Should You Ever Need Us...

The movie Labyrinth is a favorite of mine, full of silliness, muppets, Froud Fairies, fantasy fears and ,most importantly, friendships. Helping, guiding and letting each of the cast of characters grow into who they are meant to be, all in less than two hours! The children of the 80s and their parents can name them for you and quote the lines, or in my house - sing the songs and dance the dances. The one that always sticks with me is when Sarah leaves the Labyrinth with the truest friends she is likely to ever find in her fictional life, and they let her go with the phrase "Should you ever need us."

No matter how many shiney things you trade with Hoggle, that isn't why you are friends.




Friendships cannot be weighed or measured in things or stuff, but in moments and memories. So many of the cliches are true, the best of friends are those with whom you can fall into comfortable silences and pick up conversations as if no time had passed. Where you can simply be at peace, without a need to fill the silences and space. Folks that have held your hand, your hair and your heart at some point in your life, and are always welcome to the extra place at dinner.

There are times when a hug from your Ludo will set the whole world right again, and remind you that you are perfectly capable of dealing with whatever comes.




Not everyone that rolls into your life will be such, we are lucky when we have a handful. Some newer folks in my world have questioned associations of long standing with quizzical faces. The answers are never what they expect, it isn't simple tolerance of quirks and poor habits. It isn't that I don't see them, or get annoyed by them, it is the embracing of those things making my friends who they have ever been. Those cherished folks that have seen me at my worst and still loved me best, who will get to live forever in the clear and get a pass for their foibles. That is what love is - knowing someone, all of them, and wanting them in your life just as they are all the time, because they know you and want you around too, just as you are.

Jareth swathed in tight pants, pretty promises and seeming magic can't hold a candle to the bumbling Sir Didymus on his trusty fluffy steed, Ambrosius.





There will be Labryinths, misleading door knockers,lonesome oubliettes, unhelpful hands, bogs of eternal stench, trixy firey goblins, junk ladies who try to pull you back to the past, and all manner of unmentionable hardship. All of which can be overcome, surmounted, or simply endured with the right friends should you ever need them.

 Just as Sarah said to her Hoggle "I don't know why, but every now and again in my life, for no reason at all, I need you. All of you."  All of you, and a bit of dance magic, dance.

You haven't lived until...

Living in Texas this phrase usually preempts some deeply silly stories, just this once I am ganna break the mold. You haven't lived until you have spent a day coaching the next generation that wants to explore something you are passionate about. Being neither a coach or teacher by trade or training, it is a rare privilege to be allowed the opportunity to be on the other side of this equation. For the second year in a row the Oklahoma Scottish Festival has allowed me to run the juniors division of highland games. This gives me a group of kids ages 7-14 that want to give the games a try, and in some cases they really do give it their all.

Joe giving the breamar stone his first attempt.

The enthusiasm of youth puts a whole new shine on an old routine. Watching up-tilted faces with an earnest desire to learn something they believe you have the keys to is both intimidating and inspiring. From those that are ever ready to do the next toss, to shrinking violets who tuck themselves behind their kilts with shy smiles, these kids will light up your day. Soon enough some of them will be chasing our field records and we will be forced to employ all the tricks we know to keep up. And that is as it should be!

Many thanks to Matt Thompson and all the parents for trusting me with the kids, helps me get my head on straight for the off season and reminds me why we do this.

Photo Credit: Larry Ventress - http://pioneerphotography.photoreflect.com/store/thumbpage.aspx?e=8680061

Want It More

Sorry for the extended radio silence, could give any number of excuses, but that is exactly what they would be.

Today's topic is never an easy one, and with any luck this will be the last time I have to address it from  this particular angle. Precisely how to find a way past the self sabotaging habits and back sliding comforts to be able to move on to the next progression.

Want It More is a phrase I picked up from my throws coach a while back, and now need to implement beyond the trig.

• To want my health more than I want trashy comforting quick fix foods
• To want my fitness more than my ass groove on the sofa
• To want a clean and calming environment more than my over lengthy lazy times
• To want better for myself, my family and my team rather than continuing with the same old routine

The trick to WIM, is finding the drive, the motivators to get from your currently level to the next. For me that means getting past the ideas of being a fat kid, a non-athlete, a not-a-home-maker, a not-a-cook and doing all those things for myself. All the tools are there, and I have the support I need to do all these things. There will be guidance, don't think I could shake my coaches with the help of the Witness Protection Program, but it is well past time for me to WIM. 

Here we go. 

That time of year...

The time has come, when the sweltering heat of summer gives way to the crisp mornings of fall. When the morning's dew on the grass lasts well past the rising of the sun. When the rich greens fade into warm browns, orange and red. 

Autumn is my season. Full of rich foods, warm spiced drinks, hearth smoke, sweaters, tall boots, Friday Night Lights and reasons to snuggle down beneath soft throw blankets and wear fuzzy socks, it draws me home. The first cold snap inevitably brings out all my deeply rooted Southern Girl traits, the desire to bake, write hand written letters and clean everything before decking it out in holiday finery. The entire season is about going below the surface and finding strength, shoring up weak spots and storing what is needed for a later date.

My home and office get decked out just as quick as I can get away with it by social standards. This means Fall decorations can go up in mid September, Halloween on Oct 1st, Thanksgiving on Nov 1st, and Christmas the day after Thanksgiving. Trust that my fingers are itching to toss garlands, floral arrangements, brick-a-brack and holiday trees across every available surface with a maniacal glee. 

The traditional meal of roasted tomato soup and crab meat fritters is shared with friends and family during the Texas State Fair in early October. A simple and deliciously hearty meal done time and again, just once a year and always a treat. 

Holiday cards are nearly always hand written, though there have been a few years when picture cards went out instead. There is something soothing to me about pen to paper, so much more personal than typewritten communication. The feel of good paper-stock and a well crafted pen are tactile pleasures. Knowing that just seeing the colorful envelope mixed in with daily junk-mail and bills will cause the recipient to smile before they even open the card inside makes me smile in turn. 

In the land of personal traditions there are the movies of each season, Harry Potter for October, West Wing in November and Lord of the Rings in December. Movies that have become the sound track of those holidays for me over the years, they play while I decorate and bake, background noise for meal preparations. The stories intertwined with our holiday tales.

Fall is my season, and I am glad it is finally here. 

It can't all be unicorns and rainbows...

This morning our story's hero discovered that some days are not all unicorns and rainbows. On this day she found it was full of trolls and dark forests. Surrounded by doubts in her abilities and fears of failure, the internal struggle for courage to do the right thing was fierce and bloody.

In other words, dear readers, I had a serious case of The Insecure Fat Kid. The phrases of childhood and images of magazines danced in my head, reminding me of all the things I will never be. It became a game of the Why Bothers vs. the Fuck That Noise. Despite all the hard work, the changes to life style, the clear improvements of health and fitness - some days I am still just a fighting to take the first step out the door. It never gets any easier to do these things for myself, there are simply days in which I don't allow myself to think about it before I begin. 

As I so often tell my Sweat Angels, getting your ass off the sofa is the victory, the rest is easy. Once out the door, be it on the road or the mats, that is mindless doing. The choice to begin is hardest. Sleep or workout, give in or get up. This went on for a solid fifteen minutes this morning nearly as long as my morning run route would take to accomplish, before I pulled on my big girl panties and my running shoes. Yep, you heard me, I hauled my cookies outta my comfy spot to do what I like least - run. Not as a punishment, but to remind myself that some day I won't be able to, so it would be foolish to squander the moments when I can. 

My run this morning rewarded me with starlit skies, howling coyotes and the ever elusive friendly neighbor (guy was out watering his lawn and turned his sprinklers off so I could run by without getting soaked or having to get off the sidewalk into the busy street). It was worth doing, it didn't cost me anything but a bit of time, and I will feel better all day for having done it. 

Defeating the Trolls to make a mad dash through the Dark Forest doesn't always yield heroic tales and winning the hand of the maiden fair, but it doesn't mean you shouldn't do it anyway. 

Tomorrow the fight continues. 

Hyacinth Hippo Does Water Ballet

Whilst doing my floundering impression of a half drowning purple clad hippo, in an oxygen deprived moment of clarity I realized, "Here is the one place where nothing else matters. Where the world falls away and all that I need to concern myself with is this moment, this action."

Only this moment...

A beautiful concept; to allow yourself to be fully contained within the single moment in which you currently reside. No desire to reach back or forward, but to simply enjoy the current. To unburden yourself of the pressures of the outside world, real or imagined. To release worry along with anticipation for yourself and those to whom you are irrevocably connected. Simply to do the thing you have committed to for the moment as fully as possible.

Perhaps this epiphany came due to a distinct lack of oxygen, or perhaps due to the sensory deprivation of floating weightless to only the sounds of my own labored breathing. Workout complete, I floated there staring up at the skylights I allowed my mind to wander back and try to remember if I had ever felt that lightness of purpose before. The fog of time seemed to part around other such occasions, both recent and distant, in which that clarity had been present. Each was tied directly to a task that ,at the time, seemed to require my full effort to complete, varied as the tasks were, they had that in common - applied effort and force of will.

In a world full of distractions, multi tasking and instant information, solitude seems to be something I do not allow myself enough of. Truly to focus on a single task without permitting myself to check just one more website, chore, or to reorganize my priorities once more to put that sense of peace off for another day. If I am able seek solitude and solidarity of purpose for those moments of lightness, I might just get lucky and trip over enlightenment.

Feet

We each of us have our quirks, the little things that are odd, but make your friends smile to know about you. As an introduction to my many quirks, let us begin with a big one - I love feet. Powerful, beautiful, unique and expressive. Bare or divinely dressed, they have an allure  that cannot be denied. The smallest of chubby baby digits to the tissue paper thin skinned nearly bird like claws of the well worn, the appeal of the stories untold draws me. 

From the tip of my minuscule pinkie toe to the cracks in my heel, I love my imperfect feet. Though small ( size 6 and 1/2) they carry a world of fascination for me. In all that I do they have been my constant companions. The calluses and curves mark the abuses I put them through, and show the work required of those tiny platforms. They lift me off the ground, brace me to hold others, allow me to move with purpose and speed, sure and steady they carry me through all the trials and joys of my life. 

Your hands tell a story, but your hands are so very expressive and visible that they can lie. Your feet never lie, the stories written there are 100% truth.  Polished toes, with callused pads - that's me. Every toe has been broken, the tops are scared, my calluses are deep. High heels, dance and sports have done their damage, and will continue to for years to come. Every attempt is made to maintain a level of civility with my hardworking paws, that they may be presentable in public despite the blue collar nature of the work they do.  My best friend has threatened for years, and has on occasion actually done this, to take a cheese grater to my feet in vain effort to keep them under control. Pedicures and lotions are liberally applied with regularity. Yet...yet, they remain not quite tamed in appearance. As I said, they cannot lie, no matter the window dressing. 

Being a native of a hot land with an extended summer feet are often found bare or wrapped in only the merest wisp of the idea of a proper shoe. This leaves a great deal of observable material for my ever earth bound eye to espy. The horrid and the exquisite are on display at least eight months of the year, flashing their stories with each step. They are our method of exploration in the natural world. The feel of sand or fresh cut grass under your feet, hot pavement in the summer, chilly tile floors, lush carpet and even the odd Lego. It is a sign of comfort, and trust, to go barefoot in someone else's home. To feel relaxed enough in their domain to allow yourself that mild intimacy.



So, there ya have it, my little bit of oddity in rambling tumble of words. Feet - glorious, wonderful, hard working, dirty, and ever so very honest. In closing I give you another picture of the feet in my life - mine, and my baby brother's. Though drastically different sizes and shapes, both sets are heavily abused due to the active lives we lead. What stories they could tell...