive only) winding around the base of the Island in the Sky district of Canyonlands, eventually meeting up with and paralleling the Green River.  After a day of riding my adequate, but this 50-year old arse deemed MINIMALLY adequate, hardtail Cannondale (I also just learned that Crap-n-fail is Cannondale's nickname.  Fine.), I began to pray for the sand and not the White Rim layer that we were on most of the time.  My ability to manifest what I pray for proved to me later that I REALLY need to watch what I pray for!  Like, here's one that would serve me well for next time:  "I love full suspension.  I am fully enjoying my fully full suspension bike, even now!" or, "I love the harder surfaces because they are so much easier to ride on than in the softness of sand.  My butt is curiously in better shape than my lungs."  Cool.  

After our first night of camp, complete with Canyonlands' version of a sandy Hurricane Isaac, we awoke fresh with our faces already exfoliated from the night of sand that had found any and every breach in the tent, so, with that chore out of the way,  we got an earlier start on the day.  Our fearless trip leader had proved his fearlessness by groping around in the dark in the middle of the night, trying to keep important things (like the stove, tables, van, beer) from blowing away , but was unable to see the land-shark-boulders.  One bit him in the shin really bad, and swam away.  We know this because of all the landshark boulders still in camp, NONE of them had his blood on their jaws.  Bastards.  I guess he'll just have to man the boat the rest of the way.  Poor Dave.

Dave

A night of approximately 2 hours of decent sleep (flapping rain-fly, 50 mph winds, rain, laugh attack) is not really an ingredient for a triumphant 31 mile-day of mountain biking the following day, but alas, Holiday Expeditions makes the absolute hands-down best pot of camping coffee I have EVER had.  What do they PUT in that stuff that makes me forget about how much my bum hurts, how tired my quads are, and how many miles await me?  I'll never know, but after some of that and one of many superlative meals to come, I was back on the bike, taking turns between pedaling, gawking, photographing, hydrating, pedaling, pedaling, pedaling. 

The scenery of Canyonlands, from the perspective of "doing" rather than just "being" there, brought up thoughts that I often have when I'm hiking or backpacking somewhere.  These thoughts are related to the history of a place, and not necessarily the actual "what exactly happened here" kind of perspective.  But from the perspective that jerks me from the dreamy state of, "Wow, this place is so gorgeous, it would be GREAT to live here, in the midst of this scenery, to have a nice sustainable, off-the-grid cabin, a little garden, blah blah blah..." to the reality of what most likely was, from the pioneer wife's point of view of "What the HELL is this?  I gotta build a hut from what?  What trees?  Do YOU see any trees?  And haul water from where?  Because we can't build our mud cabin near the river because of what, flash floods?  And WHAT do you expect me to grow here? "......so they move on to less scenic but more sustainable places, and leave places like this for the more hardy insects and plants that belong here to inhabit, or not.  To leave places like this alone, so eyes can feast on what IS and not necessarily what COULD BE.  To leave places like this to be visited, not inhabited, by people.  To leave places like this as much alone as possible.  The part about "doing" the ride instead of just "seeing" this place, like from the window of a car or plane or from the seat of a motorcycle, is that you get a true sense (for an instant) of what "being" here would really entail, IF YOU DIDN'T HAVE THE NICE, FULLY EQUIPPED, FULL OF FOOD AND WATER AND GATORADE AND FIRST-AID KITS AND TENTS AND SLEEPING BAGS AND FRESH CLOTHES AND BEER AND TOOLS van following along supporting you.  Yes, there are TV shows documenting people being "heroes" doing what folks had to do to survive back in the day, but of course, back in the day, there were no TV crews there to save your butt.  So, I have thoughts like, "I love this place, it is so freakin' gorgeous I almost can't stand it, but I can see how someone who had to live here, survive here, make a life here might come to despise it." and those thoughts were usually just before lunch time, when the sun was blazing, and this was mild September.

Lunchtime, Day 1....Under the ONLY tree

Lunch sans tree....what did the pioneers do?  Probably didn't stop for lunch

The ride is generally an intermediate ride with very few majorly challenging climbs, depending on one's fitness and skill level.  I found the sand to be more technically challenging than the hills, which is understandable since I had not been on a serious mountainbike ride for well over 10, quite possibly 15 years.  There were plenty of times I was walkin' it, too...just like a pioneer, and it made me think, WOW, getting anywhere at this pace must have been HELL.  

Being waited on, hand and foot, by our guides Justin (Just-in-Time!) and Dave really made any of the difficulties experienced throughout the day just melt away.  I have never done a camping trip like this, through a guide company, and I'm here to tell you, it ROCKS.  My sole responsibility?  Don't die by falling off a cliff.  Not bad, I can handle that.  I'll leave everything else, oh except setting up my tent and wiping my own arse, up to the guides at Holiday.  Thanks, guys!

One of the many jaw-dropping views out and down a canyon

The hill up to Murphy's....um, had to walk this bear

Pioneer Bath

Green River, last day

So, for each of us, I believe our goals were personal and different, some voiced and some held in secret or semi- secret.  Which of course, brings me to the question of why we do so many of the things we do.  In the end, when we do things with others, I believe it is to merely have this shared experience, and the thing that is being experienced ends up being the backdrop, even the costume, in front of and behind which we interact with each other.  It can also be the catalyst for bringing us all together, and it surely is also a character in our shared experience.  

This character was the trail, the river, the canyons, and the sun, the sky, the stars, the heat, the coolness, the lizards, birds, and snakes....mother earth in all her macrocosm mirroring us as microcosms.  There was the friend who was riding because this was absolutely something she had never done (never camped OR ridden a mountain bike) and by golly was not going to die wondering what it would be like, and so was keeping this promise to her recently departed best friend, to live her life from now on NOT wondering.  There was the friend who just lives her life from this place anyway, and was doing this because oh-my-gosh this is the most fun to have a bunch of girlfriends be together doing this awesome thing!  There was the friend who is out to start seeing all these magical places in this great country of ours and what better place to do it than from the seat of a bicycle.  There was the gracious friend who had been there the year before and was there to share this experience again and to see if she could pedal more of the miles than the last time.  There was the friend who started as a stranger (brave, brave man!) who saw the trail from above in May and had said to himself, "I'm going to come back and ride this" and joined because Holiday Expeditions had the better menu!  And there was myself, who came because, well, I've decided to start this decade of my life with a fanfare for gloriousness and what better place to start than amid such eye-popping beauty and amongst such friends as these.

Early morning Kokepeli

Where do we GET the energy!?

Rear Left to Right: Joel, Teresa Jennifur, Melissa, Danell, Krisha
Front: Guides Dave and Justin

"Warning, this product....."

It has recently occurred to me that I have a thing for labels, and apparently this has gone on for some time, although I have kept it closeted ever since that time I cut out all the labels of my first college roommate's clothes because I couldn't stand for one INSTANT longer her Greenwich, Connecticut snasal (sneering with nasality) bantering about which Neidless Marcup she purchased this or that sweater from for her evening out with her oh, I don't know, ghastly date with the cardigan half-tied around his neck, which he could wear fearlessly knowing that they don't let people like me into Greenwich, cuz I'd freakin' finish the job and pull that knot good-n-tight.....

ANYWAY,  I bought a package of Tillamook cheese the other day (no, this was not from the factory, which I visited about a week ago en route from Portland to San Diego) and to my delight and laughter, there in the shape of a gold sunburst beckoning my approval, was the "No Artificial Growth Hormones".  I think the gold sunburst was so they didn't have to put the exclamation point on the end, which may have caused me to pee myself right there in the cheese section of Costco....thank God it's right next to the industrial supplies of toilet paper, paper towels, and plug-in air fresheners...

When I was in Norway this year, I vividly recall myself standing in the aisle of the Meny store, poring over the labels on packages of chicken (this is before I went mostly veggie) and eggs until someone began to read them to me in English, supposing that I was trying to understand them.  No, I said, I was looking for the label that said these were free-range, organic chickens or eggs...

....Like this one, like the ones we have here....where the chickens can play as they wish!  Our neighbors have chickens, and I saw them playing tag, smear the steer, and hide-and-seek (big Easter Day favorite)...right there in their front yard!  Anyway, the kindly person, who looks EXACTLY like my cousin with a voice EXACTLY like hers told me that duh, ALL the chickens are free range, and the eggs are from free range chickens.  How else would it be?  And I go, DUH, have you ever seen how food for countries with populations of more than 5,000 people is raised?  

What struck me as so funny about this label, and many others these days, is the increasing frequency of their letting me know what these foods do NOT contain.  No artificial growth hormones?  Whew!  Never even knew that stuff may have been in there....wait a MINUTE...what ELSE are they not telling me?  

Wrigley's Spearmint Gum!  Now, free of used-condums!
Coca-Cola!  Cocaine-free!  (I think that one's for real)

I am noticing a lot about labels these days, and how ubiquitous they are in just about all we do and even in how we think about ourselves.  Why, just the other day, I learned on the evening news that today was labeled with an "Excessive Heat Warning".   Thank god for THAT label, because I would have had NO freakin' idea why my nostril hairs were all singed.    

Labels are a lot like a language.  They inform.  They warn.  They beckon.  They communicate.  They categorize.  They cause us limit our true experience of a "thing" because we label "it" and then react to the the "it".  Labels like:  black, white, menopause, middle age, senile, artistic, athletic, homey, politician, statesman, intellectual, etc. etc.....

I'm still amused by them, and I like to think about what emotion they cause me to feel when I say them or read them...

 This one first makes me laugh out loud.  Then it makes me think of politics, of social policies, of rampant obesity in children, ...and it also reminds me of the snack boxes during study hall in the Norwegian school I visited, where they just bring in a crate of apples or carrots.  You know, real food with no labels on them because you are holding the real food in your hand.

This one is from one of our dogs' bag of treats.  With "real beef" as opposed to that fake monkey-ass they try to slip in there.  

Here's one for the school kids.  Too bad it's for dog food!

Well, I better get to the gym.  After all, I have to make sure I continue to live up to my new label as a hottie, and I don't mean because I'm middle aged and going through the 'pause!