9 Lives

It's a little known fact that cats have nine lives. Today was a sad day.  Montana, my eldest cat at 17 years had to be euthanized.  He was old and did his best to hang on. I shed many tears and brought him to the vet by myself feeling guilty for not having put him out of his pain sooner.

Montana may have not lived a rough nine lives outside as he enjoyed the comfy indoor pampered feline life.  However, Montana lived his nine lives in a different manner.  Montana was older than my children. He was a trooper. He survived through five dogs, two cats and two kids. Montana lived a different kind of nine lives.

He was always the smallest pet in size but took no shit.  It's like the others knew he was the oldest and regardless of his small size and lack of front claws, they would give him the respect he deserved. If he was at the food dish, the other cats would wait until he was finished.  If he was on the bed, the dogs needed to sleep elsewhere on the bed because he was not moving. He did not play with cat toys except for the elusive 'cat dancer' and he was a victim of cat nip.

Montana did not desire a great deal of attention, unlike his fur kid siblings, but when he requested your attention, one had to step up and stroke his ego.  He would test his toughness by sneaking outside on a rare occasion only to hunker down next to the house for a few days realizing his life indoors wasn't so bad after all. I may have found Montana in the mountains but he certainly wasn't one to retreat back to his roots permanently.

In general, I have found people are either a 'cat person' or not.  There doesn't seem to be any middle ground. I've had cats my entire life.  They are fierce independent creatures who demand what they want,  when they want it and on the terms they dictate. Yet, they snuggle and seek you out when they know you are not at your best.  They are the rulers of the house.  Montana actually taught one of my dogs to clean himself like a cat. So whenever I see Gus licking his paw and swiping it over his ear, I will think of Montana.

Domestic cats are sneaky contortionists with amazing balance and a sixth sense.  They are the fiercest hunters in the animal kingdom hunting about 1000 different types of prey. Montana never let me down as he caught his fair share of mice in my home even in his older years. You can take the cat out of the wild, but you can't take the wild out of the cat.

Montana was loved and he will be missed. Rest in Peace my friend.

The Imaginarium

Where can you find a race-track, a haunted house with ghosts, a circus, flying carpets, a candy store and Queen’s throne all in one place?  To Grandmother’s house we go…

Race Car Drivers

My best memories are at your house in St. Paul on Nebraska Ave.  The two-story white house with green shutters.  The orange newspaper box tucked up against the house behind the bush. The metal handrail ran up the steps to the big front door with the curtains behind the window. The tall chain-link fence that surrounded the back yard covered with the grape vines. The grapes that were a waste to a little kid because they were sour but they were for wine anyways. Tricky and poisonous like the apple in Snow White.

The house sat on a corner of Nebraska and Victoria, a very busy street.  There was a large oak tree in the front yard.  Your neighbor accused me of picking the bark off it and said I was killing the tree.  She lied.  I did not like her. She was crabby all the time.

The garage was detached and sat up against the busy street- Victoria.  You had a covered car stall next to it with huge wooden fence like doors which closed with a long metal latching arm on the inside.  Sometimes Grandpa would open it so we could ride our big wheels in a huge circle around the entire yard and house.  

We began at the front of the house by the front stoop. We peddled as fast as our little stick legs could take us down the front walk, then throw on the hand brake against the plastic wheel and skid sideways with a few little hops while we made the sharp turn on the corner.  We raced down the sidewalk that ran along the busy street.  This was the longest straight stretch of good clean fast sidewalk so we had to take advantage and gain momentum.  Rags, the Schnauzer or Riches, the Golden Retriever, were like race horses galloping down the inside fence line to pace us waiting for us to reappear on the ‘other side’.

As we approached the open car-port, we slammed on the brakes again and skidded into the car port cave and thru to the back sidewalk trying not to tip over.  The plastic black wheels were worn and even had holes in them for so much speed.  This lead us up the tunnel like sidewalk alongside the grapevine covered fence to the back stoop.  Rags or Riches would pick up with us and race us down the fence again until we hit the brakes again at the back stoop.  This was a tricky corner because the large wooden barrel, which caught the water run-off was partially blocking our path just off the porch.  The four-season porch created a few more sharp curves alongside the house, next to the crabby ladies house.  I did not like her. 

We whizzed along the windy narrow sidewalk back towards the front.  And Boom! - lap one done.  We use to time ourselves to see how fast we could go without tipping over.   We wore holes in those heavy-duty plastic wheels!

Little Squares of Joy

The caramel jar was one of my favorites.  The glass jar next to Grandpa Ray’s big green leather chair.  Always filled with those soft chewy squares of pure happiness.  Being from a family of nine did not permit many sweets to last long or even be purchased at home.  So the mile walk to grandma’s house was worth it.  Even if you had to pass the scary Cujo dog and the crumbling white wall to get there.   I must have walked past your house thousands of times during my youth. We passed it going to school on the city bus, riding my bike to work at House of Wong, going to the DQ for Rags or Riches’ birthday and a million other times.  It was at the slight bend in the road.

The Rugs

The thick red and gold striped wool rugs were like a sea of magic carpets.  They covered the entire living room floor and flowed into the dining room along a path that allowed small children from falling into the hot lava that lurked below.  Stay on the rugs and stay safe  - from Grandma and the lava.

The  CHAIR

The wooden high chair. It was the throne of the kingdom.  The lava lurked below but Rags or Riches was always there to catch your food before it got incinerated below.  Sometimes they just felt the need to save me from the poisons trapped in spinach or beets so they sacrificed themselves and took the bullet right from my hand. Man’s best friend.

The Swing and Trapeze

The circus lurked below the main stage.  Tromping down the wooden steps to the basement beheld to greatest secret ever.  Our very own mini-circus! We had our own real wooden swing hanging from the ceiling but the trapeze was a thing of wonder and amazement.  Coolest Grandparents ever to have real flying trapeze which allowed me to fly threw the air like a true circus performer.  There was even a toilet and shower right there out in the open to cool off after such a strenuous performance. No walls, curtains or doors!

The Ghosts

Going upstairs was another adventure all together.  The ceilings seemed to cave in on me as I crawled further up towards the second floor. Grandpa’s room had a huge bed (which we weren’t allowed to jump on) with four wooden posts that almost touched the sky.  The white bed -spread was always neat and tidy but had those little tiny bumps all over it.  My skin was all polka-dot like after taking ‘forced naps’ on it. A form of torture.  The basement circus was so much better.

However, looming around the corner was the ‘other bedroom’.  This is where the ghosts lived.  It used to be my mom and aunt’s room.  I would lie in bed at night and watch as the ghosts raced across the ceiling, some fast, some slow.  The sounds of the busy street below as the cars and buses hurried to their next destination.  I only knew their headlights seeped thru the blinds and flashed against the angled ceilings keeping me deep under my covers hoping the monsters under the bed would get them before they got me unless of course, the burning lava melted the monsters.  This was a scary room and I only had to sleep in it before our road trips to Montana to see my cousins over the summer. It was well worth the one night of sheer panic.

Grandma’s house was a playground like no other – An Imaginarium.

There are no Mulligan's in the game of LIFE.

Life.  A simple four letter word. A four letter word that carries a great deal of weight. Without life, we are nothing. We simply do not exist - right? Death is a part of life but we should have the opportunity to live it.

Death happens every day.  Death takes lives in many ways.  Natural causes, accidents, illness, suicide, murder and old age. I feel as I get older, death creeps up around me more and more.  Or I am just more aware of it. Either way, I find myself thinking about death more frequently.  I'm not certain whether this is a good thing or a bad thing but feel both serve a purpose.

My maternal grandfather's death was my first real experience with death that impacted me.  He died of cancer. My father's death was my second unforgettable experience with death.  His death impacted my life in numerous ways which I have discussed in previous blog posts. In both instances, I learned something about myself and life.  Some of the lessons truly sucked and I am thankful to have learned from them regardless.

Most recently, I attended a friend's memorial/funeral.  A young woman not even 30 years old yet and her life stolen from her in a violent manner.  It makes me sad.  It makes me angry. It makes me doubt the good in people.  It makes me wonder when did our society take a dive off the deep end?  When did it become common place for one to take another's life? Why have we accepted the violence, abuse and cruelty which has become a part of everyday life?  Why do we glamorize it through the media?   We are always left with more questions than answers.

I don't have a solution. I don't have an answer.  I struggle with what is important in my life? What isn't important?  What should I worry about? Should I be doing something different? Am I wasting my life?  Am I happy with my life? How will I know what is the right way to live my life? Will I know? Should I know?

I do know I am tired of seeing women murdered by their significant others.  There have been at least half dozen women murdered by their spouses, boyfriends or significant others in Minnesota in the last 6-8 months. What has gone so terribly wrong that one cannot just walk away and allow each to live their life as they see fit? Why do we feel we have the right to inflict pain and suffering on others?

Somewhere along the way, society has failed. Society as a whole is responsible.  We have all looked the other way.  It's not 'our' problem. We do 'our' part. Some people just can't be helped or can they? Yes, we are all accountable for our own actions.  But maybe, just maybe, if we all took a stand when the opportunity presents itself and do the right thing - the outcome would be different -  a chain reaction of sorts.  Pay it forward in a sense.  Quit thinking it's someone else's problem to solve. Take the initiative and try to be part of the solution instead part of the problem.  Put a stranger's needs before your own and see what happens. Think about a time when you wish someone would have stepped up to the plate for you.

There are no mulligan's in Life.

Water under the Bridge

You are in charge of your dreams.  You have control over your destiny.  You make the future.  It's all about the choices that you make on any given day.  There are many factors which play a role in your choices but ultimately, the decision is made by you for you.

You decide what to eat, what to wear, where to work, who to marry or date, your level of education, whether to bear children, exercise or not, where to vacation and so many more choices.  Sometimes we feel these choices are made for us which are beyond our control. But in reality it is our own actions or lack of action which may have caused the chain reaction which ended in either favorable or unfavorable results. It's easier to cast blame upon someone or something else rather than be responsible for our own actions.  Yet, we are quick to accept the glory when everything falls into place nice and neat.

It is approaching the anniversary of my father's death and it often forces me to reflect on the choices I have made in my own life. I have made some very good choices, some not so good choices and some bad choices.  I didn't always like the results but ultimately knew that it had been my decision.  I think about this and my own  mortality because I feel my dad's life was cut short and he was unable to fully experience the fruits of his labor.  He died of lung cancer. He did not smoke.  Life is unfair. Life is not guaranteed.

So how is it possible that his choices affected his health and an untimely death?  I have no idea.  Was it karma for something else he did along the way?  Genetics? Environment?  I will never know as sometimes there isn't an answer, just more questions. 

So what's the point to living a good meaningful life if at the end of the day, the rug is ripped out from underneath you? Because... You fill in the blank. If you can't complete the sentence, then you need to take a step back and evaluate where you are at and how you got there.  More importantly, what are you going to do about it?

We know our life will end one day.  We don't know when or how but it will end.  People dislike talking of death because it forces them to face their own mortality.  We don't want to think about the 'what if's' and 'if only'.  This is why you must live the life you choose to live and want to live. It will end one day without your permission.  You may be old and ready to go or too young to be gone.  What will you leave behind? Memories, money, honor, pride, disappointment or a legacy?

Life is about choices. It's too short to be serious all the time, too short to screw off all of time, too short to blame, too short to feel sorry for yourself, too short to drink or smoke it away, too short to be lonely, and too short to be angry.  You are a mortal and not a super hero so live a life that makes you happy. Begin today because the rest is water under the bridge.

A BUMP in the Road

The road less traveled. The road to nowhere.  Take the high road. A fork in the road. One road leads to another. The road not taken. 

I tend to do a great deal of thinking while I am driving.  I will even turn off the radio for less distraction even though I can't understand the lyrics of the songs. My thoughts scatter like bugs on the windshield upon impact. I problem solve, reminisce, set goals, dream, cry, laugh, but never sing. I'm a horrible singer and it's even worse since I don't know the correct words to any song. The road becomes my own mental journal.  

As my truck was thumping along the other day, I began to realize, life is very similar to a road.  Sometimes, the road is straight and freshly paved and things move along smoothly.  Sometimes, there are a few curves thrown in there to test our response to change.  Other times, it seems to be riddled with  potholes, some big, some small and some that seem to swallow us up.  The road gets rough when dumped off of the pavement onto a dirt road kicking up dust and gravel into our face.  We fight our way through it knowing there is an end in sight. 

Freeways and highways allow us to speed along quickly.  We miss and overlook important landmarks because we are so preoccupied with the destination rather than the journey. If we are lucky, a few stop signs or stop lights force us to slow down and take in the life which is chugging alongside us.  But if we are so caught up in our devices, then more extreme measures are needed and our friendly maroon goon (Minnesota State Patrol)  will pull us over and force us to pay attention.

We come across bridges and tunnels but are able to just sail through on cruise control.  Sometimes we have lights to guide our route and others we are left to flail around in the dark.  The obstacles has been lifted by another just like friends and family help get us through the rough times.  We roll up and down hills with ease but the climb usually requires a bit more gas and effort to reach the peak.  We can't always be heading downhill because eventually you end up at the bottom.  We are forced to choose when we reach a fork in the road.  We may not know what lies ahead but we take a risk and choose. Sometimes it is a dead end but we learn to trust our instincts and make a better choice next time. Or we cheat and use GPS!

There are roads less traveled and sometimes this is a sacred little gem because it's a mini sanctuary.  We recover and recuperate.  The road to nowhere doesn't generally have a happy ending. We find ourselves drowning in a sea of uncertainty of how to get back to where we once were.  We begin searching for the high road. It's there, but the climb is often not without some exertion. 

We may tire easily, but we know there is so much more road to travel that we cannot put it in park.  We don't want to give up. We want to see more.  We want to achieve more.  We are curious.  So many miles to cover.  So we plow ahead, trudging through construction zones and barricades thrown our way because we know if we stop, someone else will map our road.

LOVE is a Ponzi Scheme

I must give credit where credit is due.  My boyfriend and I were chatting the other day about love and relationships and the like.  We also happened to be chatting about work and various cases we were working on as we are in similar fields of investigation.  He came up with the concept that love is like a ponzi scheme.  The more we thought about it the more we decided he was right to a certain degree.

Love is a ponzi scheme.  Everyone is 'all in' up front, investing a lot of time, energy, emotions and giving their 'everything' with the expectation and hope that it will all yield a big return. But as time goes by the investment becomes less and less, the energy put forth drops off as we get comfortable and the excitement of the relationship begins to dull and the daily grind takes over.  The investment is no longer yielding a big return and begins to collapse.

So many relationships end up in this manner even if it was unintentional.  Sometimes, we scramble and make minimal deposits in an effort to salvage the investment.  We may do this with jewelry, a romantic getaway, date night or sexy lingerie.  Once again, these are feeble attempts to recoup the bigger investment.  There is so much more to a good solid loving relationship. There are no quick fixes.  It has already begun to slip away.  Just like a ponzi scheme, once the investors stop investing or keep making withdrawals, it begins to collapse. Minimal contributions keep it alive for short bursts, but cannot sustain it long enough without good solid backing.

What is the remedy? How does one sustain a long lasting, loving, committed relationship without it collapsing?  Seems especially challenging these days with social media, technology, demanding careers and family obligations. I am no expert and have already failed multiple times.  I am learning from my mistakes but I still have work to do.

Each partner is an investor.  Each partner must contribute to the investment.  The investment may not always be equal as each partner brings different values. But each partner's contribution helps balance out the investment.   New deposits must be made frequently into the investment by both investors or it ends up lopsided and eventually collapses because one partner cannot shoulder all of the risk.  However, this is not an investment where new partners are brought in, it is not a public investment.  There are only two shareholders.  The shareholders stand to reap all of the benefits if the investment is monitored and tended to closely.

Sounds simple enough, right? However, just like any other investment, investment in a relationship can be the greatest feeling in the world or crash in one felled swoop.  So tend to your investment.  Make the deposits.  Monitor it's progress.  Learn from past investor mistakes. Check the balance once in awhile and make sure you're on the right track.  Keep your love from becoming a Ponzi Scheme.

Hoarding Secrets

Me and my addictions. I'd like to think I am above addiction of any kind but unfortunately I am not.  I am not addicted to drugs, alcohol or tobacco.  These are what come to mind when I think of addictions.  I'm not sure if my additions are better or worse. Mine still cost me money but are not bad for my health. Or are they?  They cost money and spending money can cause stress.  Collecting 'stuff' could turn me into a hoarder! When is enough stuff enough?

As a child, I was an avid sticker collector.  Yes, stickers. I didn't just collect ordinary stickers, I was selective about which ones I would spend my hard earned money on.  I never dared actually use them on anything. I put them in a photo album to preserve them - you know the old fashioned sticky page album with the 'clingy' pages. I enjoyed looking at them - so full of color and each a unique design.

As an adult, my collections have grown, not stickers but other things.  I don't like knick-knacks.  Too much dusting!  I have a tendency to collect craft items (which I use when I have time). Have you ever heard the saying, "The one who dies with the most yarn (or fabric) wins." Well, let's just say, I'm in the running for both categories.  Then there is the knitting needles, crochet hooks, pattern books, etc.

I also have a large selection of rubber stamps, stain glass, sewing and cross stitch supplies. My rubber stamp collection fills a six tiered shelf alone. They are categorized by holiday, season and design. This does not include the speciality paper, markers, or other stamping tools, etc. I sometimes wonder if I have an illness. I haven't purchase anything new for my collection in quite some time. Not needed.

Aside from my crafty side, there is my workout gear collection.  I love bright crazy workout clothes. I am not into matching outfits, the brighter and more mismatched it is, the better.  This goes for my footwear as well. Working out should be fun and my wardrobe certainly shows it.  And let's not forget my irreplaceable baseball hat collection.  No workout ensemble is complete without a baseball hat.  My hats are as crucial to my workout as the weights are to my muscles! I dislike wisps of hair falling into my face.  It's distracting.

Lastly, I guess I am a pet hoarder.  I have three cats, three dogs and fish.  The puppies spend a lot of time up north with my boyfriend, but still visit to torment the cats. In addition to the city pets, we have country pets which include a parrot, two lizards, another fish tank, another outdoor dog and several outdoor cats. So yes, I guess I am that crazy lady! Kinda, sorta.

So, I am officially a hoarder and have a few addictions.  Although, I do not live in a garbage house. I just have a lot of shit!  I like my stuff. I use my stuff. I wear my stuff.  I love my pets. I enjoy my hobbies.  I don't go out to eat, rarely go to movies and live simply.  This is how I chose to spend my money.  I like to create things whether it is a card for a friend, a knit blanket for a friend's new baby, sew window treatments for my boyfriend or create a lean body in the gym!  These all take time, money and patience but all bring me joy in a variety of ways.

So my secret is out.  I enjoy a wide variety of hobbies and could very easily be a shut in, but I'm not! I am more than what you see. I am simple gal and a home body who can be complex at times but overall, just a city kid who learned a lot from her mom and I can be domestic when I want to be! I embrace my addictions because they just aren't all that bad.

The Other Side of the Fence

The grass isn't always greener on the other side of the fence.  Of course,  generally we think it is because we have tunnel vision - it's something we don't have.  We only look at the positives rather than the negatives.  This concept can be applied to many aspects in our lives including: marriage/divorce, jobs, relationships, being poor, being wealthy, being fit, being overweight, being white, being black, having kids, not having kids, curly/straight hair, self employed, government employee, tall/short, and a million other things.

Once in awhile we are given the opportunity to experience life on the other side of the fence.  And as luck would have it, it can be great. It allows us to experience what we didn't have before.  Or it can suck and allows us to truly appreciate what we once had on what we thought was the 'wrong' side of the fence but we can't go back.  So why do we have this fascination with what we don't have regardless of how simple or complex it is?  Why is it not enough to enjoy and cherish what we have already accomplished and experienced?

Success is defined by you.  Failure is defined by you. What? Doesn't society define success and failure? It depends on your perspective.  If you are constantly striving to please or impress others in your life, who is really in charge of your happiness? Not you, 'they' are. Society has set standards that measure how we value our own success and failures.  You must decide how you permit those standards to impact your life and the choices you make.

We all are acutely aware of peer pressure but have a tendency to apply it to our teenage years and less likely to acknowledge that it still persists into adulthood.  You must ask yourself how much emphasis it weighs on your decisions.  In fact, most of us fail to realize it has an impact on us.  in the back of our minds, we wonder what people will think? How will they react? What will be the reward? Or will there be consequences?

We are complex beings and nothing is as simple as it seems.  We act and react based on our experiences or lack of experience.  Life is a constant learning lesson with some lessons being more important than others.  The choices you make in regard to those lessons are just that - your choices.  So next time you think the grass is greener, remember that the lawn may have been treated with pesticide and make look nice and welcoming, but in the end it might poison you.

I can't wait to Grow Up!

I can't wait to grow up.  Even though I am an adult, I feel like I am in a holding pattern.  It's as if I'm waiting for that next phase, only I am not sure when it will actually begin. I know I have a minimum of 10.5 years before I am eligible to retire from my current career.  This seems like a long time, but in life, it's really not.  

I know if I chose to work once I retire, I will not work in my current field. I don't want it to be 'work'. I want it to be fun, a hobby, a passion or something I've dreamed and yearned to do. I think about options and have various ideas but can't make up my mind. Good thing, I don't have to make up mind just yet. I've got time. Well I hope I have time.  As we know, life is not guaranteed, each day is a gift.

Since there is no guarantee, I often day dream about seeking out my passion right now. To follow my dreams and do what would truly make me happy.  But then reality sets in and I realize I have others who depend on me for food, shelter and the general necessities of life.  I have security right now.  Sometimes responsibility has to take precedence over desire.

Choices.  The choices I have made in my life have landed me where I am today. Some have been great choices and other are results of my failures. I have learned from both even though I don't always like the lesson.

So the internal battle continues.  I want the security of my current lifestyle, but want the freedom of my dreams. Is it possible?  Unfortunately, not right now.  I enjoy snippets of my dreams in my daily life but I will have to wait patiently until I can fulfill the rest. I must earn it. I have to be patient. I have to finish the path I am on and follow the fork in the road at a later time.

I will have to wait to grow up for a few more years. I can play when the work is done. So for now, I will have play dates.

Youth is Wasted on the Young

The Fountain of Youth.  Does it really exist.  Do we truly want it to exist? What if you actually found it? Would you share it?  What if you were disappointed with the results? Could you go back Old Age?

I wouldn't go back. I don't want to be younger.  I am young enough.  I don't feel my age or act it for that matter.  I wasn't in a rush to grow up but I certainly don't want to repeat my teenage years. College, maybe, except for the studying part.  I wouldn't even go back to 'correct' my mistakes or failures. I know for a fact I would not be the person I am today without those challenges.  I certainly didn't always enjoy my obstacles but the lessons I learned are appreciated in hindsight.

Some days, I feel like I am 20 years old and then I look in the mirror and realize I really do have wrinkles and crow's feet.  I am getting age spots.  Although, I do not have any gray hair, even without the highlighting!  I must remind myself that I am 41 years old.  On some mornings, my body is quick to remind me that I am getting older as I do not recover as quickly from my workouts.  As I hobble to the bathroom, my ankles creek and my lower back is sore as I attempt to stand straight.  Yet, I am still content with my age.  The numbers have never bothered me.

I have time on my side. My maternal grandmother is 96 years old and still living a very active life on her own.  In fact, her social life is much more eventful than mine. She is in excellent health. She tells me her mind is as sharp as a tack but her body is wearing out.  Good thing for artificial parts.  When she travels, she enjoys the 'pat downs' due to her pace maker! Needless to say, she is not a typical grandmother.  She also sets the bar rather high since she graduated from college at 72 years old and obtained her Master's degree at 84 years old.  She is like a good wine, gets better with age.

Sometimes, I find myself yearning for retirement. Let me be honest, I wish for it more frequently than I should.  It's not that I want to wish my life away, but I feel like I will finally be able to completely relax when I am retired.  People tell me I will be bored when I retire.  Doubtful.  I have many many hobbies and very little time to engage in them at the present time.  This whole parenting thing and career stuff kinda takes up a lot of time!    

So I guess this is why I don't want to be young again.  I know it's about 'looking' young, but I don't want to look like a plastic doll like Joan Rivers either! Opportunities come with age. Wisdom comes with age. Freedom comes with age.  Appreciation comes with age. Happiness comes with age.  We become seasoned as we age.  And we all know seasoning is the spice of life.

I may be 41 years old by calendar years, but I am only as old as I feel.  And I don't feel old. My Dad use to tell me "Youth is wasted on the young."   I think of this often and realize he was right.  As I have aged, I realize how much freedom comes with being an adult.  With freedom, comes fun because you are in charge of your life and what you make of it.  It's about choices and I choose to be young but on my own terms.

You're NOT the Boss of Me!

You're not the boss of me.  I don't like to be bossed around.  Not at work, not at home, not anywhere. I am not unique since most people do not like to be told what to do. Yet, on most days, someone is telling us what to do whether we realize it or not.

You may be our own boss or self employed, but your clients and/or customers are still bossing you around.  They tell you what they want, how they want it, when they want it or where they want it. I'll bet there are times when you'd like to tell them where they can stick it too!

As much as I don't like to be bossed around and told what to do, it is a reality in my life. To me, there is   a difference between being bossy and being a leader.  Bossy people tend to be insecure and unable to perform the task themselves so they resort to being demanding. They develop unrealistic expectations for their subordinates in order to overcompensate for their own inadequacies.  Leaders, on the other hand, learn from others and openly admit when they are wrong or just don't have an answer.

I have much more respect for a leader than a boss.  Anyone can be a boss - just give them the title.  Only a select few can be a leader. Throughout my career, I can count on one hand the number of great leaders I have had the pleasure of working with.  I remember those people - the leaders.  I learned valuable lessons from them - the biggest being the difference between a boss and a leader. I also learned the leader is not always the boss. Unfortunately, this happens all too often and the higher-ups don't even realize the damage they have done by selecting this boss rather than the leader. Usually because they, too, are also bosses and not leaders.

I have been told I am a challenge to 'supervise'. Not all that surprising.  I guess I am tired of being told what to do since I had seven bosses telling what to do my entire childhood!  I know I am not always right and don't always have the correct answers or even know what to do every time, but I also ask. I am not afraid to say, "I don't know."  I don't respond well to be being bullied or talked down to.  Each of us brings a different skill set to the table and can offer something valuable.  I am not perfect and definitely have my short comings, but I am also not a punching bag and refuse to be treated as such.  I speak my mind and voice my opinion. Thank goodness for freedom of speech!  

I tend to be a bit too blunt and aggressive for some, but then again, most females in law enforcement are not door mats. We did not stumble into our careers by accident.  Obviously, authority is a big part of my job especially with chain of command.  I have broken this chain on more than one occasion.  But shockingly, everyone survived! Only a few egos suffered damage.

But so goes life.  Authority.  It's always lurking behind every corner.  Sometimes it's waiting for you to mess up , but just maybe it's waiting to congratulate you on a job well done.  We all deal with it differently and some deal with it better than others.   At the end of the day, you must answer to you and decide if what you did or didn't do was the right thing.  You are the supreme authority over yourself since you have to live with you no matter what.

Time Warp in Vietnam

In 1991, I traveled abroad for the first time. I was a very young 20 year-old college student who had just completed my sophomore year at St. Olaf College.  I knew I was naïve but figured I had experienced an unusual life up to this point and had acquired a vast amount of knowledge about the world and it’s people. I was wrong. I was more naive than I thought.

After all, I did not know anyone else who had six siblings, five who were black, adopted and I am white. I only knew one other person who had worn a back brace.   At the time, I was fluent in three languages, English, French and Mandarin Chinese.  I also knew bits and pieces of Russian and Japanese. I had had a job since the second grade.  We had a paper route, the old fashioned kind which we delivered on foot and collected the monthly fees in person. 

I got my first real job at fifteen, as a bus girl and hostess, and eventually began waitressing at age 16.  In the summer, I had a minimum of three jobs on top of swimming 4 hours a day – two hours at 6 am and two hours at 6 pm.  I rode my bike everywhere or took the city bus.  With seven kids and being the second youngest, getting my hands on the car keys was slim to none.   I never had my own room until I was a senior in college and renting my second apartment.   I was well acquainted with manual labor and chores.  My parents had a knack for finding ‘projects’ during the summer months and we had Saturday chores from a young age.  In addition to my real jobs, I mowed lawns, shoveled snow-covered driveways, babysat, and cleaned houses for the elderly residents in our neighborhood.  I had hiked in the Big Horn Mountains in Montana for 4 weeks and paddled the Boundary Waters canoe area for 4 weeks.  I had survived the wilderness and the hustle and bustle of the city.  I thought I was ‘seasoned’.

So, I felt I had experienced a great deal by the ripe old age of 20. I had two years of college underneath my belt.  I definitely knew everything there was to know.  Or so I thought.

During the summer of 1991, I traveled to Malaysia, Thailand, Vietnam, China and Hong Kong. I was an Asian Studies Major at the time and had been given the opportunity to go see the world.  After enduring an 18-hour flight with a group of strangers I barely knew, I embarked on an experience that left this naïve young city girl with a new perspective on life and life as an American.

Kuala Lumpar, Malaysia was much like any other major metropolitan area. I was only impressed, due to my ignorance, that other countries were actually as developed as the Western World more so than I had originally thought.  Malaysia was a stopover for us.  We traveled onto Bangkok, Thailand and I was equally surprised by the hustle and bustle of the city. So many people, all packed in like sardines.  It would be comparable to the feeling of New York’s crowded streets but multiply it by ten.  I remember the tuk-tuk’s, they were open-air mobile taxi type vehicles, skirting through traffic like a bicycle messenger.  You’d think it would be pleasant to experience the city this way, but unfortunately the pollution was so horrendous that you prayed for a short road trip.  The red-light district at night was an eye opening experience for me and one that has stuck with me for over 20 years.  The day market transformed into a seedy nightlife strip complete with strip clubs showcasing exceptionally young girls as ‘dancers’, so young, it would be a crime in the United States.  I was horrified.  I never knew such atrocities existed.  I was much older than these girls and I felt uncomfortable when I saw them in their scantily clad outfits.  I didn’t understand. It was wrong. They were so young.  Didn’t they know about all of the other opportunities out there for them?

Our stay in Thailand was brief before we headed to Vietnam.  Vietnam was unlike any other place I could have ever imagined.  I felt as though I had traveled back in time.  It was my favorite part of the trip.  We were not technically supposed to be ‘touring’ Vietnam, as Americans, at this time, yet we were. Our group was small, only six of us.  We tried to ‘blend in’.  We did not talk about where we were from – if asked, we were European.

My first indication that this place was stuck in a time warp was the airplane.  We boarded and mixed in with the passengers were crates of chickens – yes, live chickens.  This was a small plane, which transported locals, not foreigners.  Our guide had connections, which enabled us to really experience Vietnam, not as a tourist, but as a local. Boxes of food were stacked in big piles and shoved against the wall, not strapped down or secured in any fashion.  The seats did not have seat belts.  There were no flight attendants reviewing the safety features of the aircraft.  I wasn’t entirely convinced that masks would descend if oxygen were needed. 

We, the Americans, were an oddity.  We were the only white people on the entire plane.  I finally understood what it felt like to be a minority.  I was one of two gals in our group with blond hair and green eyes.  Plus, I was a giant standing at 5’ 7” tall.  Every pair of eyes on the plane was set on us because everyone else had black hair and brown eyes.  We were all split up and not able to sit together as assigned seats did not exist.  Sit where you could find one.   As I looked around the plane, I remember seeing duct tape on the ceiling holding seams together and duct tape on the wing outside the window.  No joke.  I was genuinely frightened for my life for the first time.  It obviously turned out as I’m still around!  But I developed a new respect for duct tape!

Once we landed in Hanoi, we took a local bus to our hotel. We were in local territory and most of the people were not well acquainted with foreigners.  More stares, gawking, pointing, chatter in Vietnamese.  It was unnerving.  Clearly, we did not belong.

Vietnam is only a few degrees from the equator and extremely hot and humid.  We were not allowed to wear shorts so I had made myself several dresses to wear during our travels – had to be long, not short. Still, it was unbearably hot.  We could only drink bottled water for obvious reasons and no ice.  No air conditioning in the hotel and mosquito nets covered the beds to keep the insects and tiny lizards off us while we slept.  I had never missed my room with three of my sisters more. But it all intrigued me and I never once had the desire to go home early.

We met up with a group of Vietnamese students during our stay and they were well versed in American culture and the language.  In fact, their grammar and penmanship was much better than all of ours - perfectly spoken and written. I was in awe at how well they had mastered the English language.  I was astonished at how they only wanted to speak English and hear our accents to perfect their own skills.  They wanted to know everything American – TV shows, clothes, places like NY and LA, movie stars, etc.  It seemed strange to me at the time because these were every day ordinary things to me.  Yet to them, it was never enough. They yearned for as much information as they could absorb.  I couldn’t believe how excited they were about ‘everything American’ but looking around at what was available to them paled in comparison.

Disco was a big hit in Vietnam in the early 90’s. They loved to go ‘clubbing’ complete with the big silver disco ball.  They dressed up and danced late into the night decked out in sequins, tight dresses and high heels that resembled stilts.  I don’t recall there being a drinking age. I remember thinking how differently the boys treated the girls.  There was never any physical contact of any kind.  Boundaries were well respected.  The girls walked around holding hands just because they were such good friends.  No judgment was passed unlike in the US where people would automatically assume you were gay if you held hands with the same sex. They gathered in groups and hung out together but there was never any indication of dating or romance.

One day, we decided to take in the beach.  As I mentioned, Vietnam is just off the equator, which means the sun is a teeny tiny bit more intense. Holy crap!  We only lasted an hour due to the scorching heat and intense rays.  One member of group, who had worn 40+ sunscreen, looked like she had been placed under a broiler oven. She was as red as lobster.  I now understand why most Asian women, even in the US, are hidden under parasols or large brim hats.  Even my olive skin was a bit crispy that day.

Our visit to a local hospital was almost unfathomable.  Only the surgery rooms had a small air conditioning unit, if it worked.  Patient rooms often held up to four people due to overcrowding and lack of available resources elsewhere.  Some patients were left in the hallways on makeshift beds.  Medical supplies were in such a high demand and short supply that supplies were used over and over again – rubber gloves, needles, surgical masks, etc.  If I didn’t see it I wouldn’t have believed it.  The needles were sharpened over and over again until they were so dull they could no longer be used.  Soap and antiseptic cleaner were not generally available to sterilize and clean the medical instruments and supplies so they just used water, which was not exactly always clean.  Bicycle parts, such as spokes and rubber tire tubing, were used for splints.  Other homemade remedies were used to stabilize patient’s necks and torn sheets were used as slings.  I prayed I did not get sick while in Vietnam.  I was thankful for the multiple series of shots I had to endure prior to my travels. I thought of my back brace and how such technology was non-existent in Vietnam.

Given our guide’s connections, we boarded a local train from Hanoi to Ho Chi Minh City, also know as Saigon. Once again, foreigners were not frequent travelers on this train as it was far from luxurious and we were, once again, an oddity. We were split up into multiple cabin cars. More isolation.  More stares. More uncomfortableness displayed by the locals.

 It was an old American train from the 1970’s.  It didn’t go faster than about 40 mph.  The windows did not have any glass because it was too hot. No air conditioning.  The seats were hard wood benches with no cushion. I was lucky enough to be in the car next to the on-board bathroom - downwind.  Did I mention the temperature reaches a 100 + degrees daily?   The windows had steel accordion shades, which could be pulled down at night.  However, it was far too hot to not have that ‘refreshing’ warm breeze blowing over you while you tried to sleep.  This was the least of our worries since we were told that bandits jumped on top of the train at night from over passes and attempted to crawl into the windows to steal occupant’s goods.  We slept with they window shade up and took our chances.  Die of heat or fighting with a bandit.  The bandits made for a better story.

We spent three days and two nights on the train.  We traveled through some of the most beautiful landscape I had ever seen.  We saw miles and miles of lush rice paddy fields complete with water buffalo and very young children hunched over picking the rice.  The rain rattled along slowly and gave us the opportunity to take in all the wonders of the countryside.  It’s people, animals, crops, and the simplicity of uninhabited territory.  The train pulled into small villages and we bought fruit, bottled water and food thru the window.  By the time the train had pulled away from the station, you knew exactly which cars the Americans were in.  A line of Vietnamese villagers stood outside those cars staring in at the strange white people with blond hair and green eyes. We were in the depths of rural Vietnam and most likely the first foreigners the villagers had ever seen. By the end of the train excursion, I sat back against the wall of my car because it made me feel so uncomfortable.  Again, I experienced first hand what it felt like to be a minority and under constant scrutiny. 

Ho Chi Minh City was another city, which seemed to be lost in a time machine. The villagers rode bicycles and carried baskets of fresh meat and produce from the market. They wore large brim cone shaped hats.  We visited a local market and it gave an entirely new meaning to the word fresh. Live chickens strutted around in pens alongside all the fresh produce.  Villagers simply picked their chicken out and the head was chopped off right then and there by the farmer.  Other types of animal carcasses were strung up on ropes overhead waiting to be purchased.  As hungry as I had been from the train ride, I remember my appetite had diminished.  This was a bit too fresh for me.

My most memorable part of Vietnam was the Cu Chi Tunnels.  These were the tunnels the Vietnamese hid in during the war.  We ventured into the forest one day and took a tour of the ‘museum’ of the Cu Chi Tunnels. I was amazed at how well hidden they were in the dense forest and how small they were.  We crawled down into them and worked our way through the maze.  They had been dug out to deeper widths to accommodate tourists.  The open pits, which contained spears in case an intruder was able to stumble upon them, were deep and deadly.  The tunnels wound up and down several levels beneath the ground and contained sleeping areas, tactical rooms, and a variety of other rooms.  It was like an underground ant colony with it’s sophisticated design.  It was eerie to be an American crawling around in the very same tunnels that Vietnamese soldiers had sprung from to capture and kill American soldiers.

We visited the war museum.  It was very different to be in a war museum with your own country being the enemy.  It was presented from the Vietnamese perspective.  I saw graphic photographs of war and the effects of Agent Orange on the Vietnamese people.  I saw large glass jars full of liquid containing unborn fetuses affected by Agent Orange.  I saw Americans through the Vietnamese perspective, most of which was not favorable towards Americans.  It was uncomfortable.  It was scary.  I had a new appreciation for American soldiers and the wars and battles they fought to maintain our freedom.

I left Vietnam a bit shaken but appreciative of my experience in a true third world country.  I began to appreciate America more and more every day.

This concluded my trip with my group and I traveled to Hong Kong, on my own, to meet my great aunt.  She and I traveled through China, Macau and Hong Kong for two weeks.  Hong Kong was a booming metropolitan place.  I was amazed at how ‘American’ it seemed.   There were skyscrapers, high-end fashion shops, expensive cars and fancy restaurants.  It seemed as if I was back in the US.

China was much more interesting than Hong Kong.  We traveled through several small villages and again saw the local villagers working their crops.  The open markets were similar to Vietnam and the countryside seemed pure and unpolluted.  Life was simple.  Limited technology, little or no cars, children played in the street and life moved at a leisurely pace.   Villagers were eager to meet us and try to communicate with us.  They wanted to trade goods for American items and American money.  We got more with US dollars than if we presented them with their own currency.  I purchased a beautiful Jade pendent, which I still have today.  It is a lovely reminder of an unforgettable trip to the other side of the world.

We visited Tiananmen Square. The vastness of the open space and the intricate design of all the stonework was breathtaking.  It seemed impossible for a country that always appeared to be in turmoil and stuck in a time warp.  The Terra Cotta Soldiers were beautiful and also appeared delicate yet fierce in their appearance.  Each one carved different from the next in the smallest way protecting their countrymen.

The Great Wall of China – it must be experienced.  It is so massive and unbelievable.  I could not understand how such a structure of that magnitude could have been built so many hundreds of years ago.  It was larger than I could have ever imagined.  At points, it was so steep; I was crawling, like a bear, on all fours.  I could see it for miles and miles stretching out into the desolate land.  I felt like an ant crawling on cliff.  I realized just how small and sometimes insignificant we are in this world.

I have never forgotten my travels overseas and I hope to return to Vietnam someday.  I’d like to see it through my adult eyes now that I have truly experienced more ‘life’.  It is the luck of the draw that I was born in America.  I truly appreciate this country and all that it has to offer but feel fortunate to have experienced, albeit brief, life on the ‘other side’ of the world.   Sometimes we never really appreciate what we have until it’s gone. 

Tom Girl

I typically don't have difficulty defining myself, but recently it's come more to my attention that I am not quite a Tom Boy but not a girly girl either.  I am somewhere in between - I am a Tom Girl.

I have always been an athlete, so hair and make-up has never been a priority for me since it was going to get washed or sweated off quickly.  Therefore, I never acquired the skill to apply make-up properly without looking like a clown, so I just go with the basics, eyeliner and mascara. On occasion, I will apply lipstick or gloss which prompts my children to ask me if I am going to a wedding.  This gives you an idea of how often I get 'dolled' up.

I enjoy wearing dresses and skirts with high heels, now and then, but don't usually have anywhere to wear them! Yet, when I see a cute dress while shopping, I purchase it because I know when I actually NEED a dress, I won't be able to find one. This is very much the girl in me, purchasing clothing with really no need for it.  In fact I have several dresses with the tags still attached, hanging in my overstuffed closet just waiting for an opportunity to reveal themselves! Sometimes, you just can't pass up a great sale. This holds true for high heels - another hard to shop for item when needed, so purchase when unexpectedly found.

Now the females reading this are nodding their heads in agreement because they get it.  It's a chic thing, a girly thing. The males are shaking their heads in disbelief even though they know chics are like this.  Men buy clothes when they need them.

As a girly-girl, I like the color pink.  I shave my legs religiously. I like Victoria's Secret.  I like sexy things.  I like to have the door held open for me.  I like perfume. I like to look pretty. I knit, crochet, sew, and craft.

But the tomboy side of me rears it's persona very frequently and maybe even more often.  I love baseball hats. When I am not at work, I am almost always wearing a hat.  I have a large collection of common and unique hats. I love my hats. Some people don't recognize me without a hat! I also love jeans and a t-shirt or sweats. I like comfy shoes and clothes that often are not flattering to a female figure.

I have several tattoos, muscles, a potty mouth - that at times can shame a sailor, a competitive nature, and a severe case of sarcasm.  I enjoy snow blowing and learning to fix things around the house and don't mind getting dirty. I'm not easily intimidated but can be sensitive and get my feelings hurt. I feel tough but I don't really like spiders, snakes or centipedes.  

So it just doesn't make sense.  I am a Tom Girl.  People joke that I am a guy trapped in a chic's body, but not in the sexual orientation fashion, if that makes sense.  I think they base this upon my smart-ass, hard-ass personality and humor.  Only a few truly see the 'softer' side of me.  I don't intentionally keep it hidden, just a safety mechanism I guess.  I'm happy being a Tom Girl! I get the best of both worlds.