Skip It

I was feeling the burn- the only problem with that was that I wasn’t doing anything- just sitting… on my couch… in my house. Something in my leg was hurting, it felt like a muscle- maybe it was dying…twitching one last time. The last few years have not been kind. After running a couple of marathons and working out most of my life- I just quit. There has been no joy in the gym. Gone is that child-like desire to put on play clothes as fast as I can and get busy moving. I remember riding my bike for hours, playing softball for the next few hours and then racing just for fun, and skipping most everywhere I went.

If you follow a two-year old all day and do everything they do, chances are you will burn a lot more calories than if you spent an hour on the treadmill. If you call a kid, they run over… they may jump up and down after they reach you and then do a somersault just because. Wouldn’t it be cool if adults still had that type of joy of movement? Imagine executives running down their office halls and taking recess instead of a coffee break.

Now, to bike for ‘fun’ a person has to dress like an extra-terrestrial- and they are putting their life on the line by biking with the cars. I do, however love the bike shorts…I wish I had padding when I was eight! Work-out clothes can be expensive. I get most of my stuff at Academy. kids don’t stop what they are doing and change clothes to perform some sort of exercise. These days, kids have the coolest clothes that takes them from morning to night, video gaming to … wait, what do kids do for fun in the 21st Century? The horror- kids no longer have recess, no longer run outside and no longer skip everywhere. There is a national push for parents to get their kids outside to play- even the NFL is campagning to get the kids out to play. I can picture running on the treadmill next to a nine year old who is complaining about their gout.

I recently bought a jump rope and went outside to use it. Times have changed the jump rope experience. After a minute I was exhausted, and I longed for two people to hold the rope while I jumped jumped in and out- I wonder if any of my friends are up for some double dutch jump rope and hop scotch. We can feel the burn!

Waking Up

I have said, “I’m tired” much more often in my life than, “Wow, I am so awake,” or “I just can’t believe how alert I feel!” Maybe it is because more people relate to being tired than feeling peppy. Saying something positive is not socially acceptable either. “I have so much energy, I think after I exercise I will clean the house and start that new project!” Yeah, say that in a group and sit back and let the sarcasm fly. You will be told that you are on some kind of drug, that you may be crazy or this is a good one; you have no life. Who is happy at the gym, or holding a mop while folding clothes? I have longed for the man in my life to wake up and proclaim that this is the day the Lord hath made, and he is going to finally hang the new doors, clean the garage after mowing the lawn which will make the backyard perfect for the BBQ he has planned- and this is all accomplished with a joyful countenance, and not one sigh.

I sigh on purpose, so I naturally think other people are also complaining through their premeditated affective groans. It goes like this; “sigh, I am so tired.” This statement connected to the sigh is as contagious as a yawn. People who don’t even know you will offer their sighs and complaints as though they were talking to a relative that they have pretended to like for years. This human interaction breeds some bad vibes- from now on I plan to stop the sighs; I also want to eradicate the phrase, “I am tired,” from my conversation starter repertoire. I am replacing it with an interjection of my choosing, maybe, “Hey!” or “Wow!” Then add how great I feel. I decided to wake up, become more aware and quietly wait for multiple satories. Most people are happy when they have experienced a satori; imagine one right after another- it has to be life changing.

Oprah calls them aah ha! moments, moments in life where you get it whatever it is. It is hard to achieve an aah ha! if your head isn’t in the game- of life. I believe there are people who have never once had one and have faked it, because it is easy to do so- just nod- at first slow, then faster and as you do widen your eyes, roll them back just a smidge, then add some sort of  verbal POP! Oh Yeah! I got it! Yes! Yes! I see it now! Reminds me of my time in the Baptist church when the same people would get saved over and over again- had they been faking it before? Man, last Sunday I really believed that Martha was born again. Now, she has been born again and again- it is like an addiction to repentance- one has to keep on doing things to repent from doing again. The high of finding Jesus- a multifarious experience is like heroin to some because the next step of living with the Creator doesn’t produce the same amount of adrenaline and attention.

Life for me would be better if I could maintain inner peace, I just haven’t mastered the endurance it takes. To keep the peace one needs to meditate or pray for those of you freaked out by New Age terms. The Truth: Jesus meditated a lot and told his disciples to take up the practice. Be still my soul and know that He is Lord. The problem with me and meditation; besides the monkey-brain, is I fall asleep. It doesn’t make sense that one can reach Nirvana by completely slowing down; BUT not being tired. Tired is the spiritual equivalent of giving up. Trying too hard can keep a good ahh ha! from materializing as well- ego sometimes misses the light even if it is shining right on its face.

January 1st is a month away and with it a new year, new beginnings and new lists of things to change. I am starting today by: 1. No longer saying that I am tired. 2. Being awake. I want the high of the satori, and I will take as many as my head and heart can handle.

Road Repose

I noticed that at four way stops I see flashes of people’s personality. I am a rule keeper, I stick to the rules of the stop. If there is a tie, I let the person to my right proceed. Soemtimes we all just sit there and wait for someone to make a move. A good question: what if several cars get to the intersection at the same time? There should be a communication between the drivers- some how- as to who is going to go first. If someone is a selfish, me-first kind of person, they usually push through. Those of us left, the nicer drivers, then use the person to the right rule. I think people who go before their turn are the same people who take all of the Splendas at Starbucks and cut in line at the customer service counter at Wal-Mart. The nice drivers who let everyone go in front of them have the opposite of road rage, I call it road repose. The decorous drivers who never make the nightly news, but should- “Man shows kindness to over ten drivers in today’s traffic jam. Who is he and why does he do it? News at ten.” I rarely get angry while driving. I have accepted the fact that when commuter bungles a lane change, I quickly forgive- having made many mistakes myself. I cannot remember how many times I waved my hand at another driver and mouthed “Sorry!” Usually, the driver, who I almost hit, or made them hit me, waves back with their middle finger! Not nice! I never say thank you to another driver, it looks too much like I am saying something else. I just wave.

On the highway here in Texas, we let people pass us if we are on a two lane highway by moving over onto the shoulder of the road. When the vehicle passes, they should wave. It is just a courtesy. Hey, I didn’t HAVE to move over. Just throw a wave, acknowledge me- I don’t know how people in other states communicate a thank you, but we wave.In small towns in Texas we hold up a finger or two or three as a saluted “hey there” to fellow drivers.  If I don’t get my “hey there” in return, it makes me frown. It isn’t hard to hold up two fingers to your fellow Texan. We only do this in neighborhoods- it makes for good networking.

The one time I do feel a bit unhappy with my fellow roadies is when merging isn’t done properly. Some people merge early- then watch as car after car passes them by, heading to the front of the line, keeping traffic stacked. I have seen some vehicles drive in the middle lane to keep the cheaters back. The people who do that have some chutzpah, I would say thank you to them…but it looks like I am saying something else.

I knew I was loosing my youthful beauty** when I had a flat tire on the highway and no one stopped to help me. After 10 minutes I checked my hips yep, too big. Smaller versions halt traffic. Fifteen minutes into waiting for help, I got out of my minivan. I loved driving my minivan. It was my own personal symbol of womanhood. If one looks closely and using the imagination, a minivan is womb-shaped. You can fill it full of children- very empowering. When the kids get out, it is like they are being birthed- they emerge head first, and one at a time. I called it my vangina. The flat was on the back left tire of the vangina, and I got busy with the tire jack. After about five minutes of wrestling with the jack- a police officer pulled up. YES! HELP! He swaggered over to the van and said hello with a southern accent mixed with Texas Department of Public Safety no-nonsense twang.  He got busy helping me change the tire- I looked at his badge and recognized his name- I had dated him in high school. Ricky Buckaloo? Yep, and I immediately felt horrible- the last time I saw him was when I was fifteen and we kissed- I wasn’t impressed and we said goodbye. Now he was changing my tire. Officer Buckaloo was happily married with children to a woman I am sure that loves his kiss.

No, I do not have road rage; which by the way in one study was linked to a brain disorder. I do have road repose. I wave, apologize and try not to rubber-neck too much. Those who do get mad and vent and yell and scream only do that for themselves. The person in the other car is not learning any lesson contrary to the what the angry driver thinks.  Everyone sharing the drive with the road rager suffers and soaks up some bad energy. I say stop. Show some road repose; wave with two fingers instead of one.

Thirty Something

A rule such as never date a man who smells too good comes after a lifetime of  observations. I found that if a man has no musky odor; that if he showers, buffs and sprays his musk away, he is probably gay. Okay, he is gay. No sense in dating him- he may be in denial, but a non-musky man is stepping over the metro-sexual line and diving straight down to the down low. I have also learned that if a man tells you he is an asshole, he is an asshole. LISTEN to the words and acknowledge them, then RUN away. For three months I allowed my life to be infiltrated by a crazy man- everyone who met him looked at me and said, “Hey, this guy is no good.” Even Ron White called me into the green room at the comedy club and said this, “Kim, I like you; I don’t know why. Listen to me, this guy out there is no good. Shake him loose, he is bad news. Do you see what I am saying is a big deal, me, Ron White, telling you to stay away from a guy? Take my advice, or you may be sorry.”

I was. I was blinded by lies and manipulation. He stole 100 dollars from my daughter. He called my boss when we had a fight. He told me he was receiving money from his father’s estate, a trust fund, and was very wealthy, but every gift he gave me had a price tag. He was stupid- very very stupid. He wrecked my car and damged the frame, then when I went to fix it…oh never mind, he was just a devil. Once when we had an argument he even called his lawyer- or so he said. I since learned this man dated a dental hygienist from my dental office. She lost everything when she took up with him: her job, all of her inheritance, her self-worth. Why?

Women in their middle to late 30′s go a bit nuts sometimes themselves. It may be hormones, it could be the unrealized life they have yet to live; looking ahead to being forty and over the hill. Though Oprah said 50 is the new 30 it’s that because she has a billion dollars. For the middle-class woman, 40 is scary, 50, well, 50 is inevitable. I fell for crazy-weirdo guy because he was 12 years younger and amazing when the lights were out. End of story. No need to elaborate. I had just turned 40 and it felt like I was running the curve in a race, with the next stretch being the end of my world and my beauty, as I knew it. It was.

I was sitting in the air port in Japan. Iliza Sclesinger, Keith Bareny and I were on a comedy tour with Armed Force Entertainment. I had a blast, the shows were good, but 25-year-old Iliza forced me to realize I was not getting the second looks any more. She was. I noticed gentleman after gentleman give her a double-take. Her boobs were really big and she is very attractive. Me? I sat next to her and felt old and ugly. “You’ll be 45 someday Iliza,” I thought to myself.  She has done well with her comedy and her boobs and will probably have enough money at 45 to say that 45 is the new 16.

There are studies out there about women in their 30′s, what they think, why they divorce. I have encouraged many young women in their mid 30′s to stay with their marriage- that their unhappiness may pass. I have told them to go on vacations with their girlfriends, take up an adrenaline sport, get a drastic new hairstyle- anything but divorce and end up dating weirdos!! I compare a woman’s 30′s to being a mother. We are constantly questioning if we are doing the right thing for our children, if we are being effective parents and flop to the other side of the mommy mountain and we wonder what we are worth. I stayed at home with my girls for seven years and loved it…in retrospect. In real time it was so hard. I felt like I was not a part of life and that I was missing SOMETHING, but not sure what. I worked hard at being a good mom;  the proof is in the women they are today. They are made of some good stuff! After 45, most women are on the other side of their mountain and witness to all of their own resolutions.

I have warned them about the mid-thirty-crazies. If either of them makes a drastic move I will personally tie them down until they are over it. The mid-thrity-crazies creates a fever, and women don’t think too clearly when they have the heat of insecurity and uncertainty coming off their newly wrinkled brows.

I am over that time and thanks to menopause I am coming together nicely with my new hormonal arrangement. Now, I am calmer, I have more clarity; not to see the wrinkles on my face, but in time. Life is now, and I am rooting myself in that. I am no longer running the race, I think I will be happier on the sidelines as a trainer, encouraging my fellow females to keep a good pace and pass by those sweet-smelling men!

Be Careful What You Pray For!

If you pray for more patience, you just may get the opportunity to exercise and build up some patience muscle. You may have to work-out for the entire next day- or week, or year to gain some sweet serenity. There are few communion caveats; however, praying for patience is at the top of that list. I love the verse where we are implored to ask, seek and knock- it is all good. I have been asking, seeking and knocking since I was 21 and found out God had an open door policy.

 I have had principals who have had open-door policies, and I used it. It is not scary to knock on the boss’s door- for me anyway. My technique it to peek my head in the door and say, “Hi, do you have a minute?” Not once have I been turned away. My boss is not God, but I have had the pleasure of being fired twice by the same company. The hand that taketh away is mighty; so, like a good employee, and real believer I ask nice for audience before the King.

I have never been real comfortable praying out loud. Some people, I have noted, are religious ramblers; “Oh Father God, thank you Father God, I am so amazing Father God.” Can’t do it, I will not do it; because in my real life prayers I am not that person. If God has every hair on my head numbered, He definitely has got my ‘number’ as well. No need for theatrics, or searching for the perfect boxed words- I think I can pretty much just grunt and the message would be the same.

I have sent the money grunt out to God A LOT. I repeat the birds and flowers of the field verse. They are taken care of, with great digs- Mother Earth. I was trying to keep my piece of earth my house. I had no money to pay my house taxes, this was before I had escrow, and was worried. I sent the message, I think it was “HELP.” In the past I worked three jobs and didn’t have a day off for a year. I would wake up at 5 am and make tacos to sell to the teachers in the teacher’s lounge. I taught during the day, taught defensive driving at night, waited tables on Saturday nights at the comedy club AND sold Herbalife. I believe it was during that time in my life I stopped cooking. One day I was tired and feeling sorry for myself. I went to the cafeteria to get my lunch and I saw one of our custodians leaning on her broom. I asked her if she was okay. She looked at me with told me when she left the school, she had to clean two other places. She did this everyday. When I walked away from her I vowed to never complain again about being tired. I had the luxury of using my voice and mind for a living- my cohort in keeping Southwest the great school it was did not have that luxury.

I was blessed.

The hail was bigger than soft balls. Some people in Hondo swore they saw ice the size of bowling balls- striking out windows in every car in town. Homes were pummeled; mobile homes were dented beyond repair. Three tornados struck that day, maybe more. I do know that a line through my backyard was drawn. I lost a tree, and three others had branches torn right out from the middle of their trunks. I had roof damage, water damage- and a lot to clean up.

Once the roof was fixed and I did the rest of the damage control myself, I had exactly what I needed to pay my taxes.

I met Fred, Wilma, Betty and Barney at a Halloween party a few years back. We hung out because I really liked their costumes and thought they were probably a fun group. I was dressed as the angry date that was suppose to be dancing but ended up at the gambling party; all I needed was a frown. Check! I learned they lost their homes in that storm. I apologized. “You see, ” I told them, “I needed to pay my taxes, so God sent the storm.” We all laughed, I don’t believe the storm was an answer to prayer, but that line drawn by straight line winds was!

I am not careful about what I ask for. I pray with reckless abandon. I have recently prayed to win the lottery, sell my house, and get my kitchen finished. Today I had a conversation about how I love to watch the Biggest Loser but am not big enough to ever be on the show. “All I need is one month with the trainers- one month, I would give anything,” I told her. “I would pay to be on The Biggest Loser!”

Tonight I saw that they have a resort. For five thousand dollars, I can have my month on the Biggest Loser Ranch.

I am going. I have asked, knocked and am seeking a way to pull the money together. God has heard me-

No telling how I am going to get the money- but I am sure there is a storm with my name on it!

What if I Couldn’t Fail?

Good question. What would I do if I knew I wouldn’t fail? A fellow teacher has this poster on her wall, and when I read it while walking down the hall, it stopped me- I stood at her door and stared at the poster. It resonated. What would I do? What HAVE I done?

While waiting for my time to perform at open mic night in Houston last Wednesday, I thought about the poster. The club was full of comics who had either 3 or 5 minutes to work out a joke and for some, have that glorious moment of being onstage and performing. It is a life force, that stage time, and as the saying goes, “you are only as funny as your last set.” Whatever happens on that stage attaches to the soul and nags one way or the other.

Being a comic was my plan, and I pursued it as if I would not fail. I spent four years going to every open-mic available in San Antonio. The club offered a Saturday afternoon show, where we “barked” to get customers. “Free comedy show! Come to the FREE comedy show!” we would yell in the mall, because that is where the club is located; the mall. We had a lot of people come to that show, but not as many as the midnight show; that one was usually a packed house. The other show was the Monday night All Stars; it took a while for me to get invited on that bill, but once on it- I had three solid stage experiences a week. In New York a comic has to bring people, maybe wait all night for 2 minutes at three am, if they have the money. What a blessing to have all of that San Antonio stage time!

I never stopped believing that each moment on stage took me closer to my goal of stand-up success like Rosanne, or Ellen. Like Valerie Bertinelli said about exercise, it was one step in the right direction. But, the main thing here is I never once doubted I would “make it.” Never once. Until the pacemaker. I had to do a street change, and plot a new direction on a new map.  What would I do next if I knew I couldn’t fail?

Write.

So I do. I write and those who have been so wonderful to read what I write, you are the stage time.

Hay House has some fun radio programs available online. Authors such as Dr. Wayne Dyer, Caroline Myss, and the one I called, Collette Baron-Reid, are regulars at Hay House. I called Collette’s show and was put on to ask my question- I had been feeling rather sad that I could no longer tour as a comic and asked her if she had any feeling as to what I should do next. She told me I would write a book and have a one-woman show; adding it was not a matter of the book being written, only when.

I was only impressed because I had already thought that is what I would do next. Is this it like the horoscope? The book/show idea would fit any downed comic with a pacemaker who needs insurance. I just got the news that in two years I will need a battery change. That entails a heart surgeon, a new battery as well as a battery of nurses- it is going to cost me to keep my heart beating. Until I have a public option; I need a job that provides insurance.

I don’t think I will fail so I write and send out the link to people who may just hit delete- it is like asking a friend to a show, and they never come. It is okay, because if what other people did, or thought got in my way, I would not have attended every open-mic for four years.

I have held onto big dreams regardless of my age. I think everyone should dream big- be it the best man shed on the block, a world cruise, of how about peace on earth. Joel Osteen is my Sunday favorite right next to the positive news show, CBS Sunday morning. Joel makes me think; he encourages my guts to hold onto the dreams. I still check with Oprah’s Be On the Show, HGTV Dream House and I started playing the lottery.

I plan on hiking all over the world once my book is published and I am working on my series of teen novels. I have my masters degree and vowed to get my doctoral degree before I was 55- I give myself no breaks.

You with me? Why not do what I want to do, not what I have to do. It is just that I have to do what I have to do to do what I want to do. I recently watched a video about a woman who was an attorney and she left a life of litigation to ride horses and ski. I cried in happiness for her, and felt a pull to just go- then I look at my scar. It is there for a reason; the steel to what ever foundation is being built in my life’s house of opportunities. I think we should all go for it- do what we love and be who we are suppose to be, even if it means living like Ed Begley Jr. Now, I am only advocating the postive, bliss finding way- not the evil, ego centric asses that destroy any positive karma. Those people suck and I wish they would be abducted by aliens- if there are any- then they can check all of the bad guys bottoms for cheese or whatever the hell aliens are looking for up there.

I will write a book, and it will get published. People will read it. I believe, I trust, I know I will not fail.

If only believed this when it came to being on a diet- so different than being on a stage!

Faith Without Works

I was told he was praying for me everyday. In the past, he told me himself, “I light a candle for you everyday.” Until I melded my life with a Catholic, I wasn’t  sure what the whole candle lighting thing was- now I have a better idea, and a candle constantly flickering in my home; when it burns out another is lit. Every morning and night we say a prayer, it is a nice reminder, and a small fire hazard; but I am hopeful that the Saint of All Lost Causes keeps us safe.

I am not flattered by the daily prayer vigil on my behalf. What would tickle my soul literally is if this person were to show he cared. On the other end of that prayer I can veraciously proclaim- it means nothing; absolutely zero. Faith without works is dead, and the candle lit on that daily basis burns only for the ego that lit it.

Isn’t this the way of most prayers? “I am praying for you” is our easy out. It helps to send the good vibes in this Age of Aquarius, but that next step of SHOWING one cares is when the prayer takes off. While living in Germany in the 1980′s, we had a great car we had purchased for two hundred dollars; in retrospect, the neighbor gave us his car to help our fledgling family. It had heat, which made me very happy. All US citizens had to have a USA sticker on the vehicle, which made us a target during what I call “the planes over Libya”  uneasiness. Someone stuck a rod into our fuel tank leaving us without a vehicle for 2 months. During that time, I learned a lot about good intentions, and what they really mean.

“If you need anything, let us know. A ride to the commissary, the clinic, just anything; call any of us,” was the promise from the president of the Protestant Women of the Chapel. I was the public relations officer and very active with the ‘women.’ I was grateful; and being a long-term survivalist, I utilized the offer.

“Hi, I was wondering if I could get a ride to the commissary? No, oh- you just got back, well okay, next time you go could you call me and maybe I could hitch a ride then?”

Not once was anyone there for me when I asked. Not once.

I used the bus, the cab and the trains; which was fine for me, and I made a vow, I would never lie about what I was willing to do in the name of Jesus.

I saw a Volkswagen van for sale on post and wrote down the number. We didn’t have any cash, and the 1300 dollars was like a million- so I tucked the number away and prayed that some how we could get that van. It was during that time we got the call my mother was dying and we left Germany for a month to see her and visit others in the states. Upon our arrival back in Germany, a friend and fellow soldier, Jeff Cooper, offered us a thousand dollars to buy something to get us back on the road. We knew him from the Hospitality House, a Christian ministry for soldiers and their families. Every week we gathered for Bible Studies, dinners and fun. Jeff was one of those people we felt was a part of our family, and like a good brother he offered some help. I pulled the number out of the drawer for the van and the couple selling it were preparing to ship it back to the states; in two days they were having to drive to Bremerhaven, an eight hour drive, to get it on the slow boat to America.

“We will drive out to let you see it, but we are solid on the 13 hundred dollar price,”  the van owner told me. I knew all we had was the thousand, a deal was still going to be made- I felt the van was ours the moment it was revealed it hadn’t sold in the last month.

We drove it, checked the engine and offered the thousand. The couple balked and said no. I told them “sixteen hours on the road tomorrow is worth 300 dollars. We have cash,” I pulled out the money and put it in his hand. He looked at his wife, shrugged his shoulders and said, “Okay.”

The first thing we did after we thanked Jeff and set up a payment plan was to pray. We offered our van to anyone who would need the help. You see, I was so totally hurt that none of my fellow Women of the Chapel were available for a ride to the commissary, that I vowed not to get mad, but to get even by putting our van where our prayers were. We vowed if anyone needed our van- we would help them.

At midnight we had a knock on the door. We had the van for one day and our prayer was being ‘answered.’  “Seven of my men are in a small bit of trouble in Munich- they are drunk and being held by the Politzi; can I use your van to get them?” We lived in the same building as this sergeant, never spoke much to him, and didn’t even know his first name. The keys were in his hand before he finished his story; the boys were brought home safe.

In the next month we let our van go to pick up furniture, take a baby to the clinic and brought extra groceries from the commissary for someone who, like me a month before, had no ‘ride.’

“I was praying and God told me…” This is another fun phrase I heard a lot during my Protestant Women of the Chapel days. I had to address poor Deidra, a woman being forced by God to help me; “Hey, if God is telling you do to something for me, and you really are adverse to the whole thing- let it go. See, I think helping someone shouldn’t be a test, something you really don’t want to do, but you yield in order to be a good Christian. Deidra you are off the hook. I will tell God to leave you alone.” Poor Deidra, she had God telling her to give me her children’s hand-me-downs, take me to Shannon’s pediatric appointment, (post van purchase) and God was insisting she call me. “God put it on my heart to call you…God put it in my heart to take you to the clinic…” It was evident that if God wasn’t so insisting, she would have nothing to do with me. After I told her to please not feel forced by God to help and I was fine,she never offered anything other than her perfectly pious advice.  My husband was an E-3, hers was a Captain; she must have felt some guilt over that- who knows. Is there a verse about good works with a heavy sigh?

I am guilty of saying “I will pray for you” then not doing anything else to help. I sometimes tend toward the excuse of staying out of the other’s way- that someone else will help. I note this: that if  I have a heavy sigh along with surrender to what I think God would want from me- it cancels the latter out. Aren’t the people who do stuff for others with a big smile and a pureness cool?

Do I want the man who lights a candle for me to stop? I have no affinity one way or the other. I would rather he put into works what he prays for and show he cares by being there for me as one human can be for the other. For me there is no light between us, it flickers daily in vain.