Lindy 411

A book deal

2021-04-28T17:06:00.003-06:00

"How about a book? Alice's Agent, Kathy, suggested.

Alices scoffed, "And who in the hell wants to hear about a washed-up athlete that once upon a time was World Champion but doesn't even have a medal?"

"Alice, you're not exactly selling yourself here." Said Kathy.

Alice stood silent on the other end and finally said, "Selling myself? What am I a hooker or an athlete?

"I think a lot of young aspiring female athletes would love to hear from you?" Kathy said.

"From who Kathy the hooker or the athlete? Because honestly those young girls whether they're talented racers or not will indeed have to prostrate themselves. And Lord knows that wasn't my strength."

Sigh. "Alright, Alice. You've had your fun. Will you just say you'll think about it?

Alright. Fine. I'll think about it. And Kathy you really are a marvelous pimp. Has anyone ever told you that?

"Just you Alice. Just you. "

Click

The Pitcher's Mound

2021-02-25T09:38:00.001-07:00

Alice stood on the pitcher's mound, all four feet and five inches of her. Alice was the tiniest no matter what, in school and in sports she was always a head shorter than anyone else. She had heard every short joke under the sun and man we're there a lot of them. Being the brunt of the joke, Alice always had something to prove. If people assumed she was a joke, she had to do more than anyone else to prove them wrong. She had to be the smartest and the toughest. Not naturally gifted or talented Alice learned to practice harder, study more and grind her way to excellence no matter the toll.

She warmed up with the coach throwing the ball as hard as she could. She loved hearing the sound of the ball slap into her coach's mitt.

"Nice Alice!" Said the coach as the fifth strike in a row slapped his mitt.

There was no better player than Alice, at practice, anyway. Every practice her pitches were accurate, her form impeccable. When she stood up to hit every single hit went right over the third baseline. Alice was fast, sometimes she could get away with a shotty hit and still make it to first, outrunning the ball was risky but she loved it, and she was the only one on the team who could do it.

Yet when it came to games, her confidence didn't come so easily. Her stomach would churn the night before, making her sick. The lack of sleep would catch up to her and by the time game time rolled around she hadn't even been able to eat a thing. Alice never said anything because this is how she'd always been, this is what it was like to play a game. She thought everyone must feel this way.

It was game time, her white pants perfectly cleaned and bleached thanks to Camille's expert skills. A purple scrunchy held her slicked-back ponytail. Yes, Camille had made a scrunchy especially to match her uniform. Her team, the fighting grapes, had struggled at the beginning of the season but was quickly making a comeback, playing tougher teams and holding their own.

Alice ran to the pitcher's mound for the first inning, took five deep breaths, and looked right into the catcher's mitt. Focus Alice, focus. She threw the first pitch.

"Ball!" The ump proclaimed.

Focus Alice, Focus! Come on Alice.

She threw the next pitch.

"Ball!" said the ump.

Focus Alice, focus! Come on Alice, you're better than this! Don't let your whole team down!

Alice wound up and threw the third pitch a bit below her strike zone but the batter swung her bat, with no contact.

"Strike!" The ump yelled.

Focus Alice, if she wouldn't have swung, it would have been another ball. Come on Alice! You need to do better!

Alice threw two more balls and walked the batter.

Alice wiped the sweat on her forehead with her mitt leaving a bit of dirt on her face. She thought she may cry.

The coach clapping his hands, "Shake it off Alice. Shake it off." His face stern and serious said otherwise.

Not okay Alice. Not okay.

When Good Enough is Good Enough

2020-04-30T16:15:00.000-06:00

I’m probably a lot like you. I strive to do my best. Whether that’s within mothering, the workplace, or doing something where progress is measured like a sport or a hobby. But are there certain times in our lives in certain situations where it would be best to not give our very best? To simply say, “good enough”, and be satisfied? I think so.

A couple of months ago I headed out with a cycling group that I had ridden around with before. By before I mean two years ago when I had one less kid and was a much fitter and more capable cyclist than I am now. I was a little nervous but I thought, hey it’s the beginning of the cycling season, how fast can they be? The answer? Fast!

Before the ride, we all met up in the parking lot of our local bike shop. The ride leader told us the route. It was a route I had done before and I knew it was about a 40-mile bike ride. I thought, oh shit how am I going to back out of this? Here I am in the parking lot all spandex-ed up, on time, and ready to ride. I couldn’t make a justifiable excuse. So I decided I’d tough out this one ride.

As the group started pedaling I looked down at my trusty bike computer I thought, OMG why in the world are they pacing at 20 mph? I didn’t know how I was going to maintain this kind of speed. I was suffering.

Enter self-defeating thoughts. How did I let myself get this out of shape? I should lose more weight, then I’d be faster? I should have done more indoor spinning through the winter? I should have put in more miles by now. I should. I should. I should.

I reached a point in the ride where I dropped off the back of the group, I simply couldn’t keep up. A couple of other ladies dropped with me. A generous and stronger rider hung back with us to help pull us through the rest of the ride.

I made it home just before dark and reported how the ride went to my husband. In his ever logical mind he said, “Well, it sounds like you’ll have to put in more time on the bike.” I then said, “I think I’ve reached the point where I need to decide how important it is to me to be that fast again.”

I want to keep riding my bike because I love it. I want to keep riding because I feel it’s healthy for me and for moms in general to have hobbies and interests all of their own. I want to keep riding because it’s great exercise and most of the time I come home with a clearer mind. But at this point in my life, as a mom of three young kids, just getting out there might have to be good enough.

The next week I went out to pedal around with a good friend. I told her about my experience. I noted that I was probably the youngest one on that group ride while simultaneously being the slowest. But in my new self-forgiving state I told her why I thought that was. I said, “The thirty something’s, like myself, are having babies. We are up to our eyeballs with homework, sports, diapers, laundry, and all the other goings-on of having older kids, plus babies.”

I haven’t been with that group again, call me a quitter. I know I would have in my past perfectionist, high achieving, self-diminishing state of mind. But this time I’m going to forgive myself. I’m going to recognize and respect where my life is at. I’m doing a lot of wonderful things and I don’t have the capacity, energy, nor the time to be the best at all of them. So in this season of my life good enough is going to have to be good enough.

I have no interest in quitting the things I love. I do have an immense interest in doing what I love and quitting the high expectations game. The game where I never won, only felt bad about myself and let it tarnish the things that brought me joy.

I’m still out there pursuing my passion, filling my cup, and letting those ever addicting endorphins run throughout my body and that is GOOD ENOUGH for me.

A Turned Down Bed

2020-04-30T15:51:00.001-06:00

Camille liked a turned-down bed, even if she was the one turning it down. She folded the bedspread and creased the sheet down just a bit and re-tucked it under the mattress assuring its security. She took the decorative pillows off and placed them on the bench at the end of the bed. She then propped the pillows, the ones actually designed for sleeping, up against the headboard and sat atop her carefully curated turned down bed with her back up against the pillows and a quilt over legs, let out a deep sigh and cracked open her book, much like she did every night.

Camille always had a book she was reading. She preferred fiction, mostly, she used the stories of fictional characters to transport her to other worlds. Worlds without endless piles of laundry, book reports, homework assignments, and carpooling. She loathed the self-help preachy books Conrad seemed to pick up but never finish. Camille couldn't wind down without a book. Barnes and Noble knew her by name as she had just about read every book in their local library, a selection Camille constantly complained about.

By the time Conrad entered the bedroom after a rather eventful night of the police searching their home Camille was as calm as she could be. In part, due to her reading ritual and part due to the Gin she tossed back a half-hour earlier. Camille was not a drinker, but she decided on the night that an officer enters your home with all children present is a night that merits hard liquor.

Conrad passed through the bedroom into the bathroom as if it was any other night. Right as his feet transitioned from the warm cushioned carpet to the cold tile bathroom floor he heard his wife.

"Con, mind telling me what that was all about?"

Conrad exited the bathroom headed toward Camille and sat on the edge of the bed perched by one knee on the bed and one leg stabilizing beneath. That was Conrad. He looked like he was all in, yet beneath there was always an exit strategy.

"It was a misunderstanding." He smirked as he explained to Camille that police, much like all people, make errors in their work.

"What exactly was the misunderstanding? What were they searching for?"

"Listen, they thought they heard the sound of my voice on a tape. I suggested, rightly so, that voices sound differently on tape than they do. Certainly, you've heard a recording of your voice on the tape and thought my goodness that sounds like a child, and yet it was you. Isn't that a weird phenomenon?"

"Okay. But, what made them search here, at our home?" Surely there was something other than a voice?" Surely someone had to suggest the voice sounded like yours? They got your name from someone? Right?

"Yeah, I don't know how all that came about. It was interesting. I had the officer record my voice while he and I were down in my study. Then I had him play both recordings. And, wouldn't you know it! They didn't sound alike. Not even close. The officer apologized and that was that."

Conrad spoke with a certain finality. Camille thought she knew what he was saying as he said it. He explained everything thoroughly with an arrogant sort of confidence. He went on and on about the tape and that it was obviously not his voice. He was casual, laughing, but his eye contact was unflappable. By the end of this one-way conversation Camille didn't have any questions for him. In fact, she couldn't remember the last time she questioned him. How could she?

Yet, the next morning when her nosy neighbor called just to see if everything was okay over there? She realized she couldn't repeat, in the same authoritative detail, what Conrad had told her. She didn't actually understand what he had told her. She didn't understand why they would come to her house and question her husband. She couldn't connect the dots. And going into the whole voice recording debacle seemed as if it would require her to answer the same questions that Conrad had somehow been able to avoid.

So instead, she said, "It was a misunderstanding. Hah! A big one. I'm sorry if it alarmed you. Hey while I've got you on the line, I've been meaning to ask you about that pasta salad you made last month for book club. The one with the olives and some sort of Italian seasoning. Can I get the recipe? It was fabulous!"

While Camille wasn't as cunning as her husband she did know how to change the subject. Sure enough, Lori was beaming at the compliment and continued to recite the recipe, almost in its entirety. Camille never made that salad. Lori was notorious for leaving out a key ingredient, so no matter who tried to replicate her recipes, they were never quite as good as Lori's.

Camille hung up the phone and picked it right back up to call Conrad. She punched the first number and then couldn't get herself to dial the last six digits. What would she ask? How would she ask it? He probably wouldn't pick up, anyway. He never liked being disturbed at work. Camille put the phone back up on the wall. With her hand still weighing heavily on the phone, she wondered if maybe she was making too big a deal of this. Misunderstandings happen. People make mistakes, even the police. All her suspicions, her questions, her worries, they were just hers now. She wasn't going to get anything more from her husband. she knew that. She'd known that for a long time. She lived in her own head with no real partner, or companion to talk to. Her hand slipped off the phone and with that she headed to the laundry to see if Alice's softball uniform was dry. She had a game scheduled for tonight and she was slated to be the pitcher, for her first time.

This House

2019-08-30T17:12:00.002-06:00

On the cover of Better Homes and Garden's Magazine was a picture of a beautiful home. A classic farmhouse design complete with a wrap-around front porch beckoning a cold lemonade and a good book. The brick was a traditional red color and each window was surrounded by stark black lacquered shutters.

Camille Elliot was a faithful subscriber of the magazine, while she read then recycled most issues, this one, she had kept tucked away with the hope of someday building this house. Her dream home.

Along with articles on how to make a pie crust just like grandma did and which miracle grow would make your flower beds flourish this issue of Better Homes and Garden's also contained a floor plan to the house on the cover of the magazine. Camille sat in her current cookie-cutter home dreaming of a day when she'd make this home her reality.

No matter where she lived or what state of life she was in Camille took pride in making every house, or apartment, or condo into a home. She was the only woman in the neighborhood that had hired a designer, and it showed. No furnishings were too extravagant or expensive but it was obvious they weren't the matching set you could easily finance from the local RC Willey.

Camille herself was like this too. She took care of herself. She practiced step aerobics at the Y. Her clothes were impeccably ironed, she wore just enough makeup and her hair was short, stylish, and done before anyone else woke up. She wasn't high maintenance, but she always looked put together.

When you walked into the living room of the Elliot home it was like looking at Camille herself, put together, everything was on purpose, it was done and done well. The fabric on the sofa was carefully selected by Camille with the help of her long-time designer, Katherine Winbury. Katherine had a blunt bleached blond bob and wore oversized jewelry and seemed slightly out of place when she visited Camille's neighborhood. It's not that it wasn't a nice neighborhood altogether. It's just not the kind of neighborhood anyone would set out to stay in forever. Politely put, it was a starter neighborhood and Camille always thought this would be her starter home.

However, Camille believed a job worth doing was worth doing right. So when she set out to decorate her starter home she started by calling Katherine. Through the years Katherine had designed and redesigned the front living room of the Elliot home. Katherine always entered the home with an authority and presence that made you feel you had no choice but to put that ottoman next to that coffee table. Yet, her authority must have been merited because the fabric on the chairs didn't match the fabric on the sofa, but somehow it worked.

And somehow Camille made it work too. She was a stay-at-home mom with three daughters, Rebecca an accomplished flutist who given any real opportunity could be Juilliard bound, another reason to get out of this neighborhood, or so her mother thought. Her second daughter was precocious, little, and feisty as hell, but Camille always found a way to calm her and thought, in the end, she'd be just fine, even better than fine if she could pour such characteristics into a passion. Emmie was the sweet blond hair blue-eyed baby everyone deserves to end with. She was the "cherry on top," Camille was fond of saying. It was true for the most part and it was also her way of letting everyone know that while she loved being a mom, her days of bringing more babies into this world were done.

Camille's husband, Conrad, was a hard-working Software sales representative. Viva, the software company he worked for, while a small startup when he was hired was quickly moving up the ladder and due to Conrad's unrelenting work ethic he was too. Conrad traveled a lot and while it was hard, at first, managing the kids on her own, eventuality Camille moved into a rhythm and what was supposedly his chore versus her chore they all became hers. What Camille couldn't manage on her own, a leaking dishwasher, a broken pipe, or a busted sprinkler, she was now was able to hire help for.

On an evening when Conrad was around there was a knock at the door. Alice answered the door and a man standing in a navy blue blazer, white shirt, and dark grey slacks looked down at Alice and asked, "Is your Daddy home?"

Alice intimated, didn't reply but ran into the kitchen to retrieve her mother.

Camille came to the door with a dishtowel in hand wiping away the watery residue from chopping tomatoes.

"Hi, what can I do for you?" Camille asked.

The man in the blazer discreetly flashed a badge and said, "I'm detective Green. I'd like to talk to Conrad Elliot. Is he here?"

Camille's eyes widened, "Yes, he's down in the study, I'll go get him."

She turned to the girls, "Girls go downstairs, your favorite show should be on.

Tv time was limited in the Elliot home and with a stranger, at the door, they were more than motivated to hop down to the TV room.

Conrad came up from his basement study moved quickly to the door and gave the man in the blazer a firm handshake.

"Do Come in," said Conrad. He widened the door and waved the detective into their home.

Book Review: The High Tide Club by Mary Kay Andrews

2019-03-22T16:53:00.002-06:00

I absolutely got lost in this book. It was one I couldn't wait to return to over and over. In fact, I experienced a bit of remorse after its completion.

That should tell you enough. It had more than all the good elements of a story. Intrigue, mystery, romance, murder, culture, racism and toxic hierarchy. I kept thinking the author would run out of twists and turns but she keeps hitting you with them and one question builds on another until you're tearing through pages trying to figure out who did what. And who belongs to who, and who killed who and just who are they, really?

I fell in love with the way the author paints Savanna, Georgia. As a western girl I'm sort of curious about the south's culture, climate and lush landscapes. She'll make you want to dive right into Georgia no matter how humid it is.

I think the cover of this book does it some injustice. It looks like a simple beach read. While I indeed think it is a beach read and I did indeed read it on Utah's version of a beach, make no mistake, Mary Kay Andrews is a more sophisticated writer than the term "beach Read" can provide.

Book Review: Where The Crawdads Sing

2019-03-08T16:46:00.001-07:00

Read this book.

It lacks for nothing. Except fantasy, a genre I cannot swallow no matter how small the dose is.
Owens delivers a main character you will come to know, understand and ultimately fall in love with. Truly developing a character you will root for.
The plot goes back and forth between time periods. As the past catches up with the present the page turning intensifies.
Owens blends a coming of age story, with a murder mystery. She approaches tragedy, abandonment and loneliness in a smooth, slow way giving the reader time to develop an understanding of such events without a swift gut punch.
I adored the way she describes the marsh of North Carolina and it's surroundings. I also loved her creative use of poetry to propel the story. It challenged me to think a little deeper about the text before me.
Another story of human resilience, of which I never tire.
Applause to Delia Owens.

A Little Risk

2019-02-17T10:38:00.000-07:00

Writing Prompt: Finish this sentence: "Life is short..."

You can't experience a full life without a little risk. So go helicopter skiing, scuba dive to the depths of the ocean. Ride your bike on a windy road. Cruise down a mountain on two wheels.
Fall in love. Have kids. These things will rip you to shreds at times, but you've got one life, so, live it well.

The River Run

2019-02-17T10:32:00.001-07:00

Writing Prompt: If you wrote a song about your love life, what would the be? Write the first verse.

The River Run
Like the river changes so do you
A cool touch of the river makes me feel new
so do you

But the river runs through
and I must too
The river runs you
and you must be true
like the river changes so do you
and I must too

Compassion

2018-12-20T17:48:00.003-07:00

Sometimes I feel so far from my eating disorder, like it was so long ago that I can’t even claim it anymore. And then other times, like now, it’s like it is sitting right next to me as if we are breathing the same air and thinking the same thoughts. My eating disorder has always had its slight whisperings. On healthier days I can bat away the unhealthy thoughts like a harmless fly. Yet, in my weaker moments when I feel down and let’s face it, fat. The eating disordered version of myself raises the volume from a whisper into a familiar tune inside my head played on repeat. As I look into the mirror to inspect the days outfit she likes to say, “Lindy this shouldn’t come as a surprise to you but your thighs, they look huge! Just as they’ve always looked. What were you expecting something different this morning?”

I take her words to the gym. I take her words into the day and while it doesn't blanket all the happiness my life posses it does cast a cloud cover. A shade to make things not quite as bright as they otherwise could be.

I’ve been listening to her a lot lately. See, she can sense vulnerability and she can sure as hell sense even the slightest of weight gain. She is there when my jeans fit a little too snug. She is there when I exercise in spandex and she’s there whenever I put on my cycling attire. I try to argue with her I really do. I’ve tried with logic, “Listen, I know my shape isn’t considered ideal. I know I’m short and stout. I’ll give you that . But listen when I say to you that I’m fit! I feel good! I can do the things I need to do! And just let me tell you what my so called big thighs have accomplished. They can out ski just about anyone. They have run countless marathons and triathlons, they climb mountains and bike steeper pitches then you’ve ever dream!” I shout tirades at her trying to defend myself.

Her replies are short and cruel.”Ya ya, you just keep telling yourself that. Live in denial. Whatever makes you feel better.”

She knows how to get to me and when to get to me because she is me. She’s not the best version of me. She’s not the version I take out into the world. I know her and my husband knows her. Other than that I keep her close to me. She lays on my chest causing distress even as I rest and when I awake she resides on my shoulders weighing me down as I walk.

I am no longer interested in name calling or shaming her into silence and I’m too tired to be angry. Someday. Someday soon. I hope to look her in the eye, gently cup her face with my hands and say, “I see you.”

I want to feed her with a compassion that we have never known. I want to be able to say, “I don’t think you’re cruel. I think your upbringing and the expectations and standards this world places on women fed you and then I listened to you thus nourishing you even more and together we made this twisted life. We have a history, you and I. Albeit an unhealthy one.”

I will sit down with her and talk to her in the same soft tone I reserve only for my children to say, “We have been through so much and I can honor the journey we have had together. From you I learned pain, deprivation and self loathing. We overdid everything you can overdo. Too much exercise, too much self discipline. And because, despite our accomplishments, you were always telling me I wasn’t good enough this motivated me to just keep going. Run another mile, ace another test and hopefully worthiness would be around the corner.”

But all the self discipline, all the angst, only led to more angst and more self hatred. Somehow we disguised our disorder into races and straight A’s wrapping our filthy habit in a pretty bow where bystanders would ooh and awe.

But the worthiness never came. The accomplishments were never enjoyed.

I will embrace the eating disordered Lindy and tell her I know how lost and alone she feels and that it’s really not her fault. I will hug her tight and let her cry into my shoulder until she and I decide together that her voice, the critical one needs to be replaced for both of us to be happy.

Book Review: Educated: A Memoir

2018-12-19T16:48:00.002-07:00

This was well written. And her story is one that needs to be told. Like, holy shit, if your childhood was actually like that than you owe the world your story.

This memoir reminds me a lot of The Glass Castle. So it's something you have to be willing to stomach. But unlike the Glass Castle this memoir had some familiar topics, namely she was raised Mormon. However, it's like no other Mormon upbringing I've ever heard of. The way this family practiced Mormonism was grossly mislead by her bipolar Dad. Yet, even with this understanding it still bothered me.

I found it made me feel somewhat bad raising my kids as Mormon as if I'm part of a masterfully manipulative plan. In truth it made me even more insecure about my faith and the role it plays in my life and in my children's life. Which is something I grapple with often. So for me, personally, I wish I'd never read as it was triggering for me.

I applaud this author. She overcomes a hell of a lot and she should be proud of herself. Her story proves that humans are stronger than we know and the old adage that we can do anything we put our minds to may actually be true.

But all I can say is it got to me and not in a good way. I've spoken with a few friends that had similar impressions. I would say if you have the ability to maintain perfect objectification than, okay, read it. And for the others read at your own risk.

Just another reminder that words are powerful because they create stories and stories make us feel.

Book Review: Born A Crime by Trevor Noah

2018-12-19T16:23:00.000-07:00

This is an autobiography by Trevor Noah. You know him, he took over Jon Stewart's Daily Show He's a comedian from South Africa.

I actually listened to this one and I'm glad I did. He read it himself in his South African accent and I totally thought it added an element to the story especially his interpretation of how his mother, Patricia, speaks. Don't we all have a voice in which we imitate our parent's voice? While our impressions are almost never accurate, somehow we all know when a person is impersonating their mother.

This book is all about Trevor's childhood. In fact, none of the book let's us in on a how a poor boy from Africa became a successful comedic TV host in America. I'd love if he would take a whole other book to tell us that story.

Trevor's childhood is something you will not be able to believe, you won't be able to relate to it in the slightest. I guarantee you that. The kind of poor he experienced will leave you sad and perhaps thinking you've never actually been hungry in your life.

His insight and explanation behind the racism he experienced in South Africa was unique to just him. Trevor was born to a black mother and white father, which was illegal. He spent a lot of time hiding from authorities and his mother and father could never lead on that they were together. The flavor of racism he endured comes with a burden you've never thought of before and it will leave your mind spinning.

When I have recommended this book to others I say, "You wont believe the life he had." You'll learn that you don't know much about how the world works. You will learn that you don't know shit about racism and you will learn that Trevor's mom, as Oprah puts it, Is a Bad Ass Gangsta Woman, and even that is an understatement.

Go read it! Or listen to it!

A New Size

2018-07-12T20:48:00.002-06:00

Today I went shopping. I got a babysitter and went by myself. While that sounds like a treat, it wasn't. I HAD to go shopping. Yesterday is when I realized it. I wore a pair of shorts that use to fit me. I squeezed myself into them and was completely uncomfortable all day long. My knee fat kept crawling out of the bottom of the shorts begging my constant tug.

The once cute coral shorts were riding up my crotch and the top button was working overtime. After the shorts mocked and harassed me all day long I decided to call it what it is and buy a few new things. I thought it would make me feel better. I tried to talk myself down. Okay I tried to lie to myself. Hey, sizing is different throughout various brands and styles. Maybe an evil villain sized those shorts and perhaps I would just need to size up one puny pant number. Perhaps I'm that far off from the size I use to be.

I went to mall. I hate the mall, mostly because of the pushy twenty something sales ladies always acting as if they want to get to know me.

"What we shopping for today? Anything special?" She'll inquire, cheerfully.

"Um just looking" I'll say. Which really means, back off bitch.

Then they'll rattle on about there special specials and how If I spend one billion dollars and I can get 30 percent off the next billion.

I think, girl.... you really don't want to get to know me. Underneath these long mom shorts is an angry woman that came here for stretchy fabrics and a bit of silence.

I went around the store picking up one size bigger than whatever the former Lindy was. With each clothing selection I tugged it, making sure it had a little give, or a lot of give. I needed these shorts to stretch from here to kingdom come.

"Can I get a dressing room started for ya?" Asked the twenty something sales clerk.

I handed over the items as she asked my name and wrote it on the cute metal board hanging on the dressing room door. I thought if she dots the "I" with a heart I'm outa here.

I tugged and hoisted a few on and realized, Wow! I've changed more that I thought I had. I settled on some stretchy long mom shorts in a larger size than I have ever worn before. I tossed in a couple forgiving T- shirts and decided my summer wardrobe had been updated, or more appropriately, up-scaled.

As I was checking out the nosy, all too chatty, twenty something sales person asked me, "You buyin clothes for a special Occassion, a trip or something?"

I tapped my credit card on the counter and said, "Honestly, I've gained a bit of weight and I'm tired of being uncomfortable everyday."

She paused, and then smiled and said, "Well, you still look great to me."

I get it. Honesty stuns people sometimes. And I mean really it's not her fault. I know that.

Accepting where we're at in the moment can be difficult. The older I get the more I realize that life is a teeter totter of adjusting expectations. I suppose it's in rejoicing in the highs, even if it's not as high as we anticipated and accepting or God willing, embracing the lows.

So what the hell! I'm going raise my glass to a new size. Cheers.

The Stories our Bodies Tell

2018-07-12T20:04:00.002-06:00

Last night I attended my daughter's dance recital. She takes modern dance. The thing I love most about modern dance is the stories that are told through movement. The dancers told the story of, Pricilla the Pink. Each class had a portion of the story they told through movement, props and color.

Her dance studio also hosts adult classes, they also told a number of stories with the movement of their bodies. The production was a beautiful and emotionally driven collaboration of stories told through movement.

By the end of the night I saw a painting completed through movement of the body, a memoir on pain, anguish and anxiety, and a display of carefree happiness. Some had a narrative, some did not. The dances I saw stuck with me.

I was out for a run the next day and I thought, I wonder what would happen if I took a dance class? Could my body bend with the same grace theirs did? I then thought, Aren't we all telling stories with our bodies?

If my body told you its story it would tell of a girl who's body has accomplished a lot. A body that has, in a sense, been to hell and back. I bet yours has too.

A body that was short and strong as a gymnast.
A body that rounded bases faster than anyone else on the team.
A body that lost a lot of swim meets, but one that still loves to swim because it feels good to float.
A body that has ran too many races to count.
A body that bikes more miles in a day than some will drive.
A body that has been injured because it's owner just wouldn't listen when it begged her to stop.
A body, after all its hard work and achievements, was criticized because it wasn't thin enough.
A body that was deprived of well earned calories.
A body that was fed junk and then forced to throw it all up.
A body that miraculously housed and birthed and nourished three children.
A body who was whipped back into shape after childbirth well before it was ready.
A body that never failed me when I continually failed it.
A body who deserves a huge apology for what I've put it through.

I suppose my painting, my dance, my story as seen through my body would be one of beauty and pain. Loyalty and betrayal. A story of deprivation and indulgence. And like all great stories I hope it ends with happiness, appreciation and gratitude.

So today, dearest body may I offer you a heartfelt apology? By amending the wrong and seeking the right? May I for once tell you how much I love you and that my life and all the beautiful gifts, talents, experiences and people that are present in it are from you? And if I spend the rest of my days making these wrongs into rights will you do one more thing for me? That is, to do what you've always done. To carry me through this life as I live it to the fullest.

Gwen

2016-08-25T15:24:00.003-06:00

My Gwen girl is nine months and last night I laid awake in my bed and tried to think of why and how it is that someone who does not speak, has no real opinions, interests or hobbies and who demands constant attention can somehow, miraculously bring an entire family so much joy.

I mean it when I say Gwen has brought joy to our home. As I laid awake in my insomniac state trying to figure out this phenomenon I thought perhaps it is her essence, her presence that is so sweet, innocent and pure and that maybe on a minuscule scale those traits still exist within us and they are exasperated by a baby. So when we look at a baby, and when I look at my sweet Gwen I feel good. I feel happy. I feel joy.

It's funny when my first was a baby I would journal her monthly milestones and snap pictures of every little moment. When our second came along the journaling and the pictures tapered. Now, with my darling Gwen this is the first mention of her and she is nine months. In a mommy state of thinking I should feel bad about this, but you know what I don't. I have enjoyed Gwen instead of obsessing over milestones. I nursed Gwen without stress for as long as both she and I felt fit and I didn't have to explain it to anyone. I have kissed Gwen one trillion times on every inch of her body because eating her is frowned upon. This experience with Gwen has been wonderfully different and for that I wouldn't trade a journal entry or a picture.

Gwen's smiles with her whole mouth. She has a soft sweet and plump body. She is healthy. I have never had to wonder if she's eating enough. She is a fantastic sleeper. It is like all the worry that can be associated with having a new baby simply doesn't exist. I don't know how that's possible, but it is and it's glorious.

I'm posting a newborn photo because it is gorgeous and sweet and this blog is so out of date I figure anything goes.

Book Review: The Devil in the White City

2015-10-16T14:29:00.001-06:00

I've been doing a lot of reading lately. And I can thank this third pregnancy for that. I have been inordinately lazy this time around and I'm afraid it's eating away at my soul. Yes, people, my soul! Some people sell their soul to the devil and I sold mine to motherhood.

More on that later.

This book was SO GOOD. It's non-fiction but you'd never guess by the style it's written in. I can't imagine churning such a large amount of research into a story that reads as if it's fiction. An amazing feat. A huge applause for Erik Larson.
This book follows the facts and events leading up to the World's Fair in 1893 while simultaneously following the story of the first ever detected serial killer of the United States. Both stories true, both fascinating. I loved learning about this portion of American history while being completely entertained. You need to pick up this book so we can chat about the World's Fair and annoyingly talk about it among others who, most likely, will know nothing about it, that way we can act more educated and thus better than everyone else. Isn't learning fun?
Whenever I mentioned the premise of this book I found people would shudder when I mentioned the serial killer thing. And to those of you who shuddered, you guys are wimps. But, if you really need me to stroke your hair and tell you it's going to be okay I will say, the serial thing does not get graphic or descriptive. I mean, one could more offended watching Sesame Street, or at least the Sesame Street featuring Katy Perry. You know the one.
Happy Reading!

Book Review: The Rosie Project

2015-05-20T15:10:00.002-06:00

I loved this book, so much more than I thought I would. I would describe it as a quirky love story. You'll fall in love with the characters. I found I laughed out loud a few times.

The main character of the book is all set to find a wife. He realizes he is weird and is aware of the some of the reasons behind his inability to find a mate. It's clear he has asperger's syndrome. Yet the book explores this syndrome in an accessible and entertaining way. The main character holds the narrative so it feels as though you are inside his head.

Rosie, who becomes his love interest is a little rough around the edges and like everyone she has as story that is not obvious in the beginning. I loved the exploration of the two characters as individuals and then as lovers. It is a feel good, hilarious read that will leave you feeling like there is someone for everyone.

Book Review: Dad Is Fat

2015-05-04T20:30:00.001-06:00

Dad is Fat is a humorous autobiography written by Comedian, Jim Gaffigan. I'm a fan of his stand up and when this book was recommend to me by a friend it didn't take long until I picked it up. Well picked it up is the wrong term. I actually read this one through audio. My husband and I spent our eight year anniversary in St. George and I thought a book would be the perfect way to kill a long car ride. I downloaded it right before we left because I knew it would be a book we could both enjoy. A husband and wife both enjoying the same book. Rare.

His book is all about his experience raising five young kids in a two bedroom New York apartment. His observations of his children are funny and if you are a parent, they will ring in painfully true, which I believe is the heart of true humor.

A couple of things I enjoy about his humor is his ability to keep things clean while still being creative. I have to imagine that this is hard to do as it seems most comedians resort to crude and sexual humor. The other thing is, while he makes fun of his kids and his wife, his love for them gleams through the pages with a brightness that is so refreshing.

It made me feel better as a parent. It made me feel like we are all in this mess together, that none of us knows what we are doing. We are all just making it up as we go along. Making rules that momentarily work in our favor and usually ruin us in the long term.

I loved this way he spoke up about his wife. He sang her praises and we just don't hear enough of this kind of positive talk in our culture today.

I'm giving this book five stars. It's a relaxing laughable read. A perfect vacation book.

An Awful Dinner

2015-04-28T21:53:00.000-06:00

Today was fine, until dinner. I try so hard. I honestly do. When I make a grocery list I look through my fridge and add items to the list that we are in need of. Then I look through my cook books and my pinterest board to determine the upcoming meals for the week. I try new meals and most of the dinners I cook are fairly healthy and also include at least a fruit or veggie on the side. As you can see planning, shopping and cooking meals is a big part of my job. To have my kids not touch their dinner is discouraging to say the least. But tonight was more than discouraging. This dinner was disgusting! Even to me, and I have labeled myself as the world's least pickiest eater. I mean, you guys, I love food, I love all food, I love all flavors and I even consider myself an adventurous eater. I actually think it's one of my better traits.

After I literally could not choke down my broccoli stuffed tillapia I began to question everything I was doing in my life. Thoughts started flooding my brain. I'm not a good cook! Why do I try do hard? Was the fish even cooked all the way through? Aw shit I'm going to give my whole family food poisoning! What am I doing with my life? I'm not a good mother! What business do I have raising kids? Should I go back to work? Maybe the nanny could cook dinner? And to think I borrowed an egg for this god awful meal! I f****ing HATE pinterest!

And now I know bad thoughts proceed bad actions. My daughter threw a fit because after I had given her a popsicle and then offered her another popsicle she instead wanted a chocolate Hostess cupcake. Admittedly she was probably starving. I know I was. I told her no. She threw a tantrum I told her to go to her room. She did not and then all hell broke loose. She escalated her fit and I began to yell. I absolutely hate this about myself. I grew up in a yelling kind of house and when I'm at the end of my rope, I yell. I lose it and I yell. It's awful. I felt horrible.

I left her in her room to scream and yell and went to the freezer retrieved the Hostess cupcake left over from when I had to bring soccer treats, and went into my closed garage and ate the coveted cupcake. I figure at this point you can't be all that surprised. I'm a bad tillapia cooking, yelling piece of shit. Did you really think I wasn't going to eat the cupcake she was crying over? If you did, then you have too much faith in me, and it is now time that I disappoint you.

So there I was crying in the garage and eating a cupcake. A low point for sure. My days at home with the kids are not easy and most of the time I question if this is what I should be doing. Especially on a day like today when it seems like I've done more harm to my family than good. I've heard a lot of women say they always knew they wanted to stay home with their kids. I, however, have always been open-minded about the idea of working or not working. But I fear this open-mindedness has somehow turned into constant doubt. I wish I could embrace the chaos more than I'm able to and march confidently through motherhood. But for now I'm going to eat some oatmeal in my messy kitchen that reeks of fish, because I'm starving. Here's to hoping for a better tomorrow.

Book Review: Yes Please

2015-02-06T13:51:00.003-07:00

I will ever support women in comedy. I think I've said that at least three maybe more times on this blog. Why? Well because I love to laugh and let's face it in a world where women are so praised for being pretty it's refreshing for a woman to be labeled as funny.

Oh and the other reason is that I have this ongoing nightmare that I will arrive into the afterlife and meet Susan B. Anthony. In my nightmare she gives me a disappointed look, like, come on little lady what exactly did you do to help the cause? I cower for a bit but then I square up my chest, squint my eyes, point my finger right at her and say, "Oh Susie B. don't you remember? I always read books authored by women and shows produced by them. I supported their inappropriate and bold humor because I thought it revolutionary!" She'll look at me with the same scorn on her face that Sally Fields had when she looked upon Julia Roberts in Steel Magnolias but hey I'll just pretend that I don't understand social cues and ask her to lunch.

So let's get to the review. It's funny and Amy Poehler is a phenomenal woman and powerhouse to the world of comedy. I loved her on SNL and was entertained by the behind the scene glimpses she gives of her experience on SNL.

I envy the relationship she has with Tina Fey. It is rare that two women in the same business can be supportive not competitive. They are an example to us all.

I was thrilled she wrote so much on Parks & Recreation as I have been a fan of the show since its first season.

I also loved how she complained about writing the book throughout the entire book. It was amusing and humanized her.

Poehler is mega successful but still approachable as she lets you in on her personal life which has had its ups and downs like we all have.

Finally, I SO appreciated her short talk. "Short people don't like to be picked up." I cannot tell you how true this is! I spent most of my childhood years being picked up by my peers. It was unbearably humiliating and completely annoying. I only wish she had mentioned being patted on the head which was also a constant for me.

I was touched by her advice to stop wanting the pudding. For that translation you'll have to read the book.

Cheers to you Amy Poehler!

Looking Back at Last Year's Resolutions

2015-02-04T15:38:00.001-07:00

Do you ever go back and see if you achieved last year's resolution? It seems like we just move forward. I challenged myself to look back at a resolution I wrote down last year. Remember this post?
My goal was to tap away at my neglected keyboard. I had dropped my writing habit, and my intention for 2014 was to get myself writing again.

Despite popular life coach advice to make all goals measurable, specific and exact mine was not. But you know what? Not being exact left me with an indreibly open mind. My first brave venture of 2014 was to attend a writing group. It seemed everyone was hacking away at novels. I didn't know if I was cut out for such a task but I courageously tackled a couple chapters just so I could show up to this group. As part of the group writing process I read my ameature novel out loud and then was critiqued out loud the following week. It was the scariest thing I've done. It was harsh and humbling. I went for a couple more sessions and guess what I learned? Now is not the time for a novel, for now I'm focusing on shorter pieces like articles. This humiliating experience like most humiliating experiences taught me something of great value. I'm glad I went and I hope I will be in a position to go back one day. I don't think I failed per say I think I fell. And it's okay to fall, because that is how we learn.

Being open minded meant I was open to rejection and acceptance. I submitted a piece to ksl and they rejected it. But the amazing thing was the editor called me on the phone and left me a message. Did you hear that? Called me. Not email, not IM, not text. She said something like, "We cannot accept this article and I would like you to know why, but I can see you have talent for writing and I would love for you to try again." She asked me to call her back. At first I was irritated, like many of us are at the first sign of rejection and then as I swirled it around in my mouth the taste turned from bitter to sweet. The same editor gave me a personal assignment. I did it, she worked with me and got it published. This gave me the courage this write another piece for ksl, which they published and I hope to continue to work with them. This is a story of rejection and acceptance. They both hold weight and meaning.

Before this I had geargenius.com ask me to write and review products for them. It has been a joyous gig in where I test out outdoor gear and equipment and then I write reviews about said gear. I also write for their other sections. It's never once felt like a job more like hobby where I get to pursue my passion of fitness and the outdoors and then sew them all together with my writing. I absolutely love it and I hope they'll keep me on for years to come.

So here we are in February, more than a year later. Did I achieve my goal? Of course I did because I took the total cop-out approach of being completely vague about my ambitions. Okay that's one argument. But the answer I like better is YES I did achieve it only because my so-called vagueness allowed me to let go of goals that were unlikely and out of reach and embrace what is possible for me at this time in my life. I'd like to say I did more, and I will do more but for now I feel like I am inching my way toward something I've wanted to do for a long time.

Ski movie highlights Utah, female athletes, local resort

2014-12-22T13:46:00.000-07:00

My latest Article is up on KSL today!
Ski movie highlights Utah, female athletes, local resort
I have to say this has been a pure joy from beginning to end. I went with my whole family to Park City to see it. It was a SOLD-OUT show! I didn't take notes, I just soaked it all in. As soon as I got home from my Park City getaway I did a bit more research and scribbled this out. KSL took it on, but it sat in editing for awhile. I rearranged it and sent it again to editing. I talked with the editor and told her I thought it was a piece with a lot of potential. I am thankful she saw it too.

I love that in a very small way I am creeping toward my goals.
To those of you who take the time to read my stuff, I thank you.

Gift Guide: For the Cycling Girl

2014-12-22T13:03:00.001-07:00

Another gift Guide on Geargenius! Tis the season!

Runner Girl's Gift Guide

2014-12-16T14:04:00.004-07:00

More stuff for Geargenius.com. I'm having way too much fun over there. Check out these gift ideas! How is Christmas only nine days away? Each year it comes faster and faster!

Skier Girl's Gift Guide

2014-12-10T22:48:00.001-07:00

I've been doing some work for a site called geargenius. I test out products and write reviews. I also write articles, stories and occasionally I join in on their podcasts. It's been so much fun. Today, in light of the holidays I have a gift guide up and running. I hope you'll check it out, and be a frequent visitor of the site.

Happy Holidays!