Newton's Third Law {of Dancing}

You know the law I'm talking about, don't you? The one that says, "For every action {a man makes} there is an equal and opposite reaction {from the woman}. 

You know: He pushes you out and you twirl around. He moves backward and you move forward. He leads and you follow. He dips you over the edge of the dance floor and you love it and beg for more. Oh, wait a minute...

I have always loved music. Not as much as some - I mean, I didn't make a living out of it - but it has always been an integral part of my life. But (and maybe this is why I'm not a professional) music by itself has never been enough for me. It's too much of a one-dimensional experience. I need to be an active participant with music. Singing along brings it much more to life. And now that I've "discovered" dancing...well, now it's become three-dimensional. 

About two months ago I went on a {second} date to Cowboys, a local country bar. I was a bit trepidatious about it. I didn't really know what I was doing (the last time I was at Cowboys was about 20 years ago) and, prior to stepping on the dance floor, let my date know he might end up with sore toes.

Well, the guy and I didn’t end up working out (I think I DID step on his toes too much), but my relationship with Cowboys sure has. The next weekend I hit up a friend who has been going every weekend for years and asked if I could tag along. He introduced me to others and soon I was learning the two-step, three-step, cha-cha, and getting out on the dance floor to learn line dances - though it meant looking silly for a while and bumping into people (hey, sometimes you gotta just jump in with both feet and sink or swim). Now I have some regular guys I dance with, though I rarely turn down anyone who asks, because you learn more if you’re not dancing with the same person/few people all the time.  Last weekend I don’t think I sat out more than a few dances. For five hours.

With my good friend, Butch.

I have always loved to dance. Like a lot of girls, I was in ballet at a young age - and still regret that my parents didn’t put me back in it when we moved to Colorado when I was six. I took ballroom dancing lessons with my ex one year. That ended up like a lot of things in our relationship – canoeing, for example - where each person has a counter-action to the other and that’s what makes it work. We didn't do the give-and-take of life very well together. So, despite my love for dance, it never gelled. Until recently.

I find no small amount of irony in the fact that I lived in Texas for eight years, but I had to move back to Colorado to start listening to country music or buy my first {ever!} pair of boots. Look at the bottoms of my boots after just three nights of dancing. Showing the wear and tear of having fun!

Country music has taken me to a place - musically speaking - I would never have gone a couple years ago. Of course, a lot has happened over the last two years (two years ago this month, in fact), that I never would have imagined two years before that. It kind of makes me wonder who I'll be two years from now.

The thought is daunting and thrilling at the same time - another Third Law example.

Lesson Learned: Dancing produces nothing tangible. There is nothing I get to take home at the end of the night. Almost immediately the physical feeling begins to fade, leaving nothing but recall to remind me of the movement in my toes, my hips, my head. Although it is a 3-D expericence, it is still abstract.Yet every time I dance, I leave feeling more alive, and it is a cumulative feeling, piling up and spilling over, affecting my outlook on every other aspect of life. Which, I guess, is the equal reaction - dancing giving life more dimension.

All Decked Out

FINAL UPDATED PHOTO ADDED MAY 12

This is one of those rare blog posts that I will be updating for a while. Progress is being made on the rooftop deck!

About seventeen feet long and just shy of five feet wide, it is not the best size, but it is one of the best parts of the house. 

The above and below photos are the true "before."  

I was dying to cut the section of fence off that was up against the house. That gained me about two feet under the eaves. It drastically enlarges the space visually, if not so much physically. Also cut down was the pipe. It's now much shorter and will be creatively covered... (stay tuned)...

There are a lot of benefits to having a friend that used to own his own construction company. One of them is that he knows what to look for at the lumber store. He originally told me a certain (*cough* higher than I was hoping for) price for the cedar, but when he got there a new-ish product was out - same quality but about half the price (insert happy dance here).

This is the deck now, over half done. The supports are almost all done (just a small frame that needs to go under the eaves), so the rest won't take long. 

Update #1 - April 21:
Construction is done!

May 12 - It's been done for a couple weeks now, and other than needing a couple more cushions, it's done. If the weather would would just start cooperating! It had better soon - first party is planned for next weekend!.

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How'd I do on decor? 

Below are a few inspiration pictures for decor once I reach that stage. I'm thinking I'll go with a Moroccan theme. It doesn't necessarily fit the rest of the house (which is more beach-y, if I had to assign it a theme), but I'm in love with Moroccan decor.

I like the color and bed idea in this one, but especially the greenery. I'll most likely put all my potted plants up there, because it gets more sun than anywhere else around the house. 

This one - love the colorful outdoor rug. Don't know that I'll be able to find anything like it, though.

I have always loved lanterns like this. It takes much willpower for me to walk past them in the stores. Now I won't have to. Except I'll probably go with much smaller ones, since there are no high places for me to hang any from. 

This has always been my favorite Moroccan patio. It's Kim's design, of course. I love the blue draped fabric, and plan to do something like that under the eaves. I've also been in love with those string curtains (which she cut the arches out of) since the first time I saw this episode on HGTV, but again, nowhere to hang them from.  Don't know what else I'll adopt from this space, but I'm thinking possibly the punched metal with quatrefoils which she did in this space (you can't really see them (on the right) unless you really know what you're looking for).

Alright, check back in a week or so...hopefully the weather will cooperate enough between now and then that we can get it done so I can get some more pix up.

My First Flatiron

No, I'm not talking about something for my hair. I like my curls, thankyouverymuch. 

A 30 to 40 minute hike gets you to the bottom of the first Flatiron in Boulder. Relatively short, but you gain about 900 feet from the trail head in that time. Then the climb is around 1,000 feet.

It  doesn't look like much. 

But it took us 5 hours, car to car. 

Seven pitches. 

 

It was a fairly easy climb. 

On the first two pitches (meaning a 60-meter rope length) we only places 2 pieces of gear, and on the second two, none. I think we only placed 1 on the final three pitches. I could be wrong about that, but point being it's an easy climb if you're climbing with only one or two (or no) pieces for protection.

Top of the first pitch. 

Top of the second.

Top of the third.

Top of the 4th. 

 Top of the 5th.

Top of the 6th.

Yep, that's me (in the circle) climbing.

Top of the seventh. Basically at summit. 

Rope management. Some people hate it. I love it. 

And it obviously means I made it down.

But that's where the story begins. While the climb up was fairly easy and uneventful, my rap off the summit was not quite so easy. It was extremely windy up there, and I was chilly, so I decided to rap off first. We tied knots in the rope - I prefer to knot them for safety reasons. It means if you accidentally misjudge distance and get all the way to the end of the rope, you're not going to plunge off the end of it. On this day, however, what was meant to keep me safe caused all sorts of issues. The wind whipped both ends of the rope as we tossed them over. They both landed in the same crevice down below and far to my right where, crazily enough, both knots lodged tightly. Of course, I didn't know this until I was halfway through my rappel, at which point there was nothing to be done but wait for my partner to rap down on someone else's rope, climb up to where mine was stuck, and work at it to get it free (which was not without perils of its own). Meanwhile, I got to just hang there. Not that I mind that in and of itself - dangling in midair is really quite fun - but hanging on the rope isn't necessarily a good thing.

Lesson Learned: Sometimes the thing you think you're doing to keep yourself safe may actually end up causing you more problems in the end. Every situation is different and you can't judge them all by the same standards.

She's Mine

As of 4:00pm yesterday. 

Now she needs a name...

Many The Miles

I ran into a neighbor yesterday. One look at her and I could tell there was something wrong. Really wrong. I asked her if she was alright, and when I hugged her she broke down sobbing in my arms, lost and fragile and broken.

It's not like I've been having a great few weeks, but I've never been in that place.

I've let in some thoughts that have interrupted my flight path, so to speak. Like I was originally heading up the mountain, but suddenly veered off course to the bottom of the Grand Canyon without realizing it, got halfway there and thought, where the heck am I going? How did I get here? 
And, frankly, I haven't turned around yet, but at least now I'm thinking, maybe the valley will be interesting. Possibly even beautiful. I can always head back up when I feel like it...
In other words, I'm conscious again. I wasn't for a while. I was flying on auto pilot. Not good.



As I was relaxing this evening, one of my current favorite songs on repeat on my iPod, steam rising around me, trying to un-knot my {really sore} back muscles, I began to ponder what it is I've been doing over the past couple years {yes, it's been almost two since the beginning of the beginning. That March date is forever etched in my mind} to keep myself from the breaking point that my neighbor seemed to be dancing so awfully close to.

I came up with a little list {oh, and we know how myorganizedselfthankyouverymuch luuuuuvs lists, don't we!?}.

One: Notice my children.
I am still no where near where I want to be with this. I wish I were more present every.single.moment. And I hate that all their crazy fighting/rough housing/silliness wears me out as much as it does {I do not want to be worn out by my children}. I am so grateful for our tiny apartment - it forces us together constantly - but at the same time it forces.us.together.constantly. Yet I am trying - really trying - to take note of their growth, their interests, their needs on a daily basis. I spend more time than I ever used to with them - one of the ramifications of returning to work after having been home with them for a decade: I don't take them for granted as much. Noticing them helps me live more in the now, and hopefully not miss the small things {like the fact that I bought B some new pants just a couple months ago and they're already getting short on him, or how J's face is changing. It's not as little-boyish as it was even a few weeks ago}.



Two: Get Outside.
This is still my favorite place to be, my go-to for healing and clarity. It doesn't matter if I am ice skating or hiking or climbing, just get me out in nature. Let me be wrapped in the Colorado air, enveloped by the Rockies, kissed by this state's ever-present sun. All I crave is to touch the earth, get lost in the trees, get lost under the sky, get lost under the sun... and all is well. Yesterday I went on a 6-mile hike with a co-worker and my eldest, and it was delicious. He complained a little yesterday (it's so long, Mama!). She complained a little today (I knew I was going to feel it today!), I just reveled. Yesterday, today, forever.
 


Three: Feel Everything
Making sure I am aware of everything that goes on inside my head and my heart has become habit. It makes the joys more joyous and yes, the pain more painful. But I haven't yet walked away from an experience or a relationship that I couldn't say I didn't learn from or wasn't grateful for. Mistakes become wisdom, challenges become positive changes, goodbyes produce strength with grace.

Four: Live How I Want To Be (Not How I Am)
I wish I could fathom what is behind having so many people tell me how strong I am. Most recently, my cousin. My cousin who is a fighter pilot {or was? She just retired, but do you ever stop being a fighter pilot? I certainly didn't stop being a teacher for those 10 years I was home with the boys}, a person you would think could recognize strength when she sees it. The funny thing is, although I see it in the choices I make, I don't often feel it.  All I know is that I make choices, and often present a front of being strong. It's funny, too, that I abhor {really. That is not too strong a word for it} pretense of any kind. But that really isn't what this is. Rather, it is living the reality I want to see played out in my life. It is speaking the positive and not giving the negative any ground. It is acting the part of the person now that I want to be later, and yet it is not acting. An imcomprehensible dichotomy.

Five: Know I'm Beautiful
I was driving home today, I must have been listening to an upbeat song. Yes, I was. I remember now. Josh Groban's You Are Loved was playing, and I remember thinking, well, of course I am loved. I am beautiful. Even if no one else loves me, I love myself. 
I know others find me beautiful, both inside and out. I had a friend comment to me a few months ago that, "You are so pretty and have a great personality that I can only imagine how many guys are knocking on your door!" Another one said yesterday, "Don't forget you are a really special person." When I joked, "Short bus special?" he replied, "Ha ha. No, as in exquisite."
I have my German/Russian/whatever it is side to thank for my youthful looks {I got pegged for "twenty-nine max" the other day. I'm forty-one}. My mom looks young, too. I just happened to be lucky enough to be born into a good gene pool. But that's the outside. I also feel very beautiful on the inside. I really, truly like who I am, and I love being able to say that because there were a lot of years when I couldn't.



Intermission:
Point Four and Five come together quite well in this comment by Gabourey Sidibe: "People always ask me, ‘You have so much confidence. Where did that come from?’ It came from me. One day I decided that I was beautiful, and so I carried out my life as if I was a beautiful girl. It doesn’t have anything to do with how the world perceives you. What matters is what you see. Your body is your temple, it’s your home, and you must decorate it.”

Six: Talk To People:
I'm very blessed in this area. I have so many people who will listen to me. One friend from Texas in particular that I talk to quite often. I'm also developing some good friendships at work (honestly, if that's the only reason I was put there, it's reason enough. My co-workers are amazing). I have a couple people - one the neighbor I mentioned above and one a friend I hike with - that I have so much in common with, we understand each other without finishing thoughts sometimes. Friendships take a long time to develop, but they're coming.

Seven: Do Something Hot
Ok, this really is just for the winter months, but a relaxing bath and/or a hot cup of cocoa sometimes do what nothing else can. 'Nuff said.

Eight: Read Good Books
My boss handed me a hardback a couple weeks ago that is turning out to be a life-altering tome. It is a book so engaging, so accurate in its truth, so deep in how it is touching me, that my instinct is to devour it like a hungry animal. However, I am forcing myself to read it slowly, so as to not miss anything, so as to digest its every word and phrase, homonym and synonym and soul hymn. Once I finish it, I will purchase my own copy and go through it again, perhaps even slower, and mark and comment and catch myself even more often the second time through saying, "Ah, yes. Yes!" Each page I turn has brought healing and hope, confidence and affirmation of what I have already been living. Out of all the above items, it is the main thing that has gotten me back on my game within the last week, reminded me that I know who I am, and it is I alone who control that.

Back on my game. Because, as Sara Bareilles wrote {this was the song on my iPod I referred to above}:

There's too many things that i haven't done yet
Too many sunsets I haven't seen
You can't waste the day wishing it'd slow down...

I made up my mind when i was a young girl
I've been given this one world
I won't worry it away
But now and again I lose sight of the good life
I get stuck in a low light
But then Love comes in



Lesson Learned: Live like the person you want to be. Before you know it, you will be miles down the road, having successfully navigated around potholes and accidents and wrong turns. You will not have arrived, but you will be well on your way.

Life Is Art

I think everything in life is art.

what you do (hike. climb. teach).

how you dress (always color. always print).




















the way you love someone, and how you talk.

your smile and your personality.

what you believe in and all your dreams.
































the way you drink your tea.



how you decorate your home.






or party (with friends).


your grocery list.



the food you make.

and the way you feel
 (isn't that obvious?)

Life is art.

To Whom I Speak

I used to say everything I felt. Speak before I thought. Express anything I deemed relevant to the conversation, tact or timing be damned.

My boss told me yesterday that she didn’t think I say much at all. I’ve never in my life had anyone say that before. Does it means I’ve finally outgrown the above? (Only took forty years...)

I know better, now, than to verbalize everything I feel or think. Feelings are as fickle as a cat in a room full of mice, thoughts don't always need to be articulated. That’s not to say I don’t trust my emotions or speak them or allow them to wash over me at times, but I contemplate more now, about how and if to express myself. Sometimes to the point of fault, I mull over the right verbiage and time and place to let words break through the internal checks I've set up. Freedom of speech often follows contemplation. Only when I feel it will be meaningful, necessary, or favorably received. No longer do I say something just to fill space or add my two cents. Sometimes there is a heaviness to speaking. Silence sometimes means there is something better to listen to. 

Up until a few days ago, I believed I was holding my tongue because, for so many years in my marriage, I felt my opinion wasn’t respected, desired, or solicited. I realized today this is not true. Throughout that whole troubling time I still had people I confided in, and deeply. It is not because I have nothing to say that is ever the cause of my silence, rather it is a response to whoever it is I’m speaking with. How someone reacts to me directly affects how I communicate with them. People who make fun of my interests or viewpoints won’t hear about them again. People that aren’t interested in them will be met with pleasantries thereafter. Once that happens, the person needs to notice it (which rarely happens), and invest effort in a bit of prying to get me to open myself up again.

I have been thinking lately about the people in my life and how I respond to them, mostly because of a few things that have happened this week that all deal with things people have said to me.

* I had a friend text me and tell me my mind is my best asset.
*I had a coworker confide in me about something painful – a woman I barely know, but she chose me to talk to.
*A friend texted me with a simple statement and request: I miss your blogging. Write for me.
*My boss - who is not only the best person I can ever imagine working for, but is also a confidante, cares so much that she listens, gives her opinion, and watches out for my well-being - said to me, “I know you haven’t been happy. And I know it’s not just due to the stress of your recent car accident. It’s because your needs aren’t being met.”  

Interesting how some people discern things that haven’t even seeped into your own consciousness. I'm not saying she's right, but it's caused me to contemplate. And if she's right, the needs she speaks of are not physical. They have to do with how well known I am by the people I spend my time with.  

What I want is to spend time with people that really appreciate the time, like the friend who texted me the other night saying he was frustrated because he’d been really looking forward to getting together with me – this after circumstances thwarted our plans to do so (we did manage a couple days later).

What I want is people when, given the time, fill it as full as they possibly can with words and conversation so rewarding it's like feasting on a delicious meal - one  that has nothing to do with leaving your stomach full but rather delights your senses so much that you can’t possibly believe there is anything else out there more satisfying. I had dinner last week with such a person. We shared a meal in town, and as we were picking through textured nuts, exotic greens, and Oriental flavors, we covered everything - relationships, hobbies, food, travel, photography, nature, religion, and politics  - usually a topic I stay FAR away from, but with this friend, it was not a debate or boxing match, it is simply another thing to flesh out. The conversation was so good I didn’t want it to end. Reason: My brain and soul and spirit are satiated at the feasting table of intellectual intimacy.

What I want are people who provide the opposite rise of a verbal fertile valley, so that the place between two intelligent people - where ideas and thoughts and personalities and the very integral being of a person - can erupt with growth and conversations bounce off of one another. I have no desire to be a soft landing for someone, where I simple absorb what they’re saying, nor a single mountainside they can speak to and hear nothing back from me other than an echo of their own thoughts. 

So this is my note of appreciation for the people who speak in and to and with my life. I mentioned the few people from last week, but there are so.many.more. 

One closing thought. I’ve been texting about this today with a good friend of mine. Here is just one thing he said. I think his words prove my point. "You are intellectually adventurous, and the adventure is cooperative. It’s infectious. And your appetite for understanding things seems limitless."

It's not that I had nothing to say all those years I was married. It's that it became, at some point, easier to not talk because of the way I was responded to. Eventually only surface conversation reigned, because deeper desires and thoughts of the heart were not received or returned. We all have things to say, there are just some people better at being shared with than others. People who listen. People who respond in a way that let's us know we're valued. People who add to the conversation rather than pull from it, making it more like a game of racquetball - volleys and lobs back and forth; an engaging, constant chasing of thoughts - than one where there is a solitary player and the rest of us are the audience.

Lesson Learned: 
The act of telling is not a hard thing. I share very freely with certain {most} people in my life. I, we all, long to know and be known. It's not about having something or nothing to contribute. It's about finding kindred spirits who understand the language your mind speaks.