Writing More ~ and More Often

It's been about six months since I've darkened the doorway of this blog. I've had plenty of reasons to pause and reflect thankfully on the goodness of my fellow man, but I haven't. I've been busy, or lazy, or just not in the mood. And sometimes, the limited theme of this blog has felt ... limiting.

For those last two reasons, I have decided to expand the theme of this blog. In 2013, I intend to write about the beauty I find in the world around me. I'll still write about the wonderful people I meet (which was previously the singular theme of this blog), but I will also write about all the places my eyes and heart and feet take flight.

It's going to be a wonderful adventure, writing about all the blessings that I welcome in the New Year. I have my pen in hand and I'm ready ~

A Belated "Thank You"

Last Wednesday, my friend Melody and I attended the Yeti demo event at Green Mountain in Lakewood, Colorado. Yeti is a mountain bike manufacturer and the evening was going to be filled with the laughter and excitement of riding beautiful new Yeti bikes on the mountain trails.

And it was ... for almost an hour.

But then, I went flying down the trail too fast, and I accidentally squeezed my front brake. wrong!  Squeezing the front brake on a decline will cause the back wheel to flip over you.  And that can hurt. Oh, it hurt.

Before the dust settled, I saw Melody rushing toward me. She lifted the bike off me, and then she helped me up. I wasn't the most gracious of bike-crashers. My face hurt and the blood was dripping; I was disappointed in myself and afraid of the damage done. But Melody helped me back on the bike, and she rode with me another 30 minutes until we reached the parking lot. We quickly washed the blood off the bike and returned it to the Yeti crew; we loaded my gear into my car, and I drove away.

My daughter joined me, and together we drove to the hospital. As we walked into the Emergency Room, a very efficient clerk took my name and in just a few short moments, a triage nurse was taking my blood pressure and asking questions. And then I was delivered to the gentle care of Christy, David and Page. For over three hours, they worked to clean and stitch my mouth and my face.

I've thought often this past week of good friends and family who care for us in "those moments", particularly Melody and Caroline. They were so wonderful. And I've thought a lot about Christy and David and Page. Goodness knows they cared for hundreds of people before I arrived, and many more since. But to me they were a godsend.

I started writing this blog last October, to appreciate the times when I witness ordinary people doing extraordinary things. But I never imagined they'd be doing those things for me.  A belated yet profound Thank You to friends & family & medical workers. You are each uniquely amazing to me.

Three Cheers for the iPhone Guy!

When is the last time you upgraded your phone? I upgraded my trusty, dusty iPhone 3GS to an iPhone 4GS and it had been a long 3 years, for me.

Have you noticed, when you buy new bath towels and toss the old ones, you're rewarded with a thick blanket of warmth. When you discard last week's flowers and fill the vase with a new bouquet, you're rewarded with beauty. When you upgrade your iPhone ... there is no warmth or beauty. There's confusion, mass confusion.

The gadget wants your permission to track you, tag you, announce your whereabouts to a non-existent adoring public and all manner of other indignities. But it doesn't want your old photos, your old notes, your calendar or email account.  It's frustrating, to put it mildly.

But then there's that guy. You know, the guy at the store. You walk in and cry, "help". And he looks at you like you're the 1 billionth set-up he's done, yet with a friendly, welcoming smile. "Sure, I can help." And he does. In just a few minutes, your Outlook is back to it's old self, and (in my case) your outlook on life is improved, too.

Profound thanks to the techie-guy. Your service was of inestimable value, and your kindness was greatly appreciated.

Time & Time Again

I write about cycling more than other topics because, as my favorite hobby, it's natural that I'd meet a disproportionate number of friendly people who share my passion for the sport. Sometimes, I hesitate to write again about a kind & thoughtful cyclist, because it seems that I write about those folks too often.

But then ... again ... another cyclist does the nicest thing. Today's Mr. Nice Guy goes to Matt, an acquaintance who coached me on the nuances of Criterium racing. He offered to ride with me, to teach me techniques out on the road, but I have a tight schedule, so we just met at Starbucks, where he drew diagram after diagram at our little table. For one brief hour, I listened carefully and soaked in as much of his expertise as possible. What a generous gift. Now I'm prepared for Saturday's race. And once again, I am blessed.

Considering ...

Hey, so what do you think of modern art? I think some pieces are pretty cool, while others lack inspiration. Of course, art is a very subjective thing, but really? a plastic hangar glued to a board? the museum paid for that???

I really don't get that hangar glued to that board. That's not art. I could have done that. My brother likes to say, "But you didn't." To which I respond, "I would have, if I'd known the museum wanted to pay for it."

So there, now you know the sort of art patron I am. Not altogether "open".

Recently, though, I decided to challenge myself, to open up and learn about Abstract Impressionism and Abstract Expressionism. I plan to consider both  movements with an open mind, to not dismiss them the way I dismiss the hangar glued to the board.

Toward that end, this week I arrived early to the Members Only Preview of the museum's new show, Theodore Waddell's Abstract Angus. Mr. Waddell is a local artist who combines western and abstract art. Think: soft colors and wide brushstrokes that makes you hum, "I've been through the desert on a horse with no name ..."

I was alone, staring into the gallery of white works splotched with black blobs, wondering, would anyone else join me? Within five minutes of the opening, the space was overflowing with people, all so unlike myself. They were all so excited and so enthusiastic about Waddell's show. They were talking and laughing and ooh-ing & aaah-ing and I let myself enjoy them and the art they admired. I talked to several people, some artists, some not, all inspired.

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Theodore Waddell, Motherwell’s Angus, 1994. Denver Art Museum

His work is inspiring. So far removed from the hangar glued to the board, his angus are clearly (okay, not so clearly) angus on snow-covered landscapes, soft, inviting.

Today's toast is to people who brush paint on canvases, wide strokes, thick blobs, dribbled over with gallons of turpentine. And to those who nudge me to enjoy those paintings with them.

Grace Under Pressure

As my husband and I walked off the plane in San Francisco, we glanced at our watches. We had less than an hour to get through immigration, retrieve our luggage, walk through customs, and then re-check our luggage to Denver. And then race through the concourse for our flight home. We could do it, but time was not on our side.

And then it became apparent, neither was United Airlines. Our flight from Seoul, South Korea and another flight from Frankfurt, Germany was greeted by one, just one United Airlines employee.

We stood in line with over one hundred international travelers and watched that one employee as she graciously processed each one of us. Because there was only one employee, we were all very, very delayed. That in turn complicated her job by causing her to re-book each traveler on a later flight.

Our cramped line, filled with exhausted travelers, was anything but pretty. We were mumbling and grumbling and oh-so less than pleasant as the minutes turned to hours. And yet she remained gracious as she worked diligently to send us on our way.

Here's to one United Airlines employee, based in San Francisco, who had at least a partially lousy day last week. Your grace under pressure impressed me in that moment, and for days now beyond ...

Behind Bars

Yesterday I found myself talking with two female employees of the Colorado Department of Corrections. I was curious, what were their positions at the DOC, and what was it like, working behind bars?

They both work directly with inmates, and they talked & talked & talked ... about Ms. Smith and Ms. Jones and a host of others, about their reasons for incarceration and the way that they live in prison. It was fascinating to hear of a woman, a former professor, who shot her husband when she learned he had molested their daughter, and others whose stories were disturbing, yet not too far beyond my imagination.

I was most surprised and most impressed by the respect that these guards have for the prisoners. Yes, respect. The way they spoke of the inmates was so far removed from the portrayal of prison life in the movies; these two women clearly care - passionately care - for the people who reside in their prison.

If you are like me, you rarely if ever think about that other world, removed and yet part of our world. Today I was honored to catch a glimpse of the mystery that is life behind bars, and I was left with profound gratitude, both for the (imperfect) system that protects our society, and two compassionate employees who add a large measure of dignity to those who must live there.

The Fab Four

Once upon a time, long long ago, four young men formed a band ...

and you know the rest of the story.

Today I heard "Let It Be" on the radio as I was driving from my racquetball match to my house. Two miles, four minutes, one great song.

"Let It Be" whispers words of wisdom in needful moments, reminding me, "There will be an answer. Let it be."

This might seem a lame blog entry, but I really needed that song, right then. So today's toast is to The Beatles. To commandeer Joe's quote in You've Got Mail, The Beatles' lyrics are the I Ching, the sum of all wisdom, the answer to any question. ... And the answer to my question was, "Let It Be."

A Cup of Kindness

I saw an old friend today, someone I hadn't seen in years. She's sort of a former friend. And definitely a future one. She is a gal who drifted onto the periphery of my life, or I onto hers, and then for a variety of reasons, we drifted completely apart.

But I wanted to see her, I needed to see her. And so, lacking her cell number and her email address, I did the unthinkable: I looked her up in Public Records and knocked on her door.

She answered my knock. I said, "Hi, it's Kathie." She said, "aaah, Kathie. Come in!"

Before I could say a word about my reason for visiting, she offered me a cup of tea. She set the kettle on the stove and we hugged.

And we talked.

Three hours later, we hugged again. It was a long, warming hug, the sort you know you can trust.

Here's to You ~ people who are open to the past, the present and the future; who open doors, who share goodness and kindness and peace. oh! and a cup of tea..

An Indelible Grin

Yesterday I rode with a woman much younger than myself, who’s cycling skills greatly exceed my own.  Jen is a professional athletic trainer and an amateur racer, and to be honest, I was more than a little intimidated to ride alone with her. It wasn’t just a ride, it was a friendly race up a steep hill in Douglas County. Twelve miles distance, how would I keep up?

I didn’t keep up. She rolled up that hill like I roll down.

But that’s okay, because I had the unique opportunity to learn by observation. Jen pushed me hard and though she beat me by a mile, I "PR'd", riding the course 31 seconds faster than my previous best. And from beginning to end, I had an indelible grin splattered across my face.

Riding with Jen has made me thankful in a broader sense for the super-accomplished athletic women in my life. Jen, on her bike. Mary, wielding her racquet. Teresa, the flag football queen. And Marge, who conquers every challenge with more grace and style than I’ve ever seen in one person alone. And then there are those women who inspire me intellectually & spiritually & philosophically. And my giggle-friends, girls who paint a silly smile on my face, each and every time I see them.

The weather forecast is “rain mixed with snow”. But here, in my heart, thanks to the women in my life, it’s a bright, bright sun-shiny day.
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Preserving with Passion

(credit: cid69.blogspot.com)

Last night I attended the Douglas County Open Space Advisory Committee. I'm a newer committee member, having recently transferred from the Parks Advisory Board.

At each meeting, I learn more and more about our county's current inventory of Open Space, as well as the philosophy that guides our determination of what  land should be acquired. I'm also learning a lot about the difference between land conservancy and the fee simple acquisition of land, and the reasons to pursue one type of land preservation rather than the other.

Tonight we talked about several key parcels of land in Douglas County, including the Lamb Spring Archaeological Preserve (LSAP). It's an internationally significant archaeological site; the Smithsonian Institution conducted extensive excavations in 1960-61 and 1980-81, yielding mammoth remains dating back 13,000 years as well as artifacts of the earliest people to inhabit North America. The site is now preserved through a cooperative agreement between the Archaeological Conservancy and Douglas County.

Also mentioned was a place called Lost Canyon. It is a stunning piece of land near Castlewood Canyon State Park. Contained within Lost Canyon is the Franktown Cave, another fascinating and well-documented archaeological site.

(credit: parks.state.co.us)

We are so fortunate, we, the inhabitants of this land, to live in an age where preservation is a priority. Each time I attend a COSAC meeting, I am surrounded by land use professionals and citizen-volunteers who care passionately about our land trust and the heritage we pass to future generations. And Douglas County isn't unique. Across the United States and Canada, good people spend valuable time working to preserve and protect our geological and historical treasures.

Here's to the folks that invest the best of themselves to such an important endeavor.
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Whadayathink?

As I walked down the office hallway, I saw the usual collection of colleagues: the talker, the former-engineer, the talker and the talker. Realtors, it seems, tend to be talkers.

There's a down-side to an office full of talkers. It is hard to steal away, to be completely and totally focused and alone. And it's hard to walk to the kitchen for a quick cup of coffee. Someone wants to talk. Always, someone wants to talk.

Have you ever noticed, talkers tend to be opinionated people? Well, there's the up-side to that. Today I needed help. I needed someone to critique my work. I needed an unbiased, honest opinion. So I walked to the kitchen and "got an earful" from several opinionated talkers. They gave me just what I needed.

And so ... today I'm raising a toast to the Opinionated Talkers of the World. Yes, you have faults. No, you aren't perfect. But you consistently share your wealth of knowledge and today I thank you for that gift.
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Oh. My.

I'm the sort of person that loves walking in dense urban settings. I am fascinated by commercial districts and I am energized when I absorb and admire a man-made environment.

I wonder, "Who designed that skyscraper?" "How did his - or her - mind conceive of that structure?" Some artists paint, and some sculpt. And others - architects - dream 3-D dreams with their sketchpads. And then a team of investors, engineers, contractors and skilled construction workers bring the sketch to life. That process is pretty amazing to me.

Today I saw a stunning photograph of an infinity pool. So stunning, I Googled the thing.

Where is it? And who designed it?

It's the SkyPark Infinity Pool at the Marina Bay Sands Resort in Singapore. At present, it is the world's largest public cantilevered platform, a stunning retreat set atop the 55-story casino and hotel. The park and pool are designed to accomodate 3,900 people - can you imagine?

According to Wikipedia, "The 20-hectare resort was designed by Moshe Safdie Architects. The local architect of record was Aedas Singapore, and engineering was provided by Arup and Parsons Brinkerhoff (MEP). The main contractor was Ssangyong Engineering and Construction."

It is currently the world's most expensive stand-alone casino property at $8 billion, and it includes a shopping mall, a museum, two theatres, seven restaurants, and an ice skating rink - in addition to the world's largest atrium casino and hotel.

I have seen quite a few casinos in Las Vegas, and I haven't been enamored by any of them. But this casino, I think, adds a fascinating beauty to the world. Congratulations to the team of visionaries who created this wonder. I hope I am able to visit Singapore ~ and swim in the SkyPark Infinity Pool ~ some year soon.

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Change Anything

Ten weeks ago I embarked on an interesting journey into my diet. I thought it would be fascinating and challenging to try to live a gluten-free, corn-free, potato-free vegetarian life.

A few months prior, I read "Change Anything," subtitled, "The New Science of Personal Success." The book asserts that most people wrongly believe we are born with either a strong willpower or a weak resolve, when, in fact, everyone can develop the same degree of tenacity, grit and commitment. According to the authors, we don't lack the will, we lack the skill; all we need is the skillset to be routinely successful in life.

With that, I climbed out on a precarious limb and tested the theory. And here's what I discovered:

I can live a gluten-free, corn-free, potato-free vegetarian life, and happily, because I live in a place and time  where food service folks care about my dietary challenge. When I ask the deli clerk or the waiter about the ingredients of a certain food, they take my concern seriously and they provide me with as much information as possible.

Last week, I ordered a cobb salad at Elway's Downtown, and before it was delivered, the waiter came to our table, very concerned, and explained, "Our chef says that we use an English blue cheese, and it might contain trace amounts of gluten. To our knowledge, only Maytag Blue Cheese is absolutely gluten-free, and we don't have any today. Would you like a different cheese on your cobb salad?" WOW. Talk about customer service! And that's just one example. It seems that day-in, day-out, I meet people who want to help me maintain my diet.

So I'm not sure if the theory of "Change Anything" is accurate or not, because ~ thanks to all the wonderful people I've met in restaurants and grocery stores these past ten weeks ~ I'm having an easy time enjoying other foods.

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Gandhi: Jesus

Today is Good Friday.

"A man who was completely innocent

offered himself as a sacrifice 
for the good of others, 
including his enemies, 

and became the ransom of the world. 

It was a perfect act."

~ Mohandas Gandhi

"Jesus on the Cross," Rembrandt, 1631.

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The Liberal Media

Today I opened my New York Times. That is, I opened my internet browser, I selected NYT among my bookmarks, and I clicked on OPINION. Just like that.

God knows I love living in the Twenty-First Century. Back in the olden days, in the 1980's and 90's, I had to drive to the library to read the New York Times. And if someone beat me to it, I had to wait my turn. Imagine that!

I love the New York Times Op-Ed writers. Each has their own unique soapbox, their own voice and pitch. The one commonality is their ability to communicate, and in my humble opinion, they are experts in the science and art of communication.

Today Gail Collins wrote, "Send in the Clowns, and Cheese," a piece dedicated to poking fun at the G.S.A.'s 2010 Western Regions Conference, held in Las Vegas at the cost of $2,742.50 per bureaucrat-attendee. She makes me chuckle, the way Erma Bombeck makes me chuckle. Even as I'm cringing I'm chuckling ~ and that's a rare talent.

And Nicholas Kristof, whom I've mentioned here before, published "Arsenic in Our Chicken?" Kristof doesn't make me laugh. He doesn't even make me smile. But I love him for what he does, and that is, think. His column today addressed the routine fact that our chickens contain banned antibiotics, antihistamine, acetaminophen and arsenic. Lovely, huh? But it is nothing like last week's column which everyone should read.

Thank you, Ms. Collins and Mr. Kristof, elite members of the liberal media, for entertaining and educating me again today. Both of you are a welcome part of my daily routine, bringing smiles and smirks, fear and frustration, thus making me a better and stronger citizen.
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August and Martin

Today I stumbled upon the story of August Landmesser, a German who is seen in a crowd of saluting Nazis, his arms crossed in defiance. The photo was taken in June 1936 at the launch of a German naval vessel in Hamburg. It turns out, Mr. Landmesser was a member of the Nazi Party from 1931 to 1935, but when his application for marriage was rejected - his sweetheart was a Jew - "Rassenschande" turned him against the party.

It's a sad story of love, not unrequited but unrecognized, and neither the Mr. or Mrs. survived the war. The story has been preserved by the younger of their two daughters, Irene, who published "The Toll of “Rassenschande” on a Family" in 1998.

Today is also the 44th anniversary of the assassination of Martin Luther King, Jr.

And so today I reflect on the lives of two great men. One led a very private life, his one defiant act was "discovered" and distributed by the media almost 50 years after his death. The other led a very public life. He was hailed by friends and hunted by enemies for years and years; I presume his fame affected his inward character as well as his outward behavior and today, we judge him both for what he was and what he was not.

Both men are enigmas, one for the little we know and one for the much that we know. Yet both continue to impact our world by forcing us to look at character and culture. They both cause us to think, to pause, to reflect, to consider. And for that reason, I salute both men. May we continue to learn from them.

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Saving Highgrade

Last Wednesday, Denver held it's breath as the Lower North Fork Fire ignited from old "controlled burn" embers in 85mph winds. Authorities estimate the fire burned at 1,000 degrees Fahrenheit and scorched four square miles in two hours that afternoon. Three people perished and Denver was immediately covered in a thick orange-brown cloud.

The Lower North Fork is a hair's breath south of  Deer Creek & Highgrade roads, the favorite ride of Denver cyclists. It's the beautiful land that lies between Chatfield State Park and the town of Conifer. Today, less than a week later, the fire is 97% contained at 4,140 acres, thanks to a dedicated fire crew. There are still over 500 firefighters battling the blaze today, even as rain turns to snow. 

The early spring blaze has brought to mind how fortunate we are to have firefighters ready, in season and out, to battle blazes in difficult conditions and challenging terrain. I think we take firefighters for granted, until they are suddenly with us, rescuing the life and landscape we love. So Here's to Firefighters ~ thanks for stopping the "Lower North Fork" and for saving Deer Creek & Highgrade.

Monday, Monday

♬ Monday Monday, so good to me,

♬ Monday Monday, it was all I hoped it would be ...

- The Mamas & The Papas

Sometimes, you can just feel the lilt in the air. It's as if the air itself is filled with joie de vivre ~ and everyone seems ready for a great day. That was today.

With no set lunch plans, I decided to wander into a nearby nursery instead of a restaurant. I thought it would be nice to stop and smell the roses. It was! You know how that goes: You step inside and the smell of plants & soil & life is there, hanging thick in the air. The staff gardener asked if she could help me, and when I said, "No, I'm just drinking in the fragrance," she laughed. I suspect I'm not the first person to commit that crime. After I drank in the roses, I wandered by the bulbs - the tulips and daffodils, the iris and hyacinth. Oh! the hyacinth! And then I wandered by the orchids. They are fragrance-free, but that's okay, they stand so tall and lithe and elegant in their little white jackets.

As I left the nursery, I thought how blessed we are to live in a time and place when it is altogether natural and normal to see and smell a wide variety of flowers ~ in March!! We don't even stop to wonder, 'Will the nursery have roses?' We know it does, complete with super-friendly gardeners.

Today, I'm grateful for 21st-century trucking & transport, and I'm especially grateful for happy nursery workers who don't mind my wandering eyes ~ and nose.
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The Best Portion

Manitou Incline

Mary Ellen Mark says, "Reality is always extraordinary." If that's a rule, today was no exception.

Steve and I began our hike up Manitou Incline as we have so many times before. He started running up; I took a more leisurely approach, though the Incline isn't a leisurely climb at any pace. It isn't a trail - it's an old railroad bed that rises over 2,000 feet in elevation in less than a mile. Climbing over 5,000 decaying railroad ties represents a unique and formidable challenge and hundreds, perhaps thousands of people march pass the "No Trespassing" sign each weekend, just to feel the burn. I'm not sure what makes it so darned fun, but it is.

At the top of the Incline, a little path leads to the Barr Trail, "the main path" to the top of Pikes Peak. At this junction, Incline hikers turn left and go downhill, back to the quaint town of Manitou Springs. It's a lovely downhill stroll through a forest of aspen trees, blue spruce and ponderosa pine. I should say, it could be a lovely stroll, but people want to race down, and the loose gravel isn't a safe surface for running.

On my descent today, a couple of teenage girls dashed past me, down the trail. Just a few yards forward, one of the girls tripped, and oh, what a terrible fall. Her ankle was visibly broken and she was visibly shaken. As I called the paramedic, her girlfriend cradled her, and other hikers stopped and offered to lend assistance.

It is in those moments that we witness the best of humanity. Strangers become comrades, quickly uniting to care for someone in need. We didn't exchange names, we didn't become friends. But we shared the best of ourselves, and I was so blessed to be there, to experience again the great goodness that exists within my fellow man.

William Wordsworth said it so simply, so eloquently ~

That best portion of a good man's life,

His little, nameless, unremembered acts of kindness and of love.
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A Sanctuary Center

Aaah, this morning was a glorious morning. The sun shone bright and the air was oh-so-warm. My friend Marge and I rode hard & fast, a sub-threshold workout from Castle Rock to Larkspur and back, 35 miles through the rolling hills between Denver and Colorado Springs. At the end, we stopped at A Sanctuary Center.

The brainchild of  Jack and Sue Pfeiffer, it's a private space offering unlimited public use. Today Jack was tending the winter gardens, and he said, "One day my wife just said, 'we need to buy a piece of land' ...." And there it is. A contemplative structure and garden designed to afford passers-by the opportunity to stop, to reflect, to retreat.

For some it's a park, a picnic spot, a pit-stop. For others, it's their go-to place when there's no place to go. It's solitary, it's centering, it's serene. Best of all, it's open.

We didn't stay long; for us, today, it was a pit-stop. But as we pedaled away, I glanced back with a thankful heart. Thanks to the Pfeiffer's generosity, I am blessed to have A Sanctuary Center, just a short bike ride from my nearby life, where I can slow down, meet God in quiet stillness and find peace.

I biffed it

"What are friends for?" My girlfriend encouraged me, as I wiped the blood off my leg. We had just started the Friday Noon Race to the top of Hess Hill. It's a fun but competitive 12 mile race for KOM (King of Mountain) and QOM (Queen of Mountain) recognition among a handful of women and about twenty-or-so men.

Shortly after our start, which begins at the bike shop, I biffed it (which means, I had an inconceivably clutzy moment, akin to tripping over oneself). My bike and I flew over the curb and I scraped myself, pretty badly. I was at the back of the pack, and only one person saw my accident. She stopped and picked me up and said, "C'mon, let's go back to the shop".

As we walked inside, the mechanic asked, "What happened?" He immediately took my bike and hoisted it onto his rack. He checked my trusty steed and made some necessary adjustments while I cleaned up.

As the mechanic was pronouncing the bike ready to ride, the rest of the crowd piled into the shop. They didn't know I wrecked, they just knew my girlfriend and I were missing. The race was important, but not as important as caring for a teammate. "What happened?", they shouted from across the store. I gave them a brief summary, the bike mechanic wished me luck, and we were off again.

It was a little thing, my teammates' act of returning to the shop and losing 10 minutes off the starting time. But isn't it the little things that mean the most?

I am so tremendously blessed, in a thousand ways I am blessed. This is just one of the many, many ways  ...

One Thousand Gifts

 All I have seen

teaches me to trust the Creator

for all I have not seen.

- Ralph Waldo Emerson

Last month, I took an impulsive trip to Belleville, Michigan to celebrate my best friend's belated surprise 50th birthday party. It was great fun, flying in, catching a cab, blowing up balloons and shouting "SURPRISE!" within the folds of her enormous crowd of friends. Surprise it was!

After the party, we drove to a store to pick up a few items. As we walked, we fell predictably into thick conversation. I said, "Beth Ann, I feel as though I am being showered with a thousand gifts. I see these gifts and I feel these gifts," ~ blessings like the soft, renewing rain that falls from a sun-drenched cloud ~ "but I am not receiving these gifts. I want to open my hands and open my heart and receive all the gifts that are being showered upon me at this moment in my life."

She smiled a mischievous smile and said, "Oh, now I'm going to surprise you!" And she took my hand and led me through the store to a small aisle of books. "Let's see," she said, "I'm sure it's here." Her eyes scanned the shelf and then with enormous delight she grabbed Ann Voskamp's new book, "One Thousand Gifts." She planted it in my hand. "This is your answer," Beth Ann said with her characteristic sense of conviction.

So I've been curled up with Ann Voskamp this past month. She has a unique writing style - a conversational prose with a turn of phrase that makes you stop and listen again to the way the words lilt across her page. In this book, she examines the word "eucharisto," which was quickly shortened in my hasty mind as "eucharist" and then immediately filed away as "communion".

In that moment my mind closed, thinking, "After a lifetime of communion, I think I know communion." But I recognized my fault and back-tracked to re-read with an intent to listen ~ to hear ~ and to learn.

Eucharisto means thanksgiving and it envelopes the word "charis" which means "grace". It also holds the derivative, "chara" which means "joy". Ann Voskamp's book is an interesting study of the deeper significance and the transformative power of thanksgiving, of grace and joy in the ups and downs of daily life. She recognizes her own mind's inclination to close and she opens her mind and heart to God by accepting her friend's challenge to list 1,000 gifts that are hidden in plain view.

Beth Ann was right. "One Thousand Gifts" teaches me what I was longing to understand. It's not enough to *know* you are being showered with a thousand gifts. Each blessing has meaning and purpose, but like a prettily wrapped present resting in your hands, it is nothing until it is opened and accepted with joy and thanksgiving.

As G.K. Chesterton once said, "our perennial spiritual and psychological task is to look at things familiar until they become unfamiliar again." Because there's so much beauty to behold ...

Explain, please.

It's often the little things that make me pause and smile.

Today's little thing: I asked Chandler to explain the difference in the various carbon fibers used in the manufacture of bicycles. While there are grades of steel and aluminum and titanium, there are no industry standards for carbon. Thus it is difficult to compare Specialized's FACT 10r carbon and their FACT 11r carbon. "The 11's stiffer." "How much stiffer? $4,000 stiffer?"

Chandler was nice enough to nod his head and explain.

Though explaining is not easy to do. I want to cut the physics class and just get to the dollars and cents of it: "Is the carbon fiber on a Madone 5.2 really $4,000 less rigid than the carbon on a Madone 6.9?" (After all, it's just a small bike frame.)

But Chandler is patient with me. He builds bikes, he knows his stuff, and though he rides a Colnago, he gives an open and honest answer.

I like that.

감사합니다. Thank You.

Twenty five years ago today, I went to St. Joseph Mercy Hospital in Ypsilanti, Michigan. My obstetrician wanted to induce the birth of my child, and since I was 9 days overdue, I was down for that.

We settled into the room and my doctor examined me. His assisting nurse started the Pitocin drip and he broke my water. The doc then said to my husband Steve and I, "This will take a while. I'm going to lunch but I'll check back in an hour or so."

It wasn't 20 minutes later when my daughter decided she was ready to greet the world. Steve ran into the hallway and started calling for help. I remember that frightening moment when I was all alone - and pushing! - and the next moment, when I was surrounded by a crowd of students and nurses.

My quick and easy labor seemed finished before it started, and I was suddenly holding Christina Audrey, a delicate and beautiful babe, in my arms.

I'm not sure who caught Christina, though I do remember it was a student. I don't know the name of the woman who cleaned her and swaddled her. I don't remember the face of the nurse who monitored my condition. But they were there. And I was so dependent upon them, so thankful for them.

Today Christina Audrey is expecting the arrival of her first child. She will soon know those feelings - the physical duress of labor and delivery - the mystery and miracle of life - and the profound gratitude for each and every one who assists you on that day. She will deliver in a South Korean hospital, so I am practicing the Korean phrase that I will need most while I am by her side: Kam-sahm-nida. Thank You.

Sacred Beings

During the past few months, I've stumbled into conversations with men and women who are processing the pain of betrayal. "I was treated with contempt." "I was tossed aside with disregard." "I am a sacred being, but my best friend thought I was disposable."

I listen. I wonder.

How did I reach the ripe old age of 48 without developing antennae for this unique pain suffered by so many of my fellow travelers? I suppose I was blessed with true friends, and that blinded me to the existence of false ones.

But they're there.

Each time a man begins to tell his story, I marvel that I am here, listening. It is so rare to hear the feelings of a grown man. Yet here, suddenly, his thoughts spill out in a shared moment, and I learn.

Men communicate more succinctly than women. When the subject is rejection, men go from "The Act of Betrayal" to a brief expose on "Human Decency v. Hatred" to "Now I've Moved On" in surprising short order.

One man focused on what he has learned about himself and how he has grown. I listened and pondered the path of this man's life. Each day is a gift, and each moment presents the choice to grow or to languish. This particular man suffered an extraordinary betrayal in his professional life, cried a small puddle of tears, and then purposefully set a path for growth. He took an intensely injurious situation and authored his outcome in a simple yet effective 1, 2, 3.

I salute you who have suffered the indignity of betrayal only to embrace humanity with bigger, stronger arms. Your willingness to love and trust again, and the gracious and dignified way in which you live speaks volumes of your greatness.

That Extra Special Day

Happy February 29th!

It's what you might call 'a rare day', since it comes just once every 4 years. Do you remember what you did last February 29? Or the one before that?

I've enjoyed 13 of these rare days, and I don't remember a thing about the first twelve. But I'll remember today ...

lovin' the stinky

I've run a few races in my day. Not fast, mind you. But I've run them and each time I've grasped or grabbed little cups of Gatorade from the nicest, friendliest volunteers.

Today I ran the LIVESTRONG Austin Half Marathon with a girlfriend. We looked pretty last night, and we smelled pretty, too. Not so today. Or at least, not in those last 12.1 miles.

Yet there they were, the friendliest folks holding cups of Gatorade. Can you imagine standing alongside a race, handing sloshing cups of Gatorade to 500 or 5,000 or 35,000 stinky, smelly people?

I can't!

Here's to race volunteers. I don't know where you get your enthusiasm or your energy and endurance. Thank you for serving with a smile. Thank you!

Great Beginnings

"Too much fun!"

That's the way I would describe our weekly BNI business meetings. Each Wednesday at precisely 7:30, a crowd of approximately 30 business partners (and in our case, friends), gather at The Perfect Landing restaurant to share cameraderie, coffee and qualified referrals.

Any given Wednesday morning, you can find us laughing while helping each other build more successful businesses.

This week, we drew names from a hat as we arrived at the meeting. Then, during the meeting, we stood and gave a 60-second commercial as though we were that person. Some of my partners did an exceptional job of imitating the one they drew. And others, like Jonathan, spoke in his own voice, giving a warm and sincere testimonial of his high regard for the one he drew.

I'm so glad I'm there.

on lance and steve

A friend recently recommended the book Steve Jobs by Walter Isaacson. I should say, highly recommended; he was emphatic in his insistence that I pick it up. Before I dropped by The Tattered Cover, though, I picked up an older title. I re-read Lance Armstrong’s Every Second Counts.

Both books tell the tale of a successful man who beats cancer, at least long enough to realize how precious life is.

And so I drank a double dose of the Kool-Aid. Not bad stuff, to tell the truth.

Lance’s book, an oldie from 2003, reads like you’re sitting across the table from him, and he’s just talking. Super-relaxing prose, even while he’s talking about chemo and throwing up, which is a lot of the book. But the meaty parts jump out, and often.

I started taking notes on page 2. “At what point do you let go (of a situation). Maybe I haven’t entirely and maybe I don’t want to.” Note To Self: It’s okay to hold on, as long as you want to.

Lance states and re-states, in a variety of ways, a central message: “You have to decide how to live life, and that’s not an uncomplicated matter. You ask yourself: What’s the highest and best use of myself? These things aren’t linear, they’re a mysterious calculus.”

I frequently laid the book down and took the dog for a walk, pondering, What’s the highest and best use of myself? How does that differ from where I’m at today? And how do I get – safely yet gracefully – from here to there? Lance is right. It’s not an uncomplicated matter.

Thank you ~ Lance and Steve ~ for sharing your bit of human wisdom with the world around you. I'm so grateful that you did.

Scott

A few weeks ago, I walked into Scott’s classroom. I hadn’t darkened the door of his room in over four years. Way back then, Scott taught a small bible study at one of Denver’s largest churches. And today? He’s still at it. Same Scott. Same church. Same bible.


But I’ve changed a bit. Today, I’m a quiet learner. I’m here to observe, to absorb. It’s amazing what you learn when you’re humble to your core.

I look around.

The class requires a minimum 3 hours of homework per week, so it attracts the sort of people who want to dig deep. I admire my fellow students, the loud and opinionated, the quite and reflective, the one who’s fallen behind. Each wears a mask, as we all do in public. But I don’t imagine their masks are intentionally deceptive. They just are. As masks must be.

Good teachers try to reach around or behind our masks. Scott’s a good teacher. He asks the probing questions. He waits for us to ponder, then formulate, and finally share our responses. He creates an atmosphere of trust and an environment conducive to thinking openly. We open, we share, we learn, we grow.

Here’s to the good teachers among us, those special people who delight in helping us discover our world and our place in it.

On Civic Engagement

Today is Caucus Day in Colorado, and that brings to mind a local campaign last year.

Last fall our community voted on a ballot initiative. The question was, "Should term limits be extended for the Office of County Sheriff?" - not only for the current sheriff, but for all future sheriffs.

I would venture to guess that most folks approve of our current sheriff's job performance. I would also venture to guess that folks who know our sheriff, like our sheriff. He's not perfect, but he's a hard-working, likable guy.

The YES position was: "It's hard to find a great sheriff. Since we've got one, let's keep him awhile." The NO position was: "But we're talking about extending term limits for all future sheriffs, not just this one."

I stood off to the side and watched the process. Throughout the campaign, it seemed both sides looked at the issue with genuine thoughtfulness. It was discussed and debated with honest philosophical arguments. No rancorous mud-slinging or name-calling. And the sheriff, to his credit, remained silent, letting the community weigh the pro's and con's of term limits without making it personal. All in all, it was the best election process I've ever witnessed.

As America heads into another presidential primary season, I want to toast those rare folks who are engaged thoughtfully and intelligently in the political process. You're a breath of fresh air.

Engaging People

It's just another manic Monday
     I wish it was Sunday
          'Cause that's my Funday
               My I don't have to runday
                    It's just another manic Monday ....

Okay, so that's how I started my day.  Sunday was so good. SO GOOD! And then, today.

But wouldn't you know ...

I dutifully went to my sales training class and was suddenly in the presence of 20 or so other folks who also wished they could turn back the clock. But they pulled their hopes & dreams out of their pockets, and contributed to the class.

I love being in class settings with engaged and engaging people. They lift me to a higher plane and suddenly, Monday's an all right place to be.

just a smile

Have you ever walked into a coffee shop, just an ordinary coffee shop - maybe even an internationally successful coffee shop - and you just had an inkling you were about to enjoy the friendliest clerk & barrista team in the world?

It's a simple pleasure, really. He stands at the cash register, greets you and rings your purchase. She leans toward you from behind the bar, cup in hand, ready to start your drink. They both seem to be loving life and loving this moment with you. It's magic!

It's magic worth celebrating. Here's to the spectacular people making spectacular moments out of the routines of life. You are wonderful!

It's nice to be nice to the nice!

The path to the local park,
under a heap of fresh fallen snow.

Frank Burns once said, "It's nice to be nice to the nice!" It was a classic Frank Burns moment on my favorite TV show, M*A*S*H.

Sometimes, that quote comes to mind at a time and place that is completely out of context. Like today. As I slogged down my street through 19" of fresh fallen snow, I watched and admired scores of neighbors shoveling sidewalks and driveways. Helping one another. Smiling. Laughing. Being neighborly.

ah, It's nice to be nice to the nice!

In the mid-1990's, Robert Putnam published fascinating research on America's declining civic engagement. He titled the piece, Bowling Alone: America's Declining Social Capital. It was an in-depth study of bowling league memberships and other yardsticks of social interaction. In short, he found that adults weren't participating in society as much as previous generations. I remember hearing him speak on NPR radio; I remember thinking, "Sad but true.... Today, we drive straight home from work. We prepare a quick dinner. We watch TV. And that's about it."

Fast-forward fifteen years. I see my neighbors more these days. Do you? They're walking outside, and they're on Facebook, too. Thank goodness for neighborly neighbors, smiling under heavy hats, waving wet gloves. Here on Dawson Drive, we are blessed.

The Gift of Amateur Photographers

Last week I  took a photography class. I bought a Nikon d5000 last year, but I haven't done much with it. To be honest, all those buttons and knobs overwhelm me. I don't remember being overwhelmed by my Olympus OM10 in 1981. Fast-forward 30 years ... Is the root problem the exponential number of settings, or is it my advanced age?  (maybe a little of both.)

The class was filled with folks like me, except they were all quite a bit more experienced.

My mind keeps going back to that class. Lens littering the floor, people pulling flashes and flash covers out of their bags, passing and sharing their favorite gear. I remember smiling to myself, and I'm still smiling to myself, at the thought that all my classmates ~ all those fabulous, creative people ~ love life so much, they can't wait to snap a really good picture of it.

Sometimes the world appears bleak. We're in the depths of winter. It's cold outside. The wind is howling. The limbs on the trees appear bare and lifeless. But in the midst of the cold and dark and dreary, strangers are encouraging each other's creative endeavors. They're sharing their talents. And they're recording the beauty that surrounds us. Thank goodness.

Thank You

The start of a new year is always filled with hope, with expectation, with dreams of good days ahead. I tend to start each new year with a business plan and few personal resolutions. But more than that, I start each new year with visions of my blooming garden in my head. We've just passed the winter solstice; the ground is cold & lifeless, and I'm ready for all things warm & colorful. I think the vision of my blooming garden encompasses more than my itching to dig in the dirt, though. I think it's my mental picture that everything's coming up roses.

But this year, already, we've learned that two of our favorite people are counting their days. And there aren't many left.

One of our favorite aunts - our young & healthy & oh-so-beautiful Auntie Linda - just learned that the pain in her elbow was cancer, and it's not just in her elbow. It's all over. The doctors give her two weeks. Two weeks. Can you imagine??? No, you can't. I can't. I can't imagine how she is dealing with it, nor how I would deal with it if I were her. But Linda - amazing, incredible Linda - is embracing death just as she embraced life. I'm surprised, and yet somehow not surprised, that she is dying just as she lived, in gracious, breath-taking beauty.

And our neighbor - our thoughtful & friendly neighbor - learned that he has Lou Gehrig's disease, just as he celebrated his 50th birthday. The effects of the disease are already pronounced, and he has to retire from his career as a firefighter. Can you imagine??? No, you can't imagine, and neither can I.

We all think we're on the "95 Year Plan". And then one day, we learn we're not. Thank goodness, in the midst of that horrible terrible news, we are surrounded not only by the people who have long loved us, but also by a world of caring strangers.

Today I'd like to raise a toast to that wide assortment of people who have dedicated their lives to caring for folks who are suddenly at the end of theirs. Here's to the doctors & nurses & all the others who extend medical care & human kindness in the most difficult of circumstances. Not just once or twice, but day-in & day-out to countless precious people. Today, you are a gift to two people I love, and I thank you. I wish I could say it more emphatically and with greater eloquence. Thank you, thank you, thank you oh-so-much.

A Better Banker

Happy New Year!

I'd like to start the year with a story that demonstrates how transformational a thoughtful, caring business can be. And it's not just a business, it's a bank.

Last fall, "Occupy Wall Street" occupied the minds of politicians and policy-makers around the globe. It so resonated with the Average Joe that it spread, like wildfire, across the country and to the capital cities in Europe.

I think "Occupy Wall Street" is a failure as a movement, because it does not clearly identify the problem(s) it opposes or the solution(s) it espouses. Nonetheless, it brings to light the harm that was done by greedy people, both bankers and borrowers, who recklessly collateralized America with subprime loans throughout the early part of the twenty-first century.

Juxtapose Countrywide, Deutche Bank, Goldman Sachs, Merrill Lynch and the rest with this: New York's smallest bank, the Bank of Cattaraugus, located on Main Street in Cattaraugus, New York.

Recently, the New York Times highlighted the work of Patrick J. Cullen, the Bank of Cattaraugus' president, when he granted mortgage forbearance for a borrower, a bus mechanic, who temporarily lost his job. In his long tenure at the helm of the small-town institution, Mr. Cullen has helped others in need, too.

“They saved our lives,” the New York Times reported of Duane Kelley, a retired Setterstix worker. Mr. Kelley lost his house to a $15,000 tax lien. Mr. Cullen bought the house at a county land auction with the bank’s money. He then returned it to Mr. and Mrs. Kelley. The Kelleys are re-paying the bank through a 15-year loan.

You might think that's highly unusual behavior for a bank president. Yet there are other, similar stories about Cullen and his management of the Bank of Cattaraugus. The stories shared by the New York Times paint a portrait of a powerfully humble - or humbly powerful - Cullen family that cares about their community, their neighbors, their friends. Give it a read. Beautifully written by Alan Feuer, this story will leave you feeling wonderfully good about bankers, businessmen, community leaders.

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I can't wait to experience all that 2012 holds for me, because our world is filled with wonderful, beautiful people like Patrick J. Cullen. I wish you all the best as you discover the beauty in 2012, too.