Life is good

The great thing about getting older is that you know what you want. You know what sports you are good at and what you like to do for fitness. Give me a pool and a tennis court, a scenic place to walk or hike, and a bike path with no cars and I’m a happy camper. You know what kind of food you like to eat. You know which friends to call when you want to go on a double-date or out to lunch; play tennis or watch a baseball game; attend a concert or go to the art gallery; or just sit on your porch and have a great conversation.

Hopefully, you have a job or business that you enjoy. One that not only pays the bills but allows you to live the lifestyle that you makes you happy. Is happiness overrated? I have found that happiness is the side effect of working hard, playing hard, making plans, setting goals and reaching them, being with loved ones on a regular basis, and doing all the things that I like to do as often as I can.

When life becomes too much to bear – consider this: Are you in prison? Are your movements limited by someone or something?  Are you impoverished? Are you alone or just lonely? If these things don’t apply, then maybe you just need to look at the bright side. Appreciate. Enjoy. Savor what you have on a daily basis. Then you will recognize that “life is good.”

One thing you should never do on vacation

Everyone knows how hard it is to break in a pair of shoes. I remember getting a pair of very comfortable looking Liz Claiborne slip-on sandals right before a trip to Washington, D.C. They had crisscross straps and were flats. They seemed like the ideal travel shoe. I thought, “Why not take them along?”

I stayed at The Latham, a stately hotel in Geogetown that was within walking distance to several intriguing sites.

Day one, I slipped on those comfy Liz Claiborne sandals and set off to find Dumbarton Oaks, a mansion surrounded by lovely gardens. It was only about 12 blocks from the hotel – a fair distance but doable. Those sandals were fine at first. But as I walked on the uneven brick sidewalk that hot afternoon, the right shoe started to dig into my foot beneath the big toe. Step. Ouch. Okay, let’s try sliding the foot. Umph! Step. Ouch. Slide. Umph! Every step that I took began to feel like I was lancing my foot with a knife.

When I finally stumbled upon what I thought was the estate – I was dismayed to discover that it was the wrong tourist spot. I didn’t cry like a baby although I really wanted to. Instead, I set aside my embarrassment and limped inside to the gift shop. There, I politely asked the cashier if they happened to have a band-aid. I must have looked like a refugee on the verge of tears, because the cashier rushed to get some band-aids and thrust them into my hand.

It was just in time. Without one, I would have walked barefoot back to the hotel. That plastic encased square of cotton was my salvation. With the band-aid firmly in place, I clip-clopped back to the hotel. Once inside the hallway to my room on the 7^th floor, I took off those sandals, dug my feet into the lush carpet and sighed deeply. Then I hurled those sandals down the hall.

Let this lesson save you from some travel pain. Never wear new shoes on a trip without thoroughly breaking them in before you go.

What's the real meaning of Christmas?

Celebrating the birth of Jesus is sometimes a hard concept to get your arms around.
As boomers, we may be jaded by Christmas’s past. In the carefree times of our youth, we typically celebrated with our immediate family and often the extended family of grandparents, cousins, aunts and uncles. In our teens, sure we rebelled but we still valued the traditions of Christmas: going to mass, eating a feast with the family, and then maybe being able to sneak over to our friends’ homes down the block to see what they got for Christmas.

Fast forward to early adulthood – marriage often comes quickly. Then the time gets divided between going to one’s maternal side, then visiting the in-laws. This typically lasts for two to three years until you realize that it’s totally untenable especially once there are grandkids involved. Then, it’s a welcome relief to split the holiday: Christmas eve at one spouses’ family and Christmas Day at the other. Of course, there are gifts and food galore at both places. I remember filling the trunk of our car with bags full of toys for my three children after coming back from their grandparents’ house. It was a smorgasbord of fun things. They were in toy nirvana.

Then comes divorce, and you not only have to split time between the maternal grandparent’s and in-laws homes, you also need to split the holidays with the ex. That is a killer.

Then the kids get older and move out of the house. When holidays come, it’s sometimes hard to get them all together under one roof – especially for those who live out of state. This is the time frame that I find myself in now. An empty nest and no real reason to get crazy over the holidays. My kids have always preferred to buy their own gifts – so my solution is to buy one gift and give them money to buy whatever else they want.

This year, I wondered what it would be like to have the mindset of the Grinch and try to stop Christmas from coming. So, I didn’t bake Christmas cookies. I didn’t send out cards. I didn’t put lights up. I didn’t even put lights or ornaments on my tree until Christmas Eve day. I almost didn’t go to Christmas Eve service; after all I had a Christmas Day brunch to prepare for. Yet, thankfully I did go to a service. It was a beautiful Christmas celebration at Northridge Church. It was titled, “Chill.” That didn’t seem so “Christmasy” but the pastor said, “Don’t have any expectations about the service. Just let it flow over you.”

And I did. Good thing that I brought Kleenex. Watching the emotionally compelling video of Mary and Joseph seeking a place to stay in Bethlehem while listening to beautiful singing put me in the right frame of mind to contemplate Jesus’ birth. Then the pastor asked us to stand – I would guess there were 900 of us in two tiers – and sing together. The audience of friends and strangers alike stood together to worship and sing the praises of Jesus’ birth – it was awesome.

At the end, a procession of “regular” people holding candles walked slowly up the aisles toward the stage where about 250 candles shone brightly. They left some space between them so they were fanned out from the stage in the front to the last row. And they sang, as we all did, “O come all ye faithful.” It was a powerful testament to our belief, hope and love.

Listening to the pastor’s message about being open to Christ and his desire to have us be part of his family made me reflect on something I had done earlier in the day.

While buying fruit and salad fixings at a super produce shop (Randazzos) in Westland, I casually asked the cashier how she was doing. That opened up a conversation in which she blossomed like a rose unfurling her petals. She told me that she and her 8-year-old daughter were going to be making ribs, greens and brownies (her daughter made better brownies than she did, she confided in me) to take to their family party tomorrow (Christmas Day).  Wow – I am so glad that I asked.

A few minutes before the service ended – during the final song – we started to leave to beat the crowds out of the parking lot. As my boyfriend Mike and I were halfway down one of two wings of stairs, we saw a boy about 10 or 12 in a wheelchair with a mother tending to him. He made sounds like he was vomiting, so I told Mike, “Let’s go down the other stairs.” But no, Mike pulled my hand and we narrowly skirted around the mother and the boy in the wheelchair. Mike took a moment to wish her a Merry Christmas. My heart melted at his tenderness toward the mother and I felt guilty that I had pretty much wanted to avoid the scene by taking the other stairs.

These simple encounters on Christmas Eve show just how powerful we, as individuals, can be when Jesus shows us the way and we follow his light. No matter how much my post-divorce Christmases make me feel like a Grinch at times, I always catch the Christmas spirit. I hope you do too. God bless you and Merry Christmas!

Strategic relations (in the swimming pool)

Ours has become a pluralistic culture – not only with various ethnicities but also with a wide spectrum of age groups and political views. In a microcosm, I will demonstrate how this comes into play in our daily lives. My first blog on this topic will focus on my local fitness center, which attracts many people of different ages, abilities, races and cultures.

I’ve been swimming 72 laps (1 mile) three times per week for nearly 30 years, which makes me a strong, fast swimmer. (Yes, my biceps are enviable.) This morning, the available three lap lanes were taken up by “turtle-esque” swimmers, who were elderly, obese or nearly catatonic. Whereas I would stroke (my arms) every 10 seconds with an accompanying kick, “they” would either raise their arms or semi-kick their legs every 60 seconds or so. These moves did not take them far.

When I attempted to share a lane, I whizzed past these swimmers, who were on the verge of needing a lifeline thrown to them. (I may appear callous, but elderly/obese/nearly catatonic swimmers do not belong in a swift-moving, high-capacity lap lane. Give them a nice, warm pool and they would consider it nirvana.) Instead of bullying them out of the lap lanes, I moved over into the then-open community lanes – an open space with 1-1/2 lap lanes for leisure swimmers.

I was swimming along the black line of one of the lap lanes, which guides and propels me, when an elderly woman decided to cross over into my lane and stop just when I was coming to the pool’s edge. I was forced to stop by her presence and wanted to scream, “What are you doing in my lane?” But instead, I strategically said, “I’m sorry that I’m in your space. But I have nowhere else to swim. When another lane opens up – and I gestured to the slow-moving swimmers who had taken over lanes 1-3 – I will move over there.”

She kindly replied in a heavy Italian accent, “Oh, don’t apologize.” I was heartened by her response. She was in her correct space (the community lane) even though she had inconsiderately blocked my passage. And, I knew that I was out of my element (the swift-moving lap lanes).

My next strategic move will be to get those slow-moving swimmers into the right space (community lanes) so that faster swimmers, myself included, can get our workouts done with no impedance.

With all the battles of daily life, confronting the pool administration is one less thing that I want to tackle during my morning workout. But I think the time is fast approaching to take a stand. Then, things should be moving swimmingly. Stay tuned. Let’s see if I have the (beach) balls to rectify this.

Mentoring our kids

As adults, it’s important to set a good example for our children and every child that we can influence. With my own children – now 27, 23 and 20 – I’ve always encouraged them to pursue their unique abilities. For my oldest daughter, it was art, science and swimming; for my middle daughter, basketball and accounting; and for my son, golf and business. One day, I can see him being a super salesman. He’s smart, has many friends and likes to socialize.

Today, at Canton’s Summit, I saw my young friend, Lee Anne. She’s about 11, a great swimmer and sometimes plays basketball. I’ve often encouraged her to join a swim team and compete. In the locker room today, I asked her what other sports she is in. She mentioned racquetball. I asked her if she ever played tennis. She said that her uncle plays tennis and is trying to teach her. I said that it’s a good sport to learn. It’s not only physical, it’s mental, strategic and fun to play with a friend. It’s a means of socializing.

After swimming (3 miles a week for 28 years now), I stopped at the library. That’s another good habit. I picked up several novels for bedtime reading – makes for better dreams and a good vocabulary. It saddens me that the throngs of people that I saw at the library today may vanish if the world turns to e-readers. Where will we congregate?

Reading opens doors to viewing other people’s lives and imaginations. We can explore and discover. We can forget about our troubles and immerse ourselves in another world – whether fiction or fact. I truly wish that more kids today embraced reading as a hobby.

Sports and reading are good places for kids to begin finding their true talents. Meanwhile, tennis anyone?

Please share your experiences in mentoring a child.

What sets L.A. apart?

On a recent visit to this beautiful city, I noticed some distinct things that make L.A. what it is. Here's a short list:

• A teenage boy who was skateboarding at midnight along an empty but safe street near LAX.

• Wine in the afternoon.

• People who are getting their fitness on – walking or hiking mountain trails, bike riding steep mountain roads or along the beach, and swimming in the Rose Bowl pool.

• The amazing trees and flowers – with bougainvillea draping fences and houses, trees stretching over roads like they can do yoga, and bursts of multibloom white roses everywhere.

• Being an instant friend to others (but does it last like it does in the Midwest?)

• Beautiful people. Youth. Smiles. Tanned skin. White teeth. High heels. Flip flops. Hats.

• Stunning houses with dreamy gardens, no two alike.

• Salad with your sandwich instead of French fries.

• The relentless traffic (that’s the only downer I have on this short list.)

Could it be 20 years already?

Sunrise, sunset…swiftly flow the years. It’s so true. My baby turned 20 today. He’s morphed from a 9 lb, 10 oz. bundle of joy into a 6 foot-4 young man with a sparkling personality. Of course, it didn’t happen overnight, but looking back it seems like the years moved with warp speed. Thankfully, I haven’t aged a bit (right!)

I’m super proud of Dan. He comes after two accomplished sisters who have blazed a trail that sets them apart as distinctive, interesting individuals. Dan is no different in that regard. He’s his own man. Lord, just give me about five more years of Dan as a young adult – no wife, no kids – not yet.

Happy birthday Dan and may you live to be 100 – as the Polish song goes which we will sing for you tonight over the birthday cake that you don’t want (because you don’t like sweets – but we do!)

Now, let’s turn up that punk rock and get back to living.