"Worth It..."

One of the best highlights from our trip to Ireland was our visit to the Aran Islands. These islands sit off the coast, about a 45 minute ferry ride from land. We decided to brave the elements and stay out there for one night and spend a day exploring before returning back to the mainland. After what felt like an eternity getting there, as I was thrust back into seasickness like the last time I was on the sea (Sea Sick Sunk blog post) we arrived and were escorted to our hotel for the night. We were somewhat chilly and isolated - we were one of the only ones in the hotel that night and the heat wasn't working. In somewhat of a slumber party - Dave, Mom, Rebecca and I sharing one of the rooms we reserved - where we wrote in our trip journals together and closed the night with some Irish ghost storytelling. I enjoyed playing the part of the storyteller - adding even more goosebumps to our skin than we already had because of the cold room temperature. The wind was howling outside all night - and we were perfectly happy listening to it together, in the comforts of each other's company. In the morning, Dave served some tea and we suited up for what was sure to be an exciting day.

We hustled our parents out the door and down to the bike rental place. Mom and Dad wisely chose to tour the island by van, and Rebecca, Dave and I courageously saddled up on our bikes and departed for our own tour of the island. It was a blast riding a bike again - Rebecca of course was used to it as she has been riding to and from work for the last few months - but I had not for quite awhile. Dave had just done this exact bike tour a few weeks prior on his visit here, but we were told the weather was not so pleasant then. So, off we went to adventures unknown - it was an incredibly freeing feeling. The weather was great - which was somewhat unexpected as we had all bundled up in a few layers too many. Of course, you could never be sure in Ireland, for we had experienced all sorts of weather changes in the span of a day a few times during the trip. Our first stop was an abandoned lighthouse on top of the center of the island. By "top" I am implying "hill" of which I am therefore implying "exhausting" and "need to walk, not bike," to the top. It was a good first challenge, of which I can say with no shame that I was not prepared for. Plus, my bike began to act up and behave badly, as I had to work out a few chain slips before even getting to the really hard parts.

The lighthouse was really cool. We had to hop the fence to get in and walk around the broken down walls and buildings. We kind of set ourselves up to be freaked out the night before with all the ghost stories, but there's nothing quite like a jolt of fear to warm the body! This fearful moment came when we were snooping around the old living quarters and I noticed movement beyond the walls out of the corner of my eye - we quickly departed and noticed it was only other bikers. From there, we took to the bumpy and rocky roads beyond the lighthouse on the downhill portion of the island top. It was then that my bike decided to completely crap out on me. My chain became so discombobulated and twisted that I temporarily lost my "all is wonderful" composure and gave way to panic and disappointment. After 20 minutes and blackened grease covered fingers, we sorted it out and were back on our way. I of course decided to stay in one gear for the remainder of the day for fear of incident repeat, but I felt much better that way than having to walk next to my bike the rest of the day.

Our next fear inducing moment came when taking to some exhilarating downhills and speed racing on the island roads. As I braced to make a bold and daring pass, I was quickly alerted to the presence of a large, slow moving tractor on its way toward us. I had to curb the pass attempt and settle for surviving to see another hill - which was a bummer, because I was really looking forward to the look on Rebecca's face when I zoomed past her. Our next stop was the Fort overlooking the sea on another high part of the island. This fort allowed for visitors to experience the dizzying heights of the spectacular cliffs overlooking the Atlantic Ocean. On our way up to the top, we bumped into my parents on their way down. We received some stern warnings and caution from my Dad - so we knew that this was going to be awesome! Upon getting there ourselves, we were not disappointed - it was truly amazing. We ate some lunch (an apple) and enjoyed watching in awe as the apple cores plummeted off the side of the cliff, taking what seemed like a dozen seconds to reach the water below. Despite our curiosity and awe, we were struck with the fear of God laying on our bellies overlooking the waters too. I refused to take a picture for this fear was crippling - one wrong move and it was over. Amazing stuff to say the least. The green grass surrounding us was also just as beautiful and made for a nice place to lay down and ponder the mysteries of creation and just how awesome the Creator really is.

After taking all the beauty and majesty from around us in and scarfing down our candy bars during the descent, we were ready for more - feeling more alive and rejuvenated than ever before. The rest of the day seemed to glide by - not feeling too fast or slow, but just right. Towards the last portion of our day, feeling the soreness kicking in (my bike seat was rather hard) we took on what seemed to be more and more hills. And, riding in one gear for those hills was neither easy nor fun... But, alas, it was worth it when my eyes were struck with all the diverse and inspiring sights of the island - and getting to share all of those moments with two of my most treasured persons in my life was truly a blessing beyond comparison. Even the last challenges of the day - riding down a mile long hill to the edge of the island only to turn around and ascend it immediately - to the excruciatingly long steady incline along the coastline on the way back, which lasted an hour but felt like four - all of it was completely and without argument, worth it. The day spent on the island, riding our bikes, taking picture after picture and having time to personally reflect about and share how truly wonderful life really is - well, there is just no way of ever describing how well spent a day like that really is.

Forgettable Moments

Ok - back to Ireland. There were many unforgettable moments and memories during our weeklong trip of the Emerald Isle. Our expectations were high, and I can say that for the most part, the people and places of Ireland far surpassed what we expected - it was truly one of the best life experiences I've had in my 28 years. The local Irish people were just as friendly and welcoming as we expected - and we will not soon forget them. There were, however, a few conversations that were not so pleasant - quite forgettable in my opinion - and both of them were with Americans.


While waiting for our plane at the Dulles airport - not quite on Ireland soil yet, but definitely in vacation mode - we had a conversation with a woman I will refer to as "Chatty Cathy." My other travel companions may not remember nor think much of the Chatty Cathy incident, but I was quite perturbed. As we were waiting for our flight to Dublin at the Washington Dulles airport, Rebecca started quizzing us about the road signs in Ireland from the Rick Steves travel book. Enjoying our time together while in competition for sign knowledge supremacy, a woman sitting beside us quipped something about Ireland that got our attention. A brief and friendly conversation followed and we learned that they too were headed to Limerick to see their daughter who is attending the same college as Dave was. Ever the friendly ones, my Mom and Dad continued to respond to her questions cordially. I, on the other hand, would have rather continued to selfishly keep our circle of activity with fewer distractions from our fellow tourists, as I had just gotten used to being near my parents for the first time in months. It wouldn't have been an issue normally - I like making new friends and I have no problem chatting it up with strangers. What made this instance different was that this woman wouldn't shut up and seemed to lack a little thing I like to call "social tact." We weren't five minutes into meeting them that she was asking us what our travel agenda was and whether or not she could have my brothers' email address and phone number for her and her family to contact us. Luckily, my brother did not have a phone number and my Mom smartly deflected the email question. I really didn't think it was cool to be contact info swapping my brother's info with these people. I know I wouldn't want some random family or their daughter calling me up and being like, "oh hey, you don't know me, but our parents met at the airport..." Maybe I'm just being a grouch here, but she seemed a little too nosy and tactless for my tastes.


Then there was the now infamous interaction in Gus O'Connors pub in Doolin with the gentlemen from the Midwest. Their New Balance shoes alerted us that they were from the U.S.A. (Which, according to my brother, is how Irish people can tell who is American and who's not.) We were fortunate enough to avoid this distinction but instead were noted to be tourists just by glancing at my poor Dad who was quickly relegated to carrying all of my Mom's camera gear everywhere we went. Anyways, back to the low point of the entire trip - the conversation from hell. It's bad enough having this conversation in America, so to have it occur while in vacation mode when having the best time of your life is downright cruel.

It was a Sunday night, and we were settling into our spots for another evening of traditional Irish music and Guiness drinking. Sporting New Balance shoes and a Chicago Bears stocking hat we scanned to spot the ultimate gut punch - the Bears hat dude was in the company of Brett Favre Green Bay Packer jersey wearing guy! Our purple pride swelled in our hearts and we were suddenly transported into another dimension - Minnesota Viking territory. My Dad, Dave and I couldn't help but shake our heads in disgust. Out of all the people we would run into in Ireland, it had to be this guy. Like any good fan, the first instinct is to quickly evaluate how your team had matched up against the despised Packers - and the result was "not well." The very last game against them resulted in a 34-0 contest in their favor. If we decided to show our hand to him, it was not going to be fun - no, it would either end in a bar room brawl or...no, that's about right - there was only one way it would end. The solution? Avoid him at all costs - there was no winning this, so save your dignity. That was the plan that Dave and I had silently agreed upon - we were not going to engage with him - we were going to abide by the quote: "if you have nothing nice to say, don't say anything at all." Yes, we would lick our wounds and keep our tempers in tact by not giving this Cheesehead a chance. Then, before we knew it he was walking towards us and Dad was blurting out "VIKINGS RULE!" I kid you not, the old man just could not contain himself - he had unwittingly engaged us in a battle we knew was unwinnable.

As expected, this guy was unbearable. He quickly jumped all over my Dad - snidely laughing and tossing his comment aside before launching into his Brett Favre is God and Packer bandwagon schpiel faster than you can say Lambeau Field. My temper flared and my purple pride flashed lightning hot, but I had nothing to dish out this time - nothing to save face - our Vikings had just sustained the hardest of defeats at the hands of the Packers, the only insult I could manage was that they had dealt a cheap shot to our new prized player, Adrian Peterson. To describe his arrogance and lack of proper ettiquette (we just met him, it wasn't like he was a long-time friend) in speaking to us - ugh - it was downright terrible. He left us momentarily, to which Dave and I had 30 seconds to look at my Dad in disbelief before he returned and was apologizing - insincerely - for his words. I properly ignored him and let Dad do the talking, for he was afterall, the reason for him being around us in the first place. About the only redemption we had was when my Dad asked him "So, what do you do?" He paused and then responded awkwardly with nothing close to a decent response. Basically, it was deemed that he was at best "in between jobs" but most likely "a bum" whose only occupation was following the dream Packer football season and contributing nothing else to society but for advertising american football in Ireland. Harsh yes, but I don't think we could have crossed paths with anyone more agonizing. Yes, it was truly the low point of the week. He was ridiculously obnoxious and annoying - nuff said.

Aside from these interactions, our week was pain free. Well, pain free until we reached the Aran Islands bike adventure the next day...

To be continued!

Lesson Learned

I do plan on continuing my blogs about Ireland, but this incident with Rebecca is just too good to pass up. I'd like to say that this little mishap is right up there with one of the more comical arguments we've ever had. We are generally very successful when it comes to our marriage in the communication department but the miscommunication we experienced last week definitely kept us humble.

Here's some background you'll need to know before delving in: 1) I take the bus to work everyday. Rebecca either drops me off at the bus stop, or I drive myself and leave our car at the stop. If I drive and leave the car, that means Rebecca is riding her bike to work. If not, it means she is obviously dropping me off and taking the car to her work and picking me up again at the end of the day. 2) There are essentially 2 buses I take into work - either the 7:30 or the 8:15. We commonly refer to the first of these as "the early bus" for obvious reasons. On the way home I will most likely shoot for the 4:30 bus, for which I depart the office around 4:15 for. Occasionally I will have to take the 5:20 or the 5:30 pm bus home. I flex my time accordingly so that I will almost always take the 4:30 bus home, regardless of what time I get into the office in the morning. 3) Since my office is located close to downtown, Rebecca and I will occasionally eliminate the bus and she will pick me up at work in order to run errands or tend to something close to downtown rather than going home first.

Ok, now that you have the basic info down - here's what happened, blow by blow:

Last Friday morning, we woke up around 6 am and snoozed until around 6:30 am at which time the question of which bus I was taking was proposed. Knowing that I am superbly great at getting ready in a jiffy when I need to, I responded: "If we get moving now, I can take the early bus." We both hustled and were able to get out the door and on towards the bus stop, with Rebecca dropping me off. On the way to the bus, our conversation went something like this: "What time will you be ready to be picked up?" Rebecca asked. "My usual time - around 4:15," I responded, somewhat surprised (explanation will follow). "Ok, I'll pick you up at 4:15." Rebecca said. "See you then!" I responded. So, with that, I was out of the car and ready to catch the bus.

We did not email nor talk on the phone all day. When 4 pm rolled around, I began wrapping up but resisted the urge to go to the bus as I was getting specially picked up around 4:15. The questions that I was internally asking were: I wonder why Rebecca didn't tell me that she was taking off early today? Why hasn't she called me yet to tell me that she is on her way like she usually does? I tried to give the cell phone a call (of which we only have 1 to share between us, and I had given to her to take for the day as I figured she would need to call me on her way to pick me up.) No answer. Huh - weird. So I waited and waited and still saw no sign of her - so I returned to my office to try and call the cell phone again to see where she was at.

I got a hold of her around 4:25 pm. She answered and was flabbergasted as to why I was not on my way to the bus stop. I then learned that she had been waiting at the bus stop for me to arrive at 4:15. "I thought you were picking me up at work," I said. "I thought you were taking the early bus and getting here at 4:15," she said. And so began the argument of who screwed this one up the most as we were certainly not even close to being on the same page.

Her assumptions: She, for whatever reason, assumed that my statement at 6:30 am of "if we hustle I can take the early bus" meant that I was planning on taking an early bus HOME rather than to work. She also assumed that her question "What time will you be ready to be picked up" was received by me as it related to what time I would be ready to be picked up at the bus stop, not at work.

My assumptions: I assumed that her statement "I'll pick you up" meant that she was going to pick me up at work rather than having me take the bus home. I had assumed that she had some reasons of which were not completely relayed to me as to why it was her plan to pick me up at work, rather than the bus. We had thrown around some talk earlier in the week as to doing so but nothing was ever finalized. I also assumed that her question as to what time I'd be ready to be picked up was in relation to what time I was officially done for the day, which was 4:15pm - when I would normally make my way to the bus stop to catch the 4:30 home.

Her blunder(s): She does not know the bus schedule at all, so she had no way of knowing that there was no bus that dropped me off at the stop at 4:15 pm. She also didn't ask why I had left her the cell phone for the day, when I usually take it with me when taking the bus home.

My blunder(s): I never bothered to ask her why she was taking off early to pick me up at work that day. I also didn't think to double check during the day as I usually do when she picks me up at work.

So, our entire miscommunication could have been avoided had we not made several key assumptions. Why she thought I was referring to my afternoon departure as the "early bus" when we have never referred to any afternoon bus as "the early one" is still a mystery to both of us as we've only attributed the morning bus as such in the past. I also told her that my mind processed "I'll pick you up" as odd and therefore automatically deciphered it to mean that she was going to pick me up at work - because I was like "DUH" of course you'll pick me up - how else would I get home?! She argued that there was no reason for her to pick me up downtown - so why did I think that was the case? I, again, was guilty on that because I was under the thinking that she had her reasons and I didn't need to know why - I was also just happy to know that I was getting picked up, rather than taking the bus home. I could go on and on how this heated but hysterical conversation played out once we realized that we were BOTH at fault and had made one too many assumptions that led to our set-back. In the end though, there was no love lost as we laughed it off and chalked it up as a learning experience in our communication together.

Remember: "Don't ASSUME - you'll end up making an A** out of "U" and ME. " Lesson learned.

My First Flight Overseas - Day 1

Back and refreshed from my first overseas adventure, I realize that I cannot put off my beloved blog anymore. I will share with you a fraction of my experience in Ireland in this entry and hopefully much more of the trip after it. But before I can share of my wisdom gleaned and joy from Ireland, I must do my best to share with you my first learning that occurred before we ever stepped on Irish soil.

Generally speaking, I am a positive thinker - I can say with sincerity that I am a "glass is half full" kind of person. However, when I travel by air, I turn into a much different person - I am about as pessimistic and uptight as they come. I am a Class A “Worry-Wort,” constantly anxious about all those things that could go wrong. My wife, thankfully, is the opposite and can handle airports and all the challenges like a seasoned pro. At the same time, this strength of hers makes my weakness quite apparent and this trip truly exposed me for who I really am when it comes to traveling the skies. So, here is my confession - a glimpse into my mind just two weeks ago on the day of my first international flight to Ireland.

Our flight was set to depart Washington Dulles airport at 7:15 pm on Wednesday, November 14th. We were meeting my parents at the check-in counter for Aer Lingus (who flew to Dulles from Minneapolis earlier that day.) I took the day off to finish the last minute details - like looking for new shoes because the word from my brother in Ireland was that New Balance shoes were not a good idea for footwear while in the land of green. This tip caused a temporary rage the night before our departure as both Rebecca and I owned New Balance shoes - and I was crestfallen to learn that my favorite sneakers wouldn't be making the trip with me. So, after finding a new pair of Sketchers, we were set to head for Washington DC Dulles International Airport. I of course, did not want to take any chances, so we left promptly at 1 pm to avoid all of the unforseen problems that would surely derail us.

One minor traffic slowdown did affect our time, however, we arrived close to our destination in excellent time. By "close" I refer to the site of my first nervous breakdown, when the curse of DC loomed overhead and I was sure we were going to get lost trying to find the hotel we were leaving our car at. One wrong turn and a small verbal outburst later, we were at the hotel with plenty of time to spare. I was a bit wound up and my wife was already trying to coach me back to cool, calm and collected - but we both knew that it was only going to get worse by the time we reached the airport. Checking in to the hotel and arranging the shuttle went over relatively well, not smooth enough to calm me down, but well enough that we were on the van towards the airport in less than 15 minutes.

We arrived and began searching for my parents near the Aer Lingus check in counter. It took us a few minutes to locate, and it seemed every employee we asked was useless - but, alas, we met up and were ready to take on the rest of the airport in no time at all. I was able to communicate my unease to my parents, who sympathized because they were feeling the same way - so I knew where I had gotten this condition from.

Everything went smoothly from check-in until security, which was about 15 minutes. I was a bit unnerved because Rebecca and I realized the night before that her passport was in her maiden name but our tickets were in her married name. We were told that having the original marriage license with us would allow us entrance through everything. Somehow no one even noticed through all the checkpoints, so I was at ease about that at least. By the time we reached the biggest challenge of all – airport security – I was feeling better. I knew that there was the possibility of being searched and all that, but being that we were well ahead of schedule and the ridiculously long lines went quickly, I was okay.

My Dad and I took what appeared to be a shorter line while my Mom and Rebecca went to another line. The race was on. As we went through, I heard and saw airport security aka “them” talking about my bag and then saw them take it off for a closer look. I was not worried, it was probably an empty water bottle or something. I looked across and saw that we were way ahead of the ladies – which felt good. Next thing I know, I am putting my shoes back on and picking up my things. And then I hear this: “Hey, call the supervisor!” from one of “them.” My bag had made it through okay, but to my horror, Dad’s had not.

We stood and observed the supervisor arrive and get approached by one of them. Then, not knowing what was happening, the supervisor was showing my Dad a sizeable knife and asking if it belonged to him. I cannot describe the shocked disbelief we both displayed at that moment. I remember groaning, “Dad? What the - ?” and thinking that surely someone had planted this thing in his luggage. My Dad would never let such an item into his bag intentionally. This could only be the result of some cruel joke or terrorist subplot…and then something dawned on me as we both stared dumbly at the 5 inch blade and waved off any desire to mail it home – this carry-on belonged to my mother, and my dad was simply carrying it for her. Case closed – my mom was the culprit – and she was going to hear about it. Later, talking to my Dad, he clued me to his thinking at that moment – which, of course, was on par with my own: “I thought I was done for – interrogation room, here I come. I thought I might as well forget about Ireland.”

Despite all this, we still made it through security ahead of the ladies – but, because of our utter humiliation and numbness to the knife incident, we took our time putting our things back together. Upon reuniting with them, we wasted no time describing the crime that had taken place and that we were blaming it entirely on my mom for ever happening in the first place. Her response? “So THAT’S where my pearing knife was!” Ahh yes – she had been using the luggage previously to travel by car and had simply not thought to empty it out completely before using it for an overseas destination. Oddly enough, the knife made it past airport security in Minneapolis, making us all shake our heads in disturbance.

I was able loosen up after that, the strangeness of that incident had us all laughing to relieve the terror and tension it had caused. There was still of course the strain of catching connections and wondering about our checked luggage still ahead, but making that first flight to Dublin was the biggie by far. I was pleasantly surprised to discover the long flight would not be restless and boring by any means – and much to my wife’s disdain, my 1000 page book in the carry on luggage was probably not needed after all, for we were greeted with personalized screens on the seats in front of us containing loads of cinematic, television and miscellaneous selections to entertain from beginning to end. Once airborne, I could finally relax for the first time – and I felt my glass looking half full once again.

Sea Sick Sunk

There are certain experiences that happen in life that are joyful, exciting, exhilirating and downright amazing that you can't help but want them to happen over and over again because they are just that special. There are other experiences of such misery and pain that you wish had never happened in the first place - but you learned a great deal from it anyway. I wish my experience on Tuesday was the first one - but, it is most definitely not.

For the third straight year I went fishing on Election Day with a fellow church member and friend who rents out a charter fishing boat in the Chesapeake Bay for a group of 5-10 people to catch Rockfish Striper. Rebecca joined us for the second straight year, and I was looking forward to getting on the sea and taking in a nice catch of fish. I've never left disappointed before, so I didn't have any reason to doubt this year would be any different. The last two years the weather has been quite nice for a half day's worth of fishin' - cloudy the first year and sunny last year - but this year was unlike either of those. It was windy, rainy and the Bay was a rockin'. The ride out to the spot of Captain Billy's choice was rough - but that big and powerful boat had no problems crashing through the choppy conditions - and we even caught the blood red sunrise.

While on our way, I started to feel weird inside. My body felt weak, like I needed something to eat. I ate the blueberry muffin Rebecca bought at the "Little Sue" convenience store on the way down. It wasn't terrible - kind of messy. Then, I started to feel something coming on and it was not a good feeling. I started to gaze at the horizon, for that was all I knew what to do to combat seasickness. Then, we reached our destination and like a wave catching up to the boat, it all slammed into me and I felt completely miserable - I was definitely sea sick. I wanted fresh air badly but I didn't want to look like a wuss - so I waited it out. The 12 year old kid named Josh who had come along broke the silence with a groan that indicated I wasn't the only one in trouble. Captain Billy sprung to action and instructed him to get out of the cabin immediately. I followed behind. Josh, faired a bit worse than I - he was bent over the railing and sending chum into the sea pretty quickly. I on the other hand, did not feel well, but did not have the urge to vomit either. I was woozy - very, very woozy. I gave it a go though, I was there to fish dang it. I got going, but I was not well - Rebecca could see it all over my face. I stared out at the horizon, which only came into view every other second or so as the boat rode the waves up and down, up and down - the conditions were not great to say the least. I was determined to catch some fish and will my body back to good health - I was not puking and I was not quitting. It was going to be a long day - but I was leaving here with some fish.

My determination helped me through the first hour. I caught several fish and was feeling decent enough. Then I just felt my legs shaking - I knew I needed to sit and take a break. Josh was sound asleep by this time - and I wanted to shove him aside so I could get a quick nap in too. I had slept terrible the night before - off and on throughout the whole night. I was tired. Then I noticed Rebecca had taken a break too and was not looking the greatest either. We both managed to lay down and shut our eyes. After about twenty to thirty minutes, I roused myself and went back to fishing, feeling much better - not 100% - but better. I caught some more fish and was starting to have some fun again. Then the wind shifted and we started to get slammed again - the waves got higher and higher around us and we were up and down with even more tenacity than before. I hung tight this time though - I kept my gaze focussed straight ahead and did not falter. I held strong - my legs provided a solid base under me and I kept right on fishing with no problems. Then, through no fault of my own, my pole malfunctioned and I needed to fix it before continuing on. Big mistake.

I broke my gaze and focussed on the problem with my pole - I tried untangling it and had a little success doing so. I was getting close to totally fixing it and returning to fishing when my body gave out again - the sickness returned stronger than ever and I needed to lay down - immediately. I was so disappointed - I was doing so well despite the worsening weather conditions, but I could not stay on my feet any longer - I was closer than ever to losing that muffin all over myself. The throw-up feeling subsided but I was done fishing for the day. Misery had fully consumed me and all I could do was pray that we would leave soon. Rebecca managed to recover nicely and catch the biggest fish of the day - I was proud of her, but not strong enough to even glance at the thing - I was done for. My prayers were soon answered, and Captain Billy pulled up the anchor and set our course for calmer waters - we were headed to shore. I was happy - but not thrilled for that meant I was headed back into the boat's enclosed cabin for another twenty minutes - the conditions were too stormy and dangerous outside. I summoned up the last bit of strengthI had and saddled up in the cabin for the ride home. I just put my head down and tried to sleep - but my head just flailed around with each thump of the boat - it was not my idea of a relaxing ride.

We made it back and I was excited to be on land again - still quite sick, but I didn't throw up and I was not bouncing on the Bay's waves any longer - which felt good. As I slowly returned to normal, the Lord hit me with some great learning and realizations. It's a blessing and a curse to always be on the lookout for learning in life situations - especially the miserable ones, because you always learn from those. I learned first hand how important it is to look ahead and keep your focus on what is steady rather than what is shifting. I learned that no matter what the problem is - to not let myself get fully consumed by it or I'll lose more than I bargained for. I learned that despite our determination, sometimes things are out of our control and you just have to do your best to stick it out - taking time to assess yourself and do what is right for you, no matter what. I also realized how amazing that story from the Bible is about Jesus walking on the water and inviting Peter to join him - if the waves were anything like they were on Tuesday - I now have even greater appreciation for this powerful miracle and what it must have been like for Peter to get out of the boat - wow - awesome. That is the kind of faith I want - and I found myself learning the same lesson Peter did - never take your eyes off that which is steady and solid or you'll let your problems sink you. And even when you've been sunk - help is just a prayer away.

Shake it Up

So much of life is spent in the trenches of normal, everyday routines like working, driving, eating, sleeping - you get the idea. I happen to be someone that appreciates the weird, different and strange things in life - experiences or circumstances that may be uncomfortable, challenging or just downright odd. I have been feeling that itch again - that yearning to branch out, spread my wings and dare to do the different and shake things up a bit. Our trip to Ireland in two weeks is sure to satisfy this yearning for the unusual, as I will be experiencing my first Trans-Atlantic flight and international destination. I can't wait to see things for the first time and soak up an entirely new culture - and doing so along with my parents, Rebecca and younger brother Dave. It's going to be awesome.

A resume of "weird" for you to ponder - here's a sample of my history of shaking it up. I think my first memory of desiring something different (I'm sure my parents could think of several more before this) was when I decided that I wanted to have my haircut include shaved lines. I instructed my hair stylist/cutter to add lines to the side of my head - and, ever daring to one-up each of my visits, more and more designs were done. I continued this one-upmanship habit well into high school and college. I loved to dress up and push the envelope of personal humiliation - all to lighten the mood. Some of my favorite costumes have included breaking out the tights and suiting up as Robin (Batman's sidekick), an 80's Rocker, Superman at camp - and one of my all-time most memorable dress up experiences was in my Senior Year of high school when Ben and I went to school as an Olympic pair of Women's Beach Volleyball players - spandex, sports bras and all - it was an utter gem during the Olympic themed Sno-Daze week. The reactions of repulsion and laughter have all been well worth it - mixing up the norm, creating the ultimate in creativity with each year, and enjoying every minute of the craziness. I've tried my best to not let myself get too comfortable with any one costume or character. Free time with friends was often spent creating voices, weird characters to play out in public and of course - the physical slapstick comedic bits of smacking your face into a door, tripping and falling in front of a crowd of people or singing and speaking gibberish in a cramped elevator - all to see how far we could go without breaking character and busting a gut in laughter. Those years have a special place in my heart and the friendships that encouraged that behavior are still dear to me. I know that when around certain old friends, those desires return and anything could happen - it's living life nowhere near the norm. I love it.

I must say that now, even though older, wiser and somewhat more mature, I still have these inclinations and have no problems acting on them every once in awhile. Take Halloween for example - I cannot NOT dress up for Halloween. It's too easy - the nation recognizes and excuses people for looking ridiculous - come on, you gotta take that up and run with it. But, like all things - it's more fun to break out of the norm when it's not expected. I think that's one of the main reasons I've never been a big alcoholic drinker - it's certainly not expected to do these things sober. It makes it much funnier, in my opinion, when you know you are in the right mind and your "witnesses" know as well - nothing can be justified - you're completely responsible for looking like an idiot or acting foolishly - and it adds so much more fun to the mix. I am so blessed to share a marriage with such a similar goofball as me - we know how to keep things in perspective and make each other laugh without needing much to loosen up. I like being able to break out and make a fool of myself every now and then and not be penalized when I "tell the wife." She keeps us balanced by being the more normal of the two of us, yes, but doesn't flinch when I "have my moments" either - well, not too much anyway. How much greater is life enhanced when we can be ourselves with those we love and spend time with!

Where exactly am I going with this? Not sure really - just felt the need to mix it up and reminisce and reflect on the importance of being silly, light-hearted and risky from time to time. Life can be too boring if we let it grind on day after day without throwing in a curve ball and seeing what happens when we try something new. I realize that not everyone is going to start running into doors and breaking out into gibberish in elevators in order to mix it up, but I do hope that whatever it is that helps you to break free for a little while and dare to be different, that you do it. Why not? Whether it's trying out for a local theater production, traveling to new places, tasting a new food, going to a comedy club, taking off your shirt and flexing your non-existent muscles at the gym, messing with the fast food drive through person, prank calling a friend, deliberately scaring yourself - whatever, I say go for it. Doing the radical, rebellious and just plain different can be fun, inspiring and incredibly freeing and there is no time like the present to feel more alive.

"Only those who risk going too far can possibly know how far they can really go."

I'm With Stupid

My friend Matt stated recently: "what a difference a week makes..." - and oh, how right he is. This past week has definitely had its share of ups and downs for the country as a whole and on an individual level: wildifires in California destroying homes and changing lives forever, the drought in Virginia and other parts of the Eastern U.S. reaching record breaking length, the collapse of the Cleveland Indians at the hands of the Bo-sox, learning more about Albus Dumbledore than I expected (doesn't change anything though!), and the non-news worthy but still mildly traumatic personal blunder of mine from last Friday - to which I am writing about and sharing with you now.

You see, I truly got a personal taste of my most recent post about "facing the stairs" of life, conquering challenge and peservering through the trials when I left for home last Friday. I was still feeling pretty good about my week's work and riding the highs of my stair mastery I was reflecting about from the entry when "it happened." I am still recovering so this may get kind of emotional - bear with me. I lost my new friend - my close personal electronic "historian," the "Jump drive" (also known as a "Flash drive.") This miracle device had been with me for almost a year - I've been saving just about everything to it - my writing mostly, but also pictures and other miscellaneous bits of information that I felt necessary to have in case I needed it. I brought it with me everyday to work, and the amount of info on it is still unknown to me as I am still trying to grapple with its unexpected departure. Here's what happened:

I was running a little behind on getting out of the office last Friday - saving my recent blog entry so that I could have a back-up copy on the jump drive, oh the irony - and I needed to walk to my bus, which was usually a 15 to 20 minute commute by foot. I stood to leave, remembered to grab my jump drive still in my computer (it's cute little end still lit up in green) and then made the worst possible decision I have made in a long time. I placed it in my left front pants pocket. I remembered thinking, "I should just place it in my bag like I normally do so I don't forget where it is," but I instead convinced myself to leave it there, and move it to my bag on the way to the bus. I must also add that I COULD have placed it around my neck, as that is why there is a lanyard attached, but noooo - I decided to leave it in my pocket.

So, I leave the office, go up the stairs, walk about 50 steps through the Commons, where there were maybe 10 people total milling around (it was fall break last Thursday and Friday), out the doors and down the street maybe about a half block when a dreadful feeling hit me square in the chest - something was missing. I felt for my jump drive in my pocket - gone! What?! How could this hap - oh, yeah, I had a HUGE hole in that pocket! IDIOT! So I tossed the contents out of my bag on the spot, rooted through my jacket and made a bee-line back the way I had just came, scanning the ground for signs of it. Nothing. I get back in the building - a mere minute or two had elapsed and started frantically searching for it. Nothing. I then searched the stairs, the hallway leading back to the office and the office itself. Still nothing. How could this happen? What was I thinking? How could I be so STUPID?!?! I prayed that maybe I had just left it in the computer or it had fallen out in the office and the cleaning lady took it by accident. Nope - I checked everywhere, asked everyone, and turned the Commons upside down in search of this precious piece of me and my brief history this past year since owning it. In the end, with all the help of some student workers of mine - I still came up empty handed. It had dropped unknowingly through the hole in my pocket during those 50 steps through the Commons and into the lap of a thief who selfishly pocketed it and didn't think twice. Gone. Two minutes had elapsed, I made one awful decision and it's all gone. Never to return. I still am not over this. I feel so miserable for losing that thing - everything on there is irreplaceable - it was like someone reached into me and stole a part of my soul. Well, maybe that is a tad exaggerated, but you get the idea. That little device carried the mind and heart of me if even in a small way through my writing, my pictures etc, and I only hope that I had a majority of it saved and backed up somewhere else. Lesson learned.

It has almost been one week and I am still reeling from this loss. I continue to look for it when I re-trace my steps over and over again, always walking the same path to and from the bus stop. I had hoped maybe it was returned over the weekend and that whoever had it had a change of heart. I try to lighten up and "get over it" and just laugh - but, the truth is, I am just not there yet. Sometimes yes, but man alive, that wound is still fresh! I was quite upset after it happened last week. I walked with my head down, completely defeated and broken to the bus last Friday (cue the Charlie Brown sad music), tears welling up and anger boiling inside. I still can't believe my utter stupidity has cost me so much and has left me still deeply affected and upset. It has helped hearing similar stories from others who have lost or broken similar treasures - misery does love company. But, I feel like some of the magic is gone and the repercussions of this are only going to instensify as the weeks go on and I learn more of what I lost. I have been violated by a crime brought on by my own doing, so as much as I want to put it all on the jerk who pocketed it, I can't help but beat myself up for screwing up in the first place. In summary - this SUCKS! I am but a man with weaknesses and failures afterall - hopefully I will see good come of this. And that's all I can do at this point. Grieve yes, but overcome it - face the stairs and just suck it up and learn from my mistakes and keep moving forward. I hope you all can hold me to that. I know I needed to get this off my chest so thanks for sticking it out and letting me express myself! I will forgive myself eventually and be the better man for it, but for those of you out there who know this feeling - I still need some time.

I can't end on a downer - yesterday and today it's raining for the first time in over a month! Things are looking up aleady right?

Facing the Stairs

I struggled this week to write something for my weekly post, and I strongly considered just skipping it and waiting till next week. Then, upon viewing a picture or two that I recently uploaded online, I realized that it is in times like these that I need to write - when motivation and creativity is low and I find each step a slow and awkward one.

Needing a change to spice things up a bit, I changed around my blog photos and content. Looking for a new Title photo, I stumbled across this one and a rush of memories and ideas came to mind in an instant. I took this picture this past summer during a camping trip over Memorial Day Weekend with some friends. You see, these stairs tell me a story and I wanted a picture of it to serve as a motivator, reminder and encouragement for times such as these - when the road ahead is long and uncertain, and most likely very difficult. I was training for a 10k all-terrain race in June, and I decided to take a run first thing in the morning at our campground. It felt great to be running through a new place and I was eager to see what was around each new corner and path. Then, I hit these massive steps going down - way down. I paused and took it all in before bounding off towards the bottom and running along the beach. I knew I was going to be running back up in only a matter of a few minutes - and instead of dreading it - I was excited to conquer it all the way to the top.

And I did just that. I ran up that sucker - one step at a time - and it was every bit as hard as I thought it was going to be. I knew that this was such a blessing to be able to train on for my race, and when I wanted to quit and suck wind, I just kept going, no matter how slow it felt like. I had to use the rails at one point, but I can tell you that I conquered that mother of all staircases, and it felt amazing. The joy inside when continuing on with it behind me was so intense, I was so proud of myself, and pleased with myself for choosing to do it when I was only half-way to finishing. Again, I knew that it would come in handy in a few weeks time when I was running for real in the James River Scramble 10k.

Thick with possible analogies, the photo was a must-have. I knew that by merely glancing at this picture, I would be reminded of the sweat, pain and effort that I put in that day, and the rewards that followed. Sitting here, knowing that the road ahead is just as uncertain and challenging, I must keep in mind that we are all running this race called life, and each person's race is their own, and the competition is not to finish ahead of everyone else but rather, to share the road and spur each other on to run their best race possible. Regardless of skill, we're all in this thing together, and we all need a boost now and then. Some days, I am a track star and feel like I could go forever, and other days, I am dragging my feet and ready to sprawl out on a bench and quit. The rewards of new paths, scenery, "running" companions and self-improvement far outweigh any quitting bench I could ever find - and having others around me to hold me accountable to this fact is essential to finishing with no regrets. So, I hope that this can serve as my way of spurring you on to keep moving forward, no matter what, and that when necessary, you may return the favor for your fellow running companions facing the stairs or nearing the finish line.

Trust me, the rewards are worth every step.

"When I Grow Up..."

As I walked into work today, I reflected on growing up and my previous proclamation of the classic line: "When I grow up, I'm gonna be a..." When I was a wee lad, I think I had aspirations of being G.I. Joe or something equivalent to the adventures of the G.I. Joe world of hovercrafts and attack snowmobiles. Then during my middler years, my friends and I fantasized of being a big, studly football players, either for the Cleveland Browns or the Raiders (I think we got hooked on AFC teams because they were A) not in direct competition with the Vikings and B) located in glamorous cities like Cleveland and Los Angeles.) I remember we would play for hours in my front yard, pretending to be sports stars living the high life of (this is where it gets kind of weird) riding attack bikes with rockets and heatseeking missiles, and then returning from a day of winning games and hi-tech bike riding to our football cheerleader wives. As I reached high school, the dream changed from being a football legend to being a comic one, starring on Saturday Night Live and making the world laugh from my crazy on-stage and camera antics. (Pausing for reflection)

During college, I drifted into the world of filmmaking and pursuing a career writing, directing and starring in movies. I majored in Speech Communications and Film and felt very comfortable and gifted in the creative aspects of this career path. I also found a niche and passion for ministry while working as a counselor at a bible camp, and soon I was dreaming of combining both my film talents with my love for Jesus and youth ministry. Ahh yes, the options seemed so wonderful and wide-open, the dreamer in me continued to flourish and plan ahead for all of the amazing, world changing things I was going to do once I leapt out of college and into the real world. So, when I reached this "real world" as we all like to call it, it was quite the eye-opener when my idea bubble burst and I was scrambling to truly find where I fit in the overall scheme of life and whether or not I was going to be qualified enough to make it.

I realize that this is turning into more of a biography rather than a blog entry - so let me get to my point before the nostalgia really hits. Sitting at my desk, working as the Student Organization Coordinator at VCU is a great "job" - but definitely a far cry from the things listed above. Being a coordinator doesn't exactly equal the excitement of the hi-tech nuclear powered bikes and football playing days that I had envisioned when I was 10. Now, it doesn't mean that my work is not meaningful or that I actually long for those previous things, but I definitely still yearn for the spirit and dreamer mentality that surrounded those earlier years. To quote a favorite "Switchfoot" song: "We were meant to live for so much more...have we lost ourselves?"

This sums it up for me quite well. I don't want to lose the ability to dream and go after things that seem crazy impossible or world-changing like I once was so good at doing - perhaps too good at doing. I am earnestly trying to meet the needs of my employer yes, but I am also keeping my mind excited for the other opportunities that are yet to be grasped. I hope that you, my readers, are doing the same - for many of you have helped shape who and where I am as a "worker bee" in this large and complex hive we call "the real world." You all are in similar states of mind and deal with the same hardships as we all encounter. I hope that no matter what situation we all find ourselves in during our working years, that we would all happily proclaim that "when we grow up (which may or may not completely happen for some of us) we want to be many things, but above all and through it all, our focus is to be givers, lovers (no giggling) and changers to others in hopes to leave this world a better place than when we found it.

Lunch break is over, time to go back to work.

The Bandwagon of Truth

The last couple of years I have made some drastic changes in the way I look at my role in consumerism and stewardship. I have jumped on the environmental bandwagon and begun taking action surrounding global warming and how to save the planet. The documentary "An Inconvenient Truth" was the straw that broke the camel's back for Rebecca and I, and since then, we have not turned back.

Being an environmental geek has opened up new areas of needed improvement for our life as consumers in this age. We've done a good job of avoiding plastic and recycling at every opportunity, we compost and use the car as little as possible. I feel we are good stewards of the earth, and our hearts are in the right place as we continue to look for ways to better ourselves for the sake of bettering the world's health and efficiency. So, when it came to changing our eating habits, I had no problem with that. After all, I can't stay in optimal physical health without proper nutrition (cue the flexing of my muscles and sucking in of my gut.) I really haven't noticed or been bothered by not eating enriched flours, hydrogenated oils or occasionally substituting Splenda for sugar (although Rebecca can tell the difference instantly.) I have not gone completely overboard either, as I still enjoy a temporary chocolate binge and ice cream sandwich. I have just taken on a much more mindful approach to what I am putting into my body. So, as you can probably imagine, we did not stray from looking into Organic options and how to avoid too much dependency on chemically altered foods and products. I had no idea just how deep the Organic rabbit hole was, and now I find myself really in for some major overhauls in lifestyle. Let me explain...

My wife and I were given a book titled: "Grub: ideas for an urban organic kitchen" about a month ago from our dear sister Christine, who lives in Portland, Oregon - one of the most eco-friendly places in the United States that we've ever visited. This book has absolutely rocked our minds - we are continually being astonished by the hidden world of food that we simply had no knowledge of before now. We of course had our suspicions, yes, but hearing how we get our food and what shady practices are actually going on behind the scenes is really, really disturbing. I will not name any of them here, but you really should check it out for yourself and get informed. I used to think that eating organic was for uber-obsessed control freaks or hippies, but I am definitely changing my tune. It's smart, environmentally helpful and natural - and is definitely going to be much, much healthier in the long run. The fact that we are so dependent on chemicals and mass food production is sickening to me - some of the food we are eating probably isn't even "food" by the time it gets to us, it has been so tampered with to increase shelf-life and taste that there is very little actual food content present. I freaked myself out the other day when I read the ingredients on my package of peanut butter crackers. I was laughing and crying (not literally) as I fearfully gulped them down because of the extensive list. I have only been checking ingredients this past year or so, but mostly just looking for a specific ingredient and then discarding the item if I saw it. But now, I am really disturbed by what "food" manufacturers are really up to when they are working on feeding the masses - do they really care about my health, or is the sale what really counts?

I'll get off my platform for now, but I just wanted to get it out there that I have no shame in admitting that I'm buying my tickets for the Organic bandwagon. I am thankful for learning this now and being able to continue the investigation before it's too late. I also realize how difficult it is to make any change, let alone something of this magnitude, but "small changes over time make a big difference." I'm trying - it's all any of us can do...

The (Rest) Room of Requirement

Two posts in one week?! Yes, my loyal readers, I feel you deserve another after my recent blog break - it's the least I can do. Besides, I know the torture of a cliffhanger ending - and being that I am wanting to move on from the bathroom/humiliating sea tick topics, I will give you the gritty details regarding the time an outhouse rescued me from certain death. Well, maybe not death, but it sounded better than "extreme embarassment."

Let's set the scene for you, shall I? It was the year 2000 (insert the Conan O'Brien dude singing "in the year 2000" in that hilarious tenor pitch) and Rebecca had invited me to join her and her family on a fishing trip to an island resort in Canada. I had accepted and we set off in our new love to share our first vacation together as a couple. I was a tad wary at first because I had just started dating her during the summer, and despite meeting them once, I still felt kind of like an intruder into her "family time." I was also a wee bit terrified of Mr. Doidge, as I was dating his eldest daughter and now coming along with her for a week in a secluded cabin and his domain...the fishing boat. I never felt more of a need to impress. I was afterall, completely in love with his daughter and wanted nothing more than to "pass the test" of possibity of being his future son-in-law right off the bat.

Then I learned that not only would I be coming along with Mom, Dad and her two sisters, but grandma and grandpa were coming too! Realizing I had probably bitten off more than I could chew this early on in the relationship, I began to get in the zone. The "zone" I speak of, which many of you guys will know of, is the "I need to be on my "A" game from here on out" zone. I am preparing myself for having the best week of my life as a man - exercising proper dinner table etiquette, remembering names, thinking before speaking, not being too funny but not being boring either and of course, not farting, belching or doing anything otherwise embarassing or negatively memorable during this weeklong first impression with the most important people in my sweetheart's life. In short, it was game time and I was excited but ridiculously nervous and uncertain of what lay ahead.

I passed the first tests with flying colors in my opinion - not showing the slightest bit of physical attraction or disappointment when told that I was to be sharing a motel room the first night with Rebecca and her parents. I enthusiastically accepted the cot and would have been just as thrilled to sleep in the bathtub if that was what was asked of me. Upon arriving at the cabin on the Spruce Island, I also was adamant that I sleep on the cot provided, and preferrably as far away from everyone else as possible. Any indication that I had some extracurricular activity in mind would have been the nail in the coffin. I was prefectly content with my placement in sleeping arrangements.

So, you can imagine that I was feeling pretty good about my progress so far with the Doidge's and lack of incidents. I did encounter a slight demoralizing setback the first trip out on the boat though, that nearly cost me everything. Feeling very inadequate as a fisherman, I tried to follow protocol and do nothing without supervision on John's boat - I was a servant and I would do as told without ruffling feathers. I wanted to have fun, don't get me wrong, but I wanted to avoid screwing up at all costs. So, causing him to cut off one of his fishing lures and tackle set-ups because I got snagged on something at the bottom of the lake was not my idea of scoring points with "da man." I sulked and tried to hold back the tears of disappointment and shame. Then, at the support of my wife and her sisters, I pulled myself back together and was determined to get those points back by the end the week. I was ready for a comeback.

Returning to the crammed cabin, we settled down for dinner. Again, I was an all-star and was feeling the momentum shifting in my direction once again. As things were calming down after dinner, I decided to slip upstairs to visit the bathroom for some much needed "tension release." Upon entering, my heart sank and fear crippled my body faster than spotting a sea tick lodged in my family jewels. It was a long, narrow facility with a sink, a shower and a toilet. The lighting was good, there was a window - so air flow was good, but the security and privacy was definitely going to be a major issue. The toilet was directly next to the door. And the door was ultra lightweight with an enormous opening at the bottom. Again, great for air flow purposes. But what I was feeling inside was not going to be quiet, and this door offered me zero comfort and confidence in its ability to contain what was surely about to erupt once I sat down at that seat. I panicked, but there was really no other options. I had to do what I had to do, there was no escaping. I sat down and thought about turning on the water...too obvious. I was just going to have to ease it out and muffle as best as I could. It was terrible. I think it was up there with one of the worst tension releasing sessions I have ever experienced. I was so focussed on what I heard out in the cabin and waiting for just the right time to unleash the tension - I really don't think I got much accomplished. Anytime I made any type of squeak, I felt like I was finished - I would walk out of the door and see everyone avert their eyes from my direction, holding their breath and hiding their awkwardness. I did my best to not take too much time and still do what I could, but it was hopeless. The anger and desperation was welling up inside of me. Who puts the toilet right next to the door? Who leaves such a gap at the bottom of the door? What in the world is this door made of and why did they feel it necessary to use it on the bathroom? It was not a good feeling, inside and out. I left the bathroom defeated - the wind was out of my sails, but not out of where I needed it to be out of most.

The next day while taking a walk alone to the main lodge to call my parents and give them an update, I was literally praying that God would give me another option. Almost as if I had entered the world of Harry Potter, there appeared my room of requirement. Barely able to contain my excitement, I ventured over for a closer look. And there, to my delight, I discovered an outhouse back off the beaten paths of the island. Not wasting any time to break it in, I saddled up and was met by all the comforts of home - privacy, plenty of TP and even a magazine rack. The best part of all - no worry of plugging it up, being too loud or stinking up the cabin - I was free!! From that moment on I took a daily walk to "call my parents." I don't remember if I ever did earn those points back that week, but I surely didn't lose anymore. I can also tell you that as the week progressed I fell more in love with Rebecca and a couple of new loves were also born - for the Doidge's and of course, the life-saving outhouse.

Home Field Advantage

There is simply no way to top my last entry. So, in case you're thinking I've gotten myself into something worse since then, think again. On a completely different topic, but similar note, I have been meaning to write about some odd behavior when it comes to a certain thing I must do on a consistent basis.

There is something to be said about home field advantage for sports teams. The worst of teams can sometimes annihilate another team better than them on their home turf. There is just something in the air - and with the backing of their supportive fans, it is always nice to be at home, in a place comfortable and well known. I would like to state that this is true for me as well - I always prefer my home toilet vs. visitors' toilets...

You see, like most of the country I suppose, I am not wild about public restrooms. I feared going to the bathroom during elementary school. I only went number one, if I could help it, during middle and high school. I always did my best to hold it in until I could get to my home territory. Then in college, I had to share one bathroom with the whole floor. I didn't have any choices then, and for some odd reason, I didn't mind having some company. Guys were stall buddies all the time - chatting away while taking care of business. I of course, preferred my privacy, but since I got along so well with others, it wasn't a big deal when the privacy was interrupted. Since college however, I have discovered that I can no longer hold it in as I did so well growing up, and I am back to preferring total solitude when visiting the restroom.

Not only do I prefer solitude, but there are some other conditions that MUST be met in order for me to take care of business. I will outline my strategy and then describe my plan of action. First, I determine the immediacy of the situation and I decide which location to visit: my primary, secondary, tertiary or last resort option. The judgment criteria for the locations are as follows: cleanliness, air flow, lighting, TP quality, stall space, likelihood of neighbors, smell, security and distance from my office. Here is a breakdown of location descriptions so you know what kind of things I've already established:

Primary choice: I will walk up two flights of stairs to the restroom directly above my office. It gets an "A" for cleanliness, air flow, lighting, stall space, smell, security and distance from my office. There are only two stalls so the likelihood of neighbors is higher, but given that there is little going on, I usually escape with no next door visitors. TP quality isn't the greatest, but there's no place like home in this category.

Secondary choice: If there is too much action in the primary location, I will walk another thirty yards to the secondary location. It gets an "A" for cleanliness, air flow, lighting, stall space, smell, security and distance from my office. Essentially it is the same as the primary location, but it is located further away.

Tertiary choice: In the event that I go 0 for 2, I will visit the third option. This bathroom gets an "A" for cleanliness, air flow, lighting, stall space, likelihood of neighbors and smell. Besides being on the complete opposite end of the building and the furthest distance to walk, it's still better than the last resort. The third option has many stalls, so the likelihood of neighbors is much less. The security however, isn't so good. There are doors, but the locks do not work. What is the point of that? Anyways, I try to get the "executive" stall when I go there. There are like 6 stalls right next to each other, but the executive stall is separated by a brick wall and kind of just sits off on its own. Privacy at its best, even though the door never locks.

Last Resort choice: In the awful event that all three locations are too busy, closed or otherwise unusable, I will go to the last possible option. This bathroom gets an "A" for stall space, security and distance from my office. This option is actually the closest to my office. However, it has absolutely zero air flow, stinks to high heaven, is messy most of the time, has only two stalls and the lights have been prone to go out on me from time to time. There is nothing worse than trying having the lights go out and leave you in total blackness. I don't even think I can describe the smell of this dungeon restroom. Awful. So, I usually hold my breath when going #1, but avoid it as much as humanly possible when having to go #2.

Behavior: Its really simple... I always do two things upon entrance. I check to see if there is enough TP and I wipe off the seat with a piece of it, regardless of the condition. So, you can imagine my relief when I learned that the reason for the recent invasion (see last month for details) was NOT that I had obtained crabs from a campground toilet. I would not have been able to forgive myelf for not inspecting the seat more closely had that been the case.

Home field advantage is very important to me when it comes to taking a load off. And a word about outhouses: don't knock 'em till you try 'em. You never know when they'll show up to save the day - I know I will always look upon them with gratitude for the jam it got me out of way back when I first met Rebecca's family. But, that story is for another time.

Excuses, excuses...

I took a month off from writing, not because I necessarily wanted to, but because of several varying factors that prevented me. So, here are my excuses:

I was swamped at work. I spent what seemed like 8 hours a day in front of a computer, messing up my 20/20 vision by staring at a screen 40 hours a week instead of doing real, hands on "work." I know that seems like a lame excuse for not writing, but who really wants to sit down in front of the computer when that's all you've been doing? I just couldn't seem to find a twenty minute break anywhere to write something down that or think of anything that seemed mildly entertaining or thought provoking the last few weeks.

I got sick with allergies that still haven't seemed to go completely away. Nothing like watery eyes, a dripping nose and trying to look into the light long enough to induce a sneeze to make anyone want to sit here longer to crank out a story. I apologize, but when I am sick, I don't want to write.

I was suspicious as to whether anyone was really reading my blog or if it was just my imagination that this page was good enough to draw people back to it for a second or third view after my first initial entry. But, I was called out for not updating by a friend - which made me feel simultaneously excited and ashamed - you mean you're checking it? Crap, you're checking it - I better add something new...

But perhaps the best excuse a man could offer, would be that I have spent the last few weeks with a crazy itch problem. It all started when we went camping over the Labor Day holiday and our 5 year anniversary, and towards the end of the long, wonderfully relaxing weekend, I noticed some red blotches on my ankles. I thought that I had no doubt gotten into something - either bug bites or something poisonous lurking on the trails while hiking. Well, it turns out that it was something that gotten into me, not the other way around, that was causing me to scratch more and more frequently. I realized the marks were getting more red and incredibly more itchy - which came to be ridiculously uncomfortable and badly timed as I faced the busiest work week of my year. And then, the bombshell. For those of you with weak stomachs or innocent ears, read no further.

During a "routine" scrotum inspection after urinating one morning, I noticed that the red blotches had migrated north and set up camp on my testicles. Every man's worst nightmare - something was attacking my balls. It itched more there than I ever cared to want to scratch. Upon closer inspection, something seemed terribly wrong with these pimple-like marks. I did what I had to do - I asked my wife to take a look under the hood. She did, with professionalism (not giggling) and sprung into action before I could give her my permission. Next thing I know, we are looking at a small grey dot, which I originally suspected was some kind of matter that had somehow come to rest on my "unmentionables." Rebecca had other thoughts. I didn't believe her. She plucked another one off. This time, seeing was believing. It was moving! It was crawling all over her finger! She had just plucked a tiny creature off my balls! I could not contain my horror any longer. "What the HELL is that?!?!?!?!" Remaining calm, she removed one more and we imprisoned the little crotch invading terrorists into a jar. Needless to say, I took a day off from work to go get checked out. The diagnosis? Chiggers and Seaticks. That's right, you read that correctly: SEA TICKS. The doc said that the ankles and legs were no doubt the result of the chiggers and the testicles, well, they were chigger magnets too, but, in this case, sea ticks. A cortisone shot, antibiotics and clear nail polish took care of the rest.

I'm proud to say that I am back, almost fully recovered, and ready to pick up where I left off. My sincerest apologies for the lack of new material, but as you can see, it's not that I didn't have some great excuses...

This is dedicated to my wife, the boldest and most gentle sea tick remover I've ever known. I love you!

I dislike...

With so much activity going on around me and in the world, I still feel like creating this list of my dislikes. I will try to keep the certain things like traffic, stubbing your toe, vandalism and computer malfunctions off the list because we all know that nearly everybody dislikes those things. So, here is a comprehensive tally of what I, Keith Long, dislike – those little and sometimes big annoyances and pet peeves that really irk me. Feel free to share your dislikes, as I’m sure there are many things we may have in common that I have forgotten.

In no particular order:

-Mechanical pencils
-When people talk during a movie in the theater (or any other behavior that disrupts my preferred pristine movie atmosphere conditions)
-When the bus is late
-Bad B.O. or other putrid smells
-Things touching my eye ball
-Spoilers – someone or something that’s purpose is to reveal too much
-When people exercise poor communication skills
-Friendly people with alternative motives
-Bugs or insects that get in the house
-Olives
-Beer
-Wine
-When people drink too much and then think they’re okay to drive
-Smoke
-Coffee
-Really expensive food served in very small proportions
-When people misspell or misuse the word “lose” as “loose”
-Red light runners
-Drivers with no concept of safe braking distance aka “Zippy Zahoolihans”
-When people knock Harry Potter but A) have never read the book(s) and/or B) are convinced it’s against their religion
-Close-minded perspectives and conversations
-When people know and share too much about anything
-Cell phones that ring in inappropriate places and times
-People that let their dogs roam free
-Loud talkers on the bus
-Scratched DVD’s – that somehow wait until crucial moments to malfunction
-Constant whiners and negative attitudes
-When my integrity is attacked or tarnished falsely
-Hearing foul language in excessive or gratuitous amounts
-Parents that bring young children to movies that are inappropriate for their age
-Tom Cruise and everything about Scientology
-The constant updates on the whereabouts of Paris Hilton and Brad and Angelina
-The popular wedding song “the electric slide”
-Pointless vanity license plates
-Having a mistrust for street beggars
-When people won't take responsibility for their actions
-Bug spray
-Driving in Washington D.C.

Tragedy on 35W

I am sure that there are many other catchier titles that could better encapsulate what happened last Wednesday on the 35W bridge, but at least you know exactly what you’re getting. I did not want to take time to write anything sooner, for I had to contact many family and friends to find out how everyone was doing and whether they were hearing back from their families and friends. I am happy to report that almost everyone reported back with good news of their safety and their family and friends’ safety…however, there are still many that are deeply affected by this fresh wound, and I do not want to say that we are by any means out of the woods or able to breathe any easier. One friend has written that he knows someone through his sister that was badly injured in the collapse, and although alive, he has a long road to recovery ahead, so please say a prayer for Garret and his family, if you would be so inclined. But even though I do not know anyone personally involved, you start to grow close to those who were, as they are part of your “homeland” - similar to how most New Yorkers probably felt after the World Trade Centers went down. As the faces of the victims and their bios appear, you feel a deep loss in your own heart, and you pray for them almost without deciding to, as if God just can’t wait and has to get in touch with his humanity all around us faster than our brains can put it all together.

I was able to be *home this past weekend (as I will always be a native from the land of 10,000 lakes, spending my first 24 years there.) Richmond has been home ever since, but I can say that when tragedy strikes, your home is where your heart is – and my heart is where my family is, and they live in Minneapolis. My family consists also of non-blood relationships, and I immediately thought of the many childhood and adult friendships I still maintain in the Minneapolis area – and I was fortunate enough to extend contact to most of them via the internet within a day of learning of the collapse. This is still very vivid and fresh, and upon hearing in person stories and reading the survivors’ accounts, I can still say that I am in shock. I was back for a brief whirlwind of a weekend, and the only images of the actual site was crossing over the 3rd street bridge after the Twins game on Friday night, but still having to imagine what the reality looks like, as I could only see the 10th street bridge “behind” where there used to be heavy post-Twins game traffic – and recount the countless times we ourselves would be part of that same traffic.

Yes, I can easily say that I and most Minnesotans have driven over that bridge thousands of times – and we all knew instantly upon hearing the news, what section they were talking about. It’s definitely a jolt to the system when someone like this happens and you have some kind of personal connection or history with the affected place – as I felt a similar jolt this past April in the Virginia Tech shootings – but regardless of where you’re from or how much connection you have when something like this happens, everyone should feel something. And I pray that we all do something with that feeling, for when we don’t, that is truly when there is something wrong with us. So make a donation or give someone a call to see how they’re doing or take some time away to talk about life with a friend or parent or co-worker – just keep being humanly, for no one knows the day or hour when our time is up here when it’ll be our bios posted somewhere to remind others to live life to the fullest while they still can. Your life means so much to so many, including the one who gave it to you in the first place. Don’t leave the victims, the injured, the rescue workers and all their families behind, keep lifting them up with your hearts - keep those prayers going and don’t think for a second that they aren’t helping, because even though you may never see results, someone out there does.

Potter Mania!

This week, one of the best and most anticipated books released - Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. My wife and I LOVE this series and have been engrossed since Sunday, when I couldn't wait the 24 hours more in order to get my hands on a reserved library copy, and went and bought it at Barnes and Noble. I even took the day off on Monday, and was off to the races, page after page - I was at least 300 pages in by the end of the day. I tore myself away to do chores around the house, my mind still grappling with all that I had read. Then, with Rebecca quite a ways behind me, I decided that I was at the point of no return on Tuesday - so I paused and have been allowing her to catch up. And now, here we are - two long days later, (I've been re-reading sections of it just to stay in the frenzy - savoring every last page of this amazing journey with Harry and the gang) and we were able to read it aloud last night, discovering new territory together for the first time since Sunday night when we first obtained it. And I must say, it is quite enjoyable as we experience this saga together - totally worth the agony of waiting. But, I knew that had I finished, I would be busting at the seams to talk about it (and not being able to would be twice the agony I'm sure), so knowing that we'll finish together and can talk about it as we go through the last 150 pages or so, well - its a wonderful and exciting feeling. So, now that I have spoken of my feelings of this incredible ride, I will post a special blog from Rebecca:

As flew into work atop my shiny green dragon (no longer a dinosaur), I felt the breeze in my hair and on my face, causing me to nearly choke on the fresh air that entered my lungs. It was an exhilarating ride, filled with curves, rolling hills, and strenuous climbs. Perspiration beaded on my face and my hair whipped behind me. Now this was living. As I rounded another corner, signaling to others around me to “look out!” (my dragon won’t stop until reaching the final destination), I felt that familiar tugging on my arms a shoulders. Deep lines in my skin not yet visible, made their presence known as they cut and rubbed. I remembered the reason for my sacrifice. Not because dragons are more fuel efficient, although this is true. Not because this is the only mode of transportation and dragon parking is free (chains not included). But because flying is so exciting! Another turn and I felt the treasure on my back poking and prodding. It seemed to grown heavy and burdensome. The dragon let out a huge belch of fire and I was speeding once more…must…reach…destination…I thought back to the heavy, but precious cargo I was carrying. I would have easily given up my food supply for the day to avoid leaving my cherished fortune behind. The end was in sight. With another burst of energy, I leaned forward and urged the dragon to push on. Finally, we came to a stop. The air grew thick and humid and there was no longer a breeze. I dismounted the dragon and turned my attention to my pack. I peered into the bag and saw the bright orange paper smiling back at me. Letting out a sigh, I realized we had made it. I chained up the dragon and walked inside to store my treasure until the time when I would be able to open the tiny world again. Feeling good about my accomplishments, especially so early in the morning, I went about my day…ever mindful of the 759 page saga waiting for me. It’s amazing the sacrifices (and adventures) that we’ll take when it comes to a book, especially for Harry Potter.

The 7-Eleven Bombshell

I have been debating this past week as to what my next entry should be – last Wednesday’s (7-11-07) bombshell statement from the Pope about the Roman Catholic church’s supposed supremacy: (“asserted yesterday that the Roman Catholic Church is the "one church" that Christ "established here on Earth" and that other Christian denominations "cannot be called 'churches' in the proper sense") or the 7-Eleven bombshell statement from Crazy Dwayne, a character I’ve been meaning to write about for sometime now. So, knowing that I could probably go on and on about the Pope’s declaration, I have instead decided to entertain you with another teammate on my “Bus All-Stars” list of peculiar characters. I don’t know this man’s name, but he looks like a Dwayne. And, after hearing his story, the “crazy” was added not to describe his mental state of mind by any means, but rather, the tale he had to tell.

While waiting for the bus several months ago – it might have been last fall – I stood near an older man, probably in his 70’s, at the bus stop. He was wearing a bright red and very colorful Dupont NASCAR jacket – very eye catching. I paced back and forth for at least ten minutes and there was still no sign of the bus. I don’t remember how the silence was broken, but probably either when he asked me the time or one when we shared a collective sigh of frustration. Dwayne started first, “Can’t rely on this bus – third time this week it’s been late.” This was the first time I had taken this bus in a long time, so I said, “Really?” Dwayne muttered more curses under his breath, and kept looking north, hoping to see it coming. I remember thinking, “where is this guy headed?” Then, as we exchanged our grievances about late busses and time lost etc, I was startled to hear the following: “I’m going to quit my job today.” Wow, this old-timer was still working and was ready to call it quits this very day. “Oh yeah? Where do you work?” I asked, curious for some more information. “The 7-eleven, on the corner of Bells Road,” he spat back, clearly miffed at his situation. Without another question, he tore off on his soapbox, venting his frustration with “the man” – that cruel oppressive 7-Eleven manager, a third his age, and his terrible work environment: “They don’t appreciate me – those young punks, treatin’ me the way they do – they don’t give me nothin’ but a hard time. I work damn hard – no time off, not even Thanksgiving. I’m going in and tellin’ them what I think – I’m quittin – I’ve had enough.” I really don’t think I could muster anything other than the polite head nodding and “yeahs” that one says when been completely lost for words. And then, “and the way they treated me and my girlfriend…” Whoa – did he just say girlfriend?! I seriously do not think this man to be a shade under 70 years old. And now he’s got a girlfriend. “She came in one night while I was workin’ - needed to use the restroom – she comes out 45 minutes later, blood all over her hands, drippin’ on the floor and a baby in her hands!” Say WHAT?! I don’t think my eyes have ever opened so wide since hearing that. I gasped and shouted, “A baby?!” “yeah – and we didn’t even know she was pregnant! And those bastards didn’t do nothing! I had to call the ambulance myself – clean everything up – and they never even so much as gave me a break or time off or anything after that! So I’m goin’ in there today and I’m handing in my stuff and quitting.” Seriously. I could not make this stuff up. What can one say to that? I shook my head, laughed hysterically inside – awaiting to share this tale with Rebecca. I saw Crazy Dwayne last week again – looking very strung out. He wasn’t drugged up or anything, but he looked just as hideous. The jacket was replaced with the following wardrobe choices: shoes, calf-high navy blue socks, short blue shorts, a see through white t-shirt, a black mesh hat and long, scraggly hair coming out the sides. He walked down the bus aisle and the recognition took a second to re-register, but then the bombshell story came flooding back in a hurry – and I had to contain my laughter the whole way home. By the looks of him, I’d guess he was washing dishes for a living now – well, that and being “Daddy Dwayne” to one special little 7-Eleven miracle baby.

Thunderstorms

This week’s entry is taken from excerpts from my personal journal from over a year ago in the wake of the events following a camping experience in the Outer Banks of North Carolina. The experience helped me to create the “life-in-tents” idea and taught me life changing lessons about faith, trust and peace that have continued to shape, enlighten and comfort me ever since. I have been reflecting back on it recently during what has been a particularly storm-filled year – and it continues to open my eyes and heart to wisdom from above that soothes and guides me within. This perspective has brought me great meaning and purpose in my life and I firmly believe that there should never be any reason to short ourselves on perspectives in this diverse universe. Here now is a portion of that journal entry:

I write of our experience in the Outer Banks and the “near-death” events of May 26th, 2006 while tenting at North Beach Campground. Making it through that night has opened so many learnings of how I ought to live my life as a follower of Christ. I look back now with so much insight into how I behaved through that intense thunderstorm, clinging to so little security inside good ol’ RedHead (the name of our tent.)

The wind was fierce and constant, shaking our tent violently for hours and hours. Without the tent-saving tip from our neighbor (who had already lost one tent) to use the longer 10 inch stakes, we would have certainly been in much worse trouble. But, we purchased the stakes and firmly rooted RedHead into the sand, 10 paces from the Atlantic Ocean. That storm was insane! The wind grew stronger and stronger and shook that tent so much – I can’t even describe it – it was like 2 hands shaking it without letting up – and the sound of it was depressing – you couldn’t stop watching and visualizing the rainfly tearing off and sailing away, but it didn’t. And the thunder and lightning was right on top of us - pink and vivid – frightening. At one point I truly thought I was a goner, rapidly knocking on the car window for Rebecca to unlock my door, my heart was in my throat. I have not been this scared about a storm in all my life. We stayed in the car until it had let up enough to go to the bathroom and “retire” for the night. It was obvious that the storm was not over though, once we were in bed. Wave after wave, the storm continued into the night. Tent whipping and shaking, thunder, lightning, rain – all the elements were there – intense and constant. I lay awake, wide-eyed, nervous, worrisome and scared. It was a terrible weight on my chest all night. I couldn’t sleep – wouldn’t sleep (unlike Rebecca who proved once again that she can sleep through anything!) - until I felt secure. That security would not come from the outside – I knew I needed to reach a peace that transcended all understanding if I was to get any sleep that night. I prayed and prayed – my dialogue with God was continuous – but it was not prayers of faith and trust. They were prayers of worry, fear, hopelessness and doubt. Will the tent hold-up? Should we sleep in the car? Over and over I kept asking God for wisdom to know when to make the decision to abandon ship. I would occasionally pray in little streaks of strength and might – recalling verses that talked about being in “earthly tents” and longing for our heavenly dwellings in the Lord – the more I remembered bible verses the better I felt. The peace finally began to come after Rebecca awoke and calmed me and my fears. She truly introduced the solution to my worrisome night. She made me reminisce about the past – of good times, of Canada and Muskie fishing and the time I caught my first one, and all the happiness and feelings that had accompanied me then. My mind had finally escaped its current tribulations and brought me back to happier and fear free times. My mind was renewed, Rebecca had unlocked the key to not focusing on the world but rather on what is unseen – the eternal and the divine part of this life. Peace followed and healing was on its way.

After getting some much needed sleep, I awoke again to yet another round of wind and gales – gusts slamming into our tried and true tent. Fear had gripped me once again. I, through the help of Rebecca, had defeated it once, but the night was not over yet. I did not know how much more the tent or I could take. I truly thought it would tear apart at any moment. The sound was sickening. Then my gift of analogy returned. I pictured and compared the tent to us, and its struggle with the storm was like us and our life long struggles and trials on this journey. There were times of peace and stillness, and there were times of conflict, challenge and distress. My prayers became more God-centered – I recited verses to myself: “…struck down but not destroyed…” I sang this over and over. I began to slowly trust Him again with my life – I made Rebecca pray Luther’s evening prayer: “protect us through the night from all danger and harm…” I finally saw that though this storm would surely continue, my faith would overcome it if I let it. I finally tried letting it. I prayed to God that I trusted Him, that he would give me faith, help my unbelief and grant me peace – to trust Him with all my heart and lean not on my own understanding. “We live by faith, not by sight.” And that’s what I finally did. It took me much longer than it should have…I realized I was letting the waves sink me – and now I had realized that the wind shaking our tent ever so violently didn’t matter – if I was to survive the night (this life) in one piece without worrying into oblivion, I needed to release my mind from what it sees – the here and now of that storm – and allow it to be transformed, renewed by the power and peace of Christ, in order to live this eternal life we’ve been given.

The storm did rage on all through the night, but once I had seen the truth, been softened to what was really at hand, I slept. I remember praying “that whatever happens, I trust you God. My faith and hope are with you.” And with that, peace (sleep) came. The wind was still blowing in the morning, but oh what a difference I was beginning to see in my attitude towards it.

“We are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed but not in despair; persecuted but not abandoned; struck down but not destroyed…for while we are in this tent, we groan and are burdened…we do not lose heart…For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen. For what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal.”

2 Corinthians 4 & 5.

Waiting to Soar

The quote "One cannot consent to creep when one feels an impulse to soar" (Hellen Keller) must have been written in relation to the many complaints voiced over time in relation to roller coaster line waiting at amusement parks across the globe. Well, even if Ms. Keller did not intend for her quote to be compared to my experience at Busch Gardens Europe in Williamsburg, Virginia - that is certainly how I felt yesterday as I consented to creep ride after ride after ride. Yes, I am a thrill seeking, speed, loops and leg dangling roller coaster fanatic - I love the sensation of a good coaster on a worry free summer day. Yesterday was no exception - my first time to Busch Gardens was awesome - I thoroughly enjoyed every minute of it (excluding the 3-4 hours of waiting in line.) As for the rest of the 7 minutes of rides or attractions that we enjoyed for a minimal fee of 55 dollars plus parking - nothing but positive feelings and happiness. Good times indeed.

So, I can definitely disagree on certain levels with Ms. Keller - it seems that one can absolutely consent to creep when one feels an impulse to soar - just take the millions of visitors every year to parks like Busch Gardens or Six Flags. We all consent - volunteer - to creep in endless switchbacks on a tortorous crawl towards some amazing thrill rides that last a fraction of the time we waited for them. Why do we do this? What on earth would say 'yes' to this inside our brains? Is it not crazy to convince ourselves that waiting in the hot sun amongst complete strangers for an hour or longer in order to ride a roller coaster ride that will last no longer than two minutes (usually less than that if you take out the time it takes to climb the first hill)? YES! I am completely crazy to do so! And yet, I can't help it. I must. There is a feeling deep inside that yearns for the lightning fast adventure and mystery that is the coaster. I cannot help but put myself through the absolute hell of line waiting, time after time. And, I have made it considerably harder on myself lately- I 've been going it alone. My wife lovingly waves goodbye to me as I enter the line - and sits and waits patiently for me to quench my thirst for adventure. She too, is crazy. She is getting nothing out of her waiting. Her only satisfaction is in my enjoyment, which is absolutely amazing. I love this woman. Her discipline to abstain from the world of coasters is inspiring - knowing her limits, she sits it out rather than joining me in line in order to ride and then get sick from the 30 second blitzkrieg of adrenaline. My stomach can handle it, but lately, it seems my tolerance and patience is growing weak.

I wait and I wait and I wait some more. I eavesdrop on the conversations around me. Some girls from Tennessee - where are they from, that accent is strong?! - are with their boyfriends and talking about the sales tax in Virginia. A group of thugs behind me are playing with their cell phones. People watching. That's all I can do, I can't even think - or even pray - I can't do anything constructive whatsoever, I have to just dumb down my mind and stand and creep every 3 minutes - almost to the turn - YES - a new view, woohoo! It's really quite pathetic. And then, finally, after what has seemed like hours of mindless boredom and waiting, I arrive at the corrale that will place me on this adventure in a mere 4 or 5 minutes. I am simultaneously asking and telling myself that it will be worth it. And it is - oh my friends - it most certainly is. The joy, laughter, fear and excitement that the drops, twists and bursts of speed send rushing through my body - YES - I exit in pure satisfaction. I tell my wife all about it and I gulp water for my throat aches from all the yelling. Ahh, what a high it is. And then we walk to the next ride, and slowly, the high disappears and I am back in the hell of line waiting.

It's much better when I am not alone. Even if the conversation is minimal, being with someone is much much easier and more enjoyable while trapped in the confines of the lines. So, even when I feel the impulse to soar solo once more, I decide to hold out for a ride that I can enjoy with my wife. And the joint rides are more enjoyable too - the shared experience overpowers the solo one hands down. I love experiencing something amazing and fun with a friend, family member or my wife. I will still brave the line occassionally on my own, and enjoy the thrill of the power coasters that are too much for my wife, but for now, I'll try to catch one when there's like a 15 minute wait instead of 50.

In the end, I know that all of the above is truly a metaphor for life. I could spell it out in detail- but I think for now, I will just leave it at that. 95% of life is spent in line, waiting for the next high - the next adventure - and then, in the blink of an eye, its over. I'd prefer to spend that 95% with those that I love - and then to share our experiences together, whether joyful or challenging outcomes - because in the end, that is what is most important.