No Need for a Shoe Horn

What do your shoes say about you?  Is it fair to evaluate and form a first impression of someone based on their shoes? Should the circumstances or environment play a role?

We all know a shoe monger. You may even be one yourself. Can we really fault a shoe monger?  They are actually pretty smart because they know their feet are very important. If your feet are sore, blistered or broken, your life can become rather complicated. Your feet are your foundation.  We all know what happens when the foundation is not solid. It cannot properly support the temple.  It deteriorates over time without proper maintenance and becomes weak.

So why do we have all these crazy types of shoes?  There are high heels, stilettos, platforms, wedges, flats, sandals, thongs, clogs, tennis shoes, boots, dress shoes, loafers, ballet, and the list goes on. Within each category of shoes there are sub-categories of shoes.  Take sandals for example, there are hundreds of varieties of sandals for both men and women. Some dressy, others casual, some for sports and others for support.  Then there are many, many types of sporting shoes - basketball, volleyball, golf, track, baseball/softball, running, football, fins, climbing, etc.  Where does it end?

It's exhausting. So many choices and we only have two feet!  So I guess our selection of shoes do say something about us and what type of person we project towards others.  Are you high maintenance, athletic, practical, slovenly, professional, casual, sexy, or tough?  You probably cross over into several of these shoe arenas depending on what your day or evening entails.

But you have your favorites, the shoes that truly represent you. The ones that are worn, tattered or just plain comfy.  These shoes don't give you the shoe blues. They are the throne that houses the crown jewels. Your feet live like kings in these shoes. You are You when you wear these shoes.

So when someone says "Don't judge me until you have walked a mile in my shoes." You are thinking - no way, I like my own shoes. But sometimes, we must understand what it is like to walk in someone else's shoes. It's important. It teaches us compassion, understanding and sympathy.

We may experience new challenges, travel where we have never been or thought we would go.  We need to step out of the kingdom we have built to keep us safe.  We can begin that journey by walking in someone else's shoes to gain a broader perspective of the world which we often ignore.  Expand your foundation and start walking.

The Man in the Hat

Man's best friend

Every morning on my drive into work, I see an elderly man, wearing a hat, out walking with his dog. I see them regardless of rain, shine, sleet or snow.  The man's gait is steady but slow.  He pauses often to catch his breath and rest.  His loyal companion stops each and every time.  His red leash is tattered and frayed from dragging on the ground because he never goes faster than his master can travel.  He doesn't chase squirrels, bark at other walkers or stretch the leash so it is taught.   On occasion, his master stops and chats with other walkers.  His best friend just lies down on the sidewalk waiting patiently to continue on his journey.   He is beautiful.  He is loyal.  He loves his friend whose feet he walks side by side with every day.

Last year when I was walking I crossed paths with the man wearing the hat and his best friend.  It was a Saturday and still early in the morning. The walking path was still relatively quiet.  I had my weight vest on and was clipping along at a quick pace.  As I approached the man in his hat and his best friend I stopped and said hello.  He was curious about my weight vest and the purpose it served for me.  We chatted for a few minutes about how beautiful his dog was and what a great day was ahead.   The man was happy, cheerful and seemed so content with life. We did not exchange names but I felt like I knew him because I had seen him walking his dog every morning for the last five years. I pet his lovely pup and went on my way.

This morning when I drove by, he was stopped, resting taking a moment before he moved on. His loyal companion once again waiting patiently at his side. I know he lives just up ahead a few blocks as I have seen him come from his home.  So many thoughts and questions race through my mind each day when I see him. I wonder if he is married or a widow.  I wonder if he has grandchildren.  How does he occupy his day? How old is he? What did he do for a living? Is he lonely?

I also worry.  What if one day, he falls or his health fails him on his walk. Will I or someone else be around to help him? What about his companion?  Who will care for him? Then I feel bad that these thoughts have crossed my mind by realize it is because I have actually come to care about a complete stranger.  Seems a bit unusual, but I do and I can't quite explain it.  I, too, love animals and have four dogs. Maybe that is my connection to him - our unwavering love for man's best friend.

The man in the hat also reminds me of my grandfather who passed away many years ago.  My grandfather always had a dog while I was growing up and he always wore a hat when he went outside. His dogs lived like kings and never left his side. He took them on daily walks too and they were always well trained.  Rags was a standard schnauzer and Riches was a golden retriever - Rags to Riches, get it?   Pretty clever. I use to go on walks with my grandpa and we would go up to the cemetery, to the open field, where they could run off-leash.  It seems not that long ago, yet it has been at least 25 years.  I think seeing the man with the hat walking his loyal companion reminds me of my grandfather and the good times we shared on something as simple as a walk.

I love that the man with the hat has his best friend to walk along side him every day.  It's a such simple thing but one which brings a smile to my face whenever I see him.  He makes my day without even knowing it.

Father knows Best

Yesterday when I was driving home, I began to think about my dad.  My dad passed away 10 years ago from non-small cell lung cancer.  My dad was never a smoker and he never worked in a factory with asbestos.  These are some of the leading causes of lung cancer. He was already in stage four when he was diagnosed. Too late to save him. He died within eight months. It was February 17, 2002. I was not ready for him to leave.

My mom always says I am my father's daughter. As I have grown older, I see it in many ways. I have his competitive nature in regards to sports and games. I have his sense of humor which is not always appropriate. I have his discipline and dedication. I have his sister's laugh. I have his olive skin and his horrible eye sight. I have his shyness.  I have his stubbornness and inability to express my feelings.  I share his love of photography and athletics. But I don't have my dad.

During his final months, I spent a great deal of time with him at home.  We would sit in the living room in silence.  Sometimes we would talk but a lot of the time, it was just quiet.  I realized there was so much I did not know about my dad.  I knew bits and pieces of his life in high school and college.  I knew that he and my mom had known each other since childhood. He was a tremendous athlete. He loved the outdoors and was an Eagle Scout. His parents did not approve of he and my mom adopting five mixed race children in the 1960's.  I know he worked hard to provide for our family of nine. He sacrificed a great deal so my siblings and I could be competitive swimmers, go to good colleges, go to summer camp and dress like other kids even though we didn't have much money.

My dad had two Masters degrees but still scrubbed toilets and mopped floors for a second job ,when we were young, so the bills could be paid. He rode his bike to work. He was an avid cyclist but did it to save money on gas or so we teenagers could use the car. He fixed our garage full of bikes year after year as we wore them out and broke them down. He spent countless hours at swim meets cheering us on over the years.  My dad gave himself over and over without ever asking for much in return.

I remember he use to hide his shaving cream so we couldn't use it to shave our legs. But we found it, used it anyways and put it back.  He had five daughters so the shaving cream was the least of his battles.  He followed a few of my sisters on dates without their knowledge, to ensure their safety. He warned my brother once, and only once, when he shoved my mom.  My brother's feet were not touching the floor at time.  He never missed an opportunity to be sarcastic, even in times of pain.  It was his way of telling me it was going to be okay. I remember his great words of wisdom when it came to boys and sex, "Rachel, boys think with one head and it's not the one on their shoulders."  My sex education complete in his mind.

My dad did get angry once in awhile.  Not very often but when he did, you knew it. My brothers snuck one of my sisters out to a Prince concert, so he locked them out for the entire night.  He yanked the 'kids phone line' right out of the wall that night.   He caught my brother sneaking out his window, so he nailed it shut after he left.  He kicked a hole in the bedroom door when my brother locked him out. Nothing most parents wouldn't do!

My dad was not perfect but he was my dad. I loved him very much but never told him enough. He didn't deserve to die so young. He had so much life yet to live. He didn't get to see his grandchildren grow up.  He didn't get to enjoy his retirement.  His life was gone without his permission. I don't believe he was ready to go.  I wonder what he thought about on those days we sat in silence but I was afraid to ask for fear of upsetting him or making him sad that the end was near.  I regret not asking.

I miss my dad for so many reasons. Some are selfish, others not. I cannot turn back the clock but sometimes I wish I could so I could ask all the things I never got the opportunity to know about him and his remarkable life. It's too late.  Time ran out. I will do my best to cherish the memories I have and learn from my regrets.

Life is short and may be shorter than you plan.  Live without regrets and cherish those you love. Being the ones left behind is hard but it's even harder with regrets and missed opportunities.

Are you fumbling with your filter?

If you have ever been around young children, you know they begin their life as pure, unassuming innocent beings - they operate on a clean slate. But with each passing year, they absorb information like sponges including positive and negative influences.  These influences come from family, friends, strangers, media and society in general.

Young kids often say what comes to mind.  They don't have any filters - yet.  We, as adults, accept this fact about kids and more often than not, we are willing to overlook otherwise inappropriate questions and comments.  However, as a child grows, they develop a sense of right from wrong which carries over into what is acceptable behavior and what is not.  But there is that short snapshot in life when kids can say just about anything because they don't know any better.

Although this filter-free talk can be embarrassing for parents, it is a reminder of how innocent they are and how quickly it is lost when society gets them in their grip.

My kids have provided me with moments of sheer horror and also fits of laughter. The grocery store line appears to be common place for these mishaps.  You're locked in line with no place to hide. You have already fought the battle of the candy buffet but have no idea there is still a war ahead.   We all know a child's whisper is a decibel below an airplane engine.  So when a person steps up behind you in line and your offspring whispers "Mom, is that a man or a lady?" How do you respond because even you are not sure.  You politely smile and suddenly wish your child had a candy bar stuck in their mouth.

Another delightful opportunity is the women's lingerie department.  Your toddler is bouncing around and discovers the bra section which truly lends meaning to "over the shoulder boulder holder".  He  already possess the skill of selecting the largest cup size bra and proceeds to display just what a great fitting hat he has found!  All the while, a well-endowed woman at the same 'rack' shots you the look of death.  Again, you smile and make a mental note that the infactuation with boobs clearly does begin at birth!

And of course, the age old, "Mom, is that lady pregnant?" At times, this is obvious and other times not so much. I equate it to an adult asking a woman when is she 'due' only to find out she is not even pregnant. Open mouth, insert foot.

My daughter was four years old when she came flying in the house crying and carrying on about how her brother had kicked her in the balls. OH MY!  After recovering from my failure as a parent, it was explained to her that she did not have balls but a vagina. What exciting news this was to her!  So exciting that she proudly announced to her grandfather that she had a "ma-china" and her brother had a penis.  Grandpa was not as impressed with this information as he cast a sidewards glance in my direction.

My son was equally amazed at how his sister's 'private parts' varied from his own. When he was three or four, during bath time, he was most curious as to why his sister "had two butts".  Obviously,  I had failed again in teaching anatomy. I guess I should have been thankful these questions took place in the privacy of our own home.

At what age do we engage our filter? How far does the filter expand?  Or does it transform into sarcasm, the adult version of filter-free speak? Or do we lie?  Classic question - "Do these pants make my butt look big?" If you are a true friend, you answer honestly. If you are a spouse or significant other, it seems the filter kicks in prior to your response.  If you don't want to hurt their feelings, you lie. So where do we draw the line?  Is it a filter, sarcasm, or a lie?  Shouldn't we just be honest? That's how we began as young children, we called it like we saw it and no one was offended.

The truth is not always easy to hear or tell but at the end of the day, it's what matters.

The Real Deal

Remember that book "What to Expect When You're Expecting?" If you have children, you will at least recognize the title even if you haven't read it.  There are a few follow-up books for the first year and up to age five but then they stop.  Have you ever asked yourself why?

*I would like to make a disclaimer first.  I am a mother. I love my children(most of the time).

I've been thinking I would like to write a book called "Here is the real *ucking deal".  It would have to be rated at least PG-13 if not rated R.  So if you are faint of heart and easily offended or think your children walk on water, you may want to stop reading now.  This is the last disclaimer I will give!

My book would not be about a blissful pregnancy followed by an infant who sleeps through the night in week 2 and knows the definition of 'no' by one years old and is reading by three years old.  That book belongs in the fairy tale aisle. My book would be on a pedestal, underneath a spotlight, a mechanism would zap you if you didn't stop and at least page through it prior to the 'baby aisle' so you have no one to blame but yourself. Read up!

"The Real *ucking Deal"

Chapter 13: The Teen Years

Welcome to the teen years. The years that will make you gray pre-maturely and once again realize your parents were right - payback is a bitch and there really is a thing called karma. But it's too late for you. You fell for the trap years ago.  The cuteness, the powder-fresh smell, the cute chubby cheeks and sausage-like arms and legs. By the way, this is the only time in life when this look is cute.  It's the Baby trap.

So now it's time to pay.  That cute little chubby baby grew up! All of your hard work and sacrifice has paid off.  All those sleepless nights, the vomit thrown up into your mouth, the poop explosions up their back and down your nice suit and tie.  Let's not forget the late night trips to the Emergency Room because they shoved a jelly bean up their nose or the yearly check-ups when child protection was called because your child was covered head to toe with purple marker. And the priceless photos of their first haircut, which they cut by their self,  right before your sister's wedding which she was a flower girl in.

The memories are flooding back aren't they? Snap out of it. That was nothing.  They grew up remember? You are no longer Mom or Dad. Now you are a human ATM, a chauffeur, a cook, a laundromat, a hotel or a car rental service (without the fees).  You didn't read the fine print when you decided to have kids. There is a lot of fine print!

It's like mortgage paperwork. There are lots and lots of important details in all of those pages but no one ever reads them all. We begin with good intentions and plan on reading them all, but soon we find ourselves just thumbing through them like we know what we are reading and then we sign our life away on the bottom line. We sign the contract with lack of information which is our own fault.

We sign away our life to our kids the minute we decide to have them without having done our homework.  Of course there are many moments of happiness and joy followed by hours of excruciating aggravation and frustration.  We wonder who created such an ungrateful spiteful creature.  Then we remember, oh yeah, I did.  Damn!  It really sucks when it is our own fault!  Just when we don't think it can get any worse,  we realize we are legally liable for them until they are at least 18 years old. The gift that keeps on giving (or taking most likely).  Our own real-life energizer bunny! It's like we won the lottery only we owe more in taxes on the prize than the actual prize is worth.

That 30-year mortgage, you signed, is looking pretty good right now even if you are upside down by $100K. Heck, worst case scenario, the bank takes BACK your house.  No one is going to take back your child.  *sigh*.

You are tired.  You are out of money and patience and it's just too damn hard.  No one ever warned you that helping someone else through puberty, hormones, broken hearts, mean girls, dating and acne would be so much fun the second time around.  Let's not forget about 7th grade algebra, life science, endless choir concerts, dance recitals, baseball practices and the fundraisers. You convince yourself you are having fun and sometimes it is but not always.   You're thinking, what happened to my life? This definitely wasn't in the book!  But it was, it was in the fine print, in the footnote that you didn't read.

You decide that you are going to simplify your expectations. You lower the bar, that was once set so high a giraffe could do the limbo under it. Now a turtle can hurdle it. You just want them out of your house,  on their own, with a job, and an education so you don't have to support them as an adult!

So that's the 'Cliff's Notes' version of my book. Now if you read this in the correct state of mind, you are laughing because this has become your life and you know it.  You try to warn other 'potential' parents but they don't listen and will figure it out for themselves.  As crazy and frustrating as it is, you wouldn't give up it up for the world. I guess that's why they call it Love.

What does your Sack say about you?

Did you ever think you would have to make such a difficult decision when purchasing your groceries? Paper or Plastic? That's an easy question! But, is it? Well, is it? 

If you said plastic, you're wrong.  Why? It may be recycled plastic but you will need more of them to carry all your groceries.  You most likely, will not recycle the bag wen you're done with it.  You may use it a few more times to carry your shoes to work in or put some rotting food from the fridge in it which you will dump it into the garbage can, but then it becomes waste, not recycled.  Or it could blow away and  wash down the sewer into the lake and get wrapped around a duck's neck.  Way to go! Don't you feel bad now?  Or it could even blow around and get wet from the falling rain and adhere to a car windshield blinding the driver causing a tragic accident. 

If you said paper, you're wrong too!  Why? It may be recycled, as well, but at some point it was from a tree.  It may have been recycled from old newspapers or cardboard boxes. There are many uses for a paper bag but eventually it rips and you throw it away. You may empty the cat litter box into it and then throw it away (not recycled, really). You may use to cover a high school textbook but it will eventually get dog-eared and thrown away (not recycled).  You may use to put your recyclables in to put at the curb but your using it to recycle, not getting it recycled (better than nothing I guess).  

You can't win.  Paper or Plastic has now become a big dilemma.  You are harming the environment either way!  What to do, what to do?  Bring your own cloth bag!  This is becoming more common practice but we still forget to bring them along or store them in our car. We have a difficult time letting go of Paper of Plastic.  

We NEED those bags. We WANT those bags. What will we use if we don't have any of those bags? No one ever says Paper, Plastic or Cloth?  It doesn't roll off the tongue as nicely. In fact, some clerks appear to dislike the cloth bags because they are a bit more challenging to load since the bag holders are designed for Paper or Plastic.  We don't like change even though we know it's for the best.  

It's better for the environment.  It's saves money. Cloth bags hold more than paper or plastic so less trips into the house!  We can use cloth bags over and over again for all sorts of things.  Cloth bags are sturdier and frozen foods won't bust through the bottom as they thaw on the ride home.  Cloth bags are the more responsible choice. So what will your choice be? 

Next time you are asked Paper or Plastic, take a stand and pull out that cloth bag, be proud and know you are taking the first step in making the world a little bit better for the future!

You never thought you would actually take the time to really think about Paper or Plastic did you?  My work is done here!

Rachel

How Sturdy is your Bridge?

I learned many lessons from my parents over the years as most children do. Some stand out more than others. Some are completely forgotten over time even though I may practice them every day without realizing it.  As an adult, it's interesting to look back at childhood and realize just how naive and ignorant we are in our youth. We really do think we know it all, have the world in the palm of our hand and are completely invincible. Then as we age and get out into the real world, we realize just how dumb we truly were and wish we could have a few 'do-overs'.

Unfortunately, life doesn't work that way. We may get a second chance, once in awhile, but it's never really the same as the first time around. Being one of seven children, some lessons I learned by simply observing my older siblings test the waters.   This is one of the limited benefits you reap being on the bottom of the heap.  There aren't very many benefits so I am grateful for whatever I did get!  Some lessons I learned the hard way. Lessons that often ended up with my parents saying "I told you so" without them actually saying it aloud.

Recently, I have once again been reminded that parents do know everything.  Most of the time.  Except when they are wrong, of course. Which is when they have teenagers. Then, we all know that the teenagers know everything.

"Don't ever burn your bridge because you never know when you will need to cross it again. The world is a very small place."

This concept seems simple enough.  It appears it should be no problem.  But we all get angry, frustrated and irritated.  We forget how small the world becomes over time.  We constantly come across people in  everyday life thru work, personal friendships, acquaintances or even relatives who all seem to be connected in some way.  Think about it for a moment.  You meet someone only to discover they know one of your family members or they are a relative of your co-worker, or married to your spouse's co-worker who you met at the office holiday party. It's similar to a company's organization chart linking everyone together, only it's real life.  The chart exists, you just don't know all of the players yet.

When I began my current job over nine years ago, I worked with a cop from another agency for over a  year before we made the connection.  One day, I brought him a tray of pumpkin bars.  This spurred a conversation about how he use to work with a woman at a high school who use to make pumpkin bars. He had not had them since.  I told him my mother was a high school principal and she made the bars all the time to bring for her staff.  He paused, looked at me and said - "Wow! Now that I look at you, you look just like your Mom!" A few years prior, he had been a school liaison officer at the high school where my mother was the principal.  Good thing he liked my mom!

As recently as last week, my mom was once again in the middle of my life. Typical.  She was attending a birthday gathering for a friend. She ended up sitting next to a woman who she didn't know and struck up a conversation about family, careers, spouses, etc.  The woman began telling my mother about her husband who was a retired spine physician.  After looking at her name tag and seeing her last name was 'Winter', my mom asked her if her husband had worked at Children's Hospital in St. Paul.  He had, in fact, worked there for many years.  As luck would have it, her husband was my primary scoliosis doctor over 25 years ago. Furthermore, her son is a federal prosecutor whom I know through work.

These are more of a 'friendly' small world exchange.  The more important lesson my parents wanted me to understand was that sometimes you just gotta suck it up and move on.  There is a strong likelihood you may run across individuals again and again throughout your life. You may dislike them or disagree with their philosophies but one day they just may end up being your boss, your co-worker or a significant other to someone important to you. It's tough to eat words that have already been spat out. Some people are not as forgiving as others. This brings to surface the lesson we all learned, "If you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all." A rule which we have all broken.

Take a peek into your own life and seek out the bridges that bring your world together.  Take notice of all the flames you have left behind and hope you at least have a tightrope to cross it again.  In the future, use a draw bridge, raise it and let the crap flow down stream, lower it and continue on crossing the bridge you have built. In the end, you are the one that suffers if stuck on one side of the bank when your bridge is burned. You are the architect of your bridge.

Rachel

My Think Tank

Tonight I actually swam laps in the pool after my leg workout.  I thought it might give me a good stretch.  It's been awhile since I've hit the pool.   A bit shocking since I have spent hundreds, if not thousands of hours, in the pool over the years.  Being a competitive swimmer for 15 years and a triathlete for an additional six years, I am use to the black line on the bottom of the pool.

The black line on the bottom becomes your friend, your confidant, your soul mate and sometimes your enemy.  You follow it up and down, back and forth, over and over as you swim lap after lap.  It never moves. It's always there to guide you.

As I swam, my mind drifted to all the great memories I have of my swimming years.  I have life long friends from my when I was just a teenager that I made on the swim team.  We grew up together in the pool. We went through puberty in swimsuits.  We experienced success and failure together.

I try to forget the horrendous three hour Christmas vacation workouts that left me wanting to puke or quit swimming all together.  The 6:00 am summer workouts at Highland outdoor pool when everyone else was sleeping in on their summer  break.  I remember the morning each year when the May Flys showed up overnight and coated the entire surface of long-course outdoor pool. We still had to swim and scoop away the bugs as we swam through them hoping not to inhale one.  I remember the dreaded 30-second countdown to get in the ice cold water at 6:00 am or the warm up was made up of the butterfly stroke. I remember break-thru 100's and the repeat miles and goal 50's.

There was always a little bit of payback for the coaches. When it rained and if it rained hard!  We were already wet, in the pool, so we didn't care but we took a simple pleasure in watching the coaches get drenched on deck.  An umbrella could only do so much in two hours of rain. Practice was only delayed if there was lightening, which of course never seemed to happen!

So as I swam back and forth tonight, more unpleasant memories flooded back.  I was swimming backstroke and spouted water from my mouth once in awhile and then it occurred to me.  Who peed in the pool?

That's right! Obviously, I couldn't taste it but we all know someone peed in the pool at least once today.  In fact, we have all peed in the pool at some point in our life. Don't deny it.  You may not remember it but you did. But I have to say, pee in the pool doesn't bother me as much as the stray floating hair that wraps around your face and across your mouth, which isn't yours!  Then there is the snot that goes drifting by taking on the appearance of a jelly fish. Or the lovely bandaid that has latched onto your leg as your swim by.  GROSS! I know!  Let's not even get into all the dead skin that is floating around.

Have I completely freaked you out and are you ready to lose your lunch vowing to never swim in a pool again? Relax, take a deep breath and calm down.  It's ok. After all, I'm still alive and healthy after years of swimming in a sea of filth! There are plenty of pool chemicals to kill the really nasty stuff.  It's fine. Look at the ocean or a lake.  Who's cleaning up after all the animals and people in there? Nature you say? Well good luck with that one! So you see, the pool really is quite cleanly. Just smell your skin afterwards - nothing like the fresh smell of chlorine to seduce your loved one!

Even though I recalled all of these unpleasant memories of the pool, I continued my laps and focused on all the great things swimming brought into my life. Besides the obvious health benefits, competitive swimming taught me discipline, responsibility, teamwork, time management, how to push past pain, goal setting, failure, success, how to work hard and it is a skill I will have the rest of my life. The world is two-thirds water after all.

I can't think of any one thing, like swimming, that has taught me so much and carried me through some many stages of my life. It affected every aspect of my life whether I knew it at the time or not.  Swimming was my salvation.  The swimming pool was my think tank. The black line provided solutions to my problems.  It kept me on the straight and narrow.  My mother would say swimming kept me busy and tired.  Too tired to get into trouble.

So I don't care who peed in the pool because it was one of many warm spots that helped me through life.

Rachel

Are you an Ostrich?

Are you sleeping your way through life? Give it a moment and think about it. Really think about it. Some days may be better than others but we fall into our daily routine and don't think twice about it. We forget to look outside of our zone. We don't take notice because we are busy and distracted or just don't want to get involved.

The last one is often the most overlooked yet can be the most important one of all.  I can think of many occasions throughout my life when I just turned the other cheek and kept on going. Yet, I remember a few times when I did not look away and I stepped in and took notice.

It was about a year ago in late Fall.  The air was crisp and winter was definitely coming.  I was driving home from work on Interstate 94 and it was already dusk.  I'd driven this route hundreds of times racing with the rest of the rat pack to get home for dinner, a sporting practice, homework and a million other chores to finish on my to-do list.  In other words, I'm generally pre-occupied.

This night was different.  As I drove, I noticed a young teen running alongside the freeway, against traffic, in the tall grass.  It seemed extremely odd as no one should be running alongside the freeway much less a child.  I passed him by and my mind was racing faster than my car.  What was he doing? Where is he going? He didn't have a coat on. It was cold. It was getting dark. He was in a hurry.  This is not right.  I quickly scanned the shoulders in front and rear to see if a car had stalled and he was making his way towards it. But there was none, only the cars zipping past.

I got off at the next exit which also happened to be my exit. But I did not head home. I could not make a U-turn because I would be on the wrong side of the freeway.  I needed to get back to him. I took a three mile detour around Battle Creek Park to get back on the freeway at the previous exit at McKnight and cut him off.  Off I raced not caring so much about the speed limit. It was getting darker.

As I merged onto the freeway, there he was, still running against traffic. Since I was in my unmarked squad, I put my siren in the window and turned on my wig-wags and pulled over onto the shoulder just in front of him. He didn't stop but kept running.  I rolled down the window and called him over to the car.  He refused to come very close.  So I showed him my badge and urged him to come to the window so I could talk to him.

He was leery.  He came closer but kept his distance. I asked where he was going in the cold and the dark and he said he needed to get to his church.  He looked about 12 years old.  "It's not safe for you to be running alongside the freeway and you need to get in the car." He was scared and reluctant.  For all he knew, I was some crazy person he is suppose to stay away from.  I showed him my badge and lights again and showed him the police radio. I was a good guy. I wanted to help him.

He asked if he could get in the backseat instead of the front.  I agreed and he got in the car.  I called my co-worker to let her know I had picked him up just in case there were any issues later.  He didn't want to call his mom and would not tell me his name. He needed to get to his church he said.  I didn't pressure him and said I could help him get there but his mom and dad must be worried.  He didn't respond.

I have a son the same age and the panic that was racing through my head thinking what if this was my child? He gave me the name of his church and I punched it into my GPS.   When we got to the church, it wasn't the right church. I punched it into the GPS again and waited for more options to pull up.  As we were driving around some more, we chatted a bit.  He was 12 years old, his parents just got divorced and he lived with his mom and younger sister. We finally found the right church.  It had been 45 minutes since I picked him up.  His mom must have been freaking out.  We were at least 7 miles from where I picked him up. I don't know if he would have ever made it on his own.

The child locks were activated on the back door so I had to go around and let him out.  When he stepped out of the car, he didn't have any shoes on and was in stocking feet which were now dirty and had hole or two in them. I was a bit stunned thinking of him running alongside the freeway in the grass in stocking feet in the dark and cold.  We made our way up the church steps and rang the bell.  It was on the side of the church were the priests lived.

An elderly man poked his head through the curtain on the window and let us in. He clearly knew the young boy and listened intently as I explained where I had found him.  He took him in and stated he would call his mother. I offered to wait and bring him home after I identified who I was.  They went into the office and the priest returned a short time later stating he would bring the young boy home himself.  I asked if I could speak with the young boy first.

He came out and I wrote my cell phone number on my card and gave it to him.  I told him he could call me anytime day or night if he ever needed help or didn't feel safe.  I would do my best to get him to a safe place. H e just nodded his head and took the card.  I left.  I felt good that he was safe but defeated at the same time.

I called the church the following day and left a message but never heard back.  I've nver heard from the young boy either.

I still think about him when I pass that section of the freeway.  I wonder if he is OK. I wonder if he was able to resolve his issues with his mom. I wonder if he ran away again.  I wonder about a lot of things with regard to him. The unknown is sometimes worse than the known.

What would have happened to him if I hadn't circled back around and picked him up?  Would he be another missing child or would he have made it to the church? It's an answer I will never know and I'm glad because I did get him somewhere safe.

I stepped in.  I took notice when it counted. Did I take notice because I am a mom?  Because I am a law enforcement agent?  Because I am human?  Because it was the right thing to do? It was probably a combination of them all.  I don't know.

So why do we as a society constantly put our heads in the sand, like an ostrich, and pretend if we don't see it, it doesn't exist?  It's easier.  It doesn't complicate our life.  We don't want to be nosey. It's not our business.

Well, it is our business. When it doesn't feel right, it generally isn't right. Trust your instincts. Pull your head out of the sand. Get involved and make a difference.  You'd want the same for you and your loved ones.  Wake up. Observe your environment. Be aware of your surroundings.  You are not immune. You may not always be the lucky one. It may just happen to YOU and not someone else.

Life is passing you by but if you hurry, you can catch up.

Do you find yourself in Hairy situations?

We all have it at one time or another. Some like it, others don't. It comes in many colors, textures, lengths, and styles.  Some get rid of it completely, others spend a great deal of time and effort getting it just right. Some have way an abundance everywhere, others not enough where it counts.

Hair! It can be a love/hate relationship. It can make or break first impressions. We can't escape it. It's all over our body and think of all the effort we go through on a daily basis to control it.  We comb it, brush it, cut it, style it, pull it, shave it, wax it, curl it, straighten it, braid it, spike it, twist it, tie it up, color it, bleach it, add extensions to it, hide it under hats, under wigs or under scarves.  We don't control our hair, it controls us.

You may think you are in control of your hair but you're not.  It makes a statement about you whether you have a full head of it or if you have none, even if you don't have any by no choice of your own.  Hair requires maintenance, even if it's minimal. It can't be ignored or it could have devastating effects on you and everyone else for that matter! Just think for a moment of the man who gets into the hot tub and you can see more hair oh his body than skin!

For those that don't have hair and want hair, they go to great lengths to get it or appear to have more. They try hair plugs, sprays, wigs,  'rugs' or the infamous 'comb-over'. What is our obsession with hair?  We find it sexy, annoying, overwhelming, emotional, insignificant, too important or even cumbersome.

It clogs our drains, gets in our food, sticks in our eyes and nose.  We can even gets bugs and eggs in it!  Our pets puke up hairballs and pet hair causes us to vacuum our floors and furniture relentlessly.  We have several tools to control both wanted and unwanted hair whether it's our own or not.  Grooming tools which include brushes, tweezers, hot wax, razors, nose trimmers, etc.  These tools are only for us. Think about all the effort which goes into controlling others hair - hair nets, lint rollers, blankets on furniture to prevent pet hair, specialty de-shedding combs or special shedding shampoos. Do you still think hair doesn't control you?  Hairdressers make a living controlling our hair.

You may shave it because it's easier or because you have a receding hairline.  You may not have it due to treatment for cancer. You may wear a wig because you don't have enough of it.  Does lack of hair make us feel vulnerable or naked? Do some feel more powerful without hair? What is it about hair?

We split hairs, get hairline fractures or miss it by a hair.  We get so mad we could pull our hair out and the little pig said not by the "hair of my chinny, chin, chin."  Hair does cause us all great anguish even if we don't have any of our own!


Rachel

Do you wanna be a BITCH?

Are you a Bitch? Well, are you? I am!  I am a Babe In Total Control of Herself! No, I did not think of this myself.  It's a saying that gets kicked around now and then. Wish I could take credit but I cannot. But I have been called a Bitch more times than I can count so I truly appreciate this saying.

I have not always been a bitch.  It's an acquired title. It takes time and work to earn Bitch status. Most people are insulted when referred to so harshly.   I tend to take it as a compliment because I have attached a different definition to the word.  In fact, I refer to one of my good friends as 'bitches' because she, too, understands what it means to be a real Bitch.

Most Bitches are strong independent women.  But that doesn't mean we are bitchy.  It simply means we know what we want in life and we go after it.  Therefore we are a Bitch by society's standards. There are other women we call a Bitch but that is a compliment and they should really be referred to as snotty stuck-up or bitchy, but not a Bitch.

These women cannot be called Bitch because they are not truly strong independent women. They are insecure and feel the need to belittle others in order to boost their own self-esteem.  However, society frequently confuses a Bitch with these types of women.  Now that being said, it can still be a challenge to differentiate between all these subcategories of women.  After all, all women are insane, crazy, mental, unstable, catty, etc - right?  Come ask me and I will let you know.

How do we break this down so we can learn to decipher between a real Bitch and a wanna be Bitch?  A real Bitch has it figured out for the most part but is willing to admit their shortcomings.  A wannabe Bitch knows it all, does it all, and can do no wrong, but really doesn't have a clue about anything.  A real Bitch has learned from her mistakes, struggles and life lessons and builds upon those to be a better person.  So a Bitch tells it like it is.  A wannabe Bitch just wants to be like a real Bitch but is too lazy to put in the work. That is why she ends up bitchy because she just doesn't get what it takes to be a real Bitch.  She is a copycat.  But copy cats are never as good as the original.

Now don't go thinking that all women are Bitches.  But if you are a real Bitch, make sure you are living up to the name since we have a reputation to uphold.  Not everyone can be a real Bitch even though we all have been bitchy at one time or another.  Being a real Bitch takes patience and dedication. It's not for the weak at heart and requires thick skin because not everyone truly understands the work it takes to be a real Bitch! So next time someone tells you - "You are such a BITCH!" Smile and say "Thank You!"

Why are YOU the way you are?

I know many things about myself.  I know some of my qualities are positive, others not so much.  I know I'm not perfect by any stretch of the imagination. In fact, I once had a boss ask me "Why are you the way you are?"  He was not being complimentary either.  So why am I the way I am?

I know I am a hodge-podge of things.  Some qualities are in direct conflict with others but that's what makes me unique - right? Many find it hard to believe that I was once a relatively quiet, shy child and teen.  I didn't speak my mind very often and blended in rather well as to not be noticed.

So what happened?  When did I begin to speak out? Why did I shatter my shell?  I'm not really sure why I did it but I think it happened in college.  I was no longer known as someones little sister or one of the Williams' kids.  Since I was the second youngest of seven children I was rarely known as Rachel.  I was always lumped in with everyone else. The forgotten one.

Then, Rachel began to evolve.  I found my voice.  I began to figure out who I was but still didn't know what I was to become.  I didn't know if it was good or bad. Some people today may have preferred the 'old quiet Rachel'.  But too bad, this one is here to stay.  But as I said, I'm not perfect and have issues to work on just like everyone else. Yes, you do too. Don't kid yourself.

This is what I know about me.  I am stubborn, pigheaded, competitive, smart (up for debate still), supportive, driven, loving, friendly, still shy, responsible, honest, and a hard worker. Things I know I am but still need to work on include being more understanding, more sympathetic, more patient, more organized,  less of a procrastinator and swear less. I know there are many more qualities that can be listed in both categories but this is what comes to mind.  

So where do I go from here? I have the list of improvements which need to be made but how do I change them when I'm half way thru my life? I believe it's possible but it seems daunting at times.  Sounds a bit ridiculous but it really can be a challenge since they are well developed aspects of my personality. After all, I did transform in college so why is it so much more difficult now?  Does it have to do with my stubbornness? 

I feel like I have so much on my plate already so how am I even begin to take on more? What if it changes who I am?  Will it? Will I still like me if I do? Will others still like me? Does it matter? I will only discover the answer to these questions if I take on the task.  Only I can make that decision.  

Someone once told me "Rachel, you say the things most people only think."  I guess this can be interpreted more than one way and not always be a good thing.  

Yet,  I interpreted it as a good quality.  You get what you see with me.  I don't pull punches.  If you don't want the truth then don't ask the question.   Not always the best policy but at least you know that up front with me. Did this come from my years as a quiet by-stander?  Or my years of being teased about my back brace?  I'm not sure and I'm not sure that I care how it came about. It just did. It's part of who I am.  Either you like it or you don't. This aspect about me will not change.

So what about all the other 'stuff'?  My pitfalls, my inadequacies and my short-comings? Well, some of those things I must work on in order to be a better person for those I love.  Not always easy but necessary because that is what you do for those you love. Make sacrifices no matter how big or small.  It can also be referred to as compromise because a balance must be found in order to keep me happy and those around me happy. 

It's time to begin a journey into my world of shortcomings and do my best not to come up short.