As Luck Would Have It...

I found it lying on the concrete near my front left tire.

It had so much grime caked on it I almost didn’t notice it. If it weren’t for the recognizable circular shape, I probably would have walked passed it. Gotten into my car and driven off none the wiser. There’s no way of knowing how long it had been there. No way to know whose pocket it fell out of.

I picked it up and scraped off the gunk to reveal the year. It said 1993. I’m not sure why I needed to know this. It’s not like it would make it be worth more. It’s a penny. The poorest coin we have. A stupid penny. Not even made out of copper. Not even worth one cent if melted down. But there it was in my hand. It’s new owner.

As I opened my car door and sat inside, I studied the gunk. What was all this black stuff? Tar? Old gum? Dried oil? I wondered how many people in the last fourteen years held this exact penny in their hand and contributed to its cocoon of dirt. How many lives this penny has passed through. One cent means more to some than it does others.

Even though it’s worth so little, people believe in its good fortune.

As I sat in my car with one foot still on the ground, I turned the penny over several times… as if the other side was going to look differently than it did 1.3 seconds before. I wondered how many times each day a penny is found by someone who believes in its luck.

I’m not one who believes in luck – although I use the word quite often. Keep your multicolored rabbits feet. A four leaf clover is what it is. I don’t have pictures of elephants on my walls or believe in the magic of a shooting star.

And I certainly don’t believe in the power of the penny.

Which is probably why I made the decision. Decided to give in. Take a chance. I took the road most traveled and I recited that age old saying. The same one I learned as a little girl – back when I also believed my Wonder Woman bracelets would rid off evil. No one’s ever said that saying it brings bad luck, so I had nothing to lose. I held it in my hand, closed my eyes and said it…

“Find a penny, pick it up and all day long you’ll have good luck.”

It felt silly. I chuckled as I tossed the dirty coin into my car’s cup holder which contains a billion others just like it. A billion other wishes gone unwished. Driving down the street I thought “Is it really luck if you’ve asked for it?”

Dissecting the saying brought even more questions.

“You’ll have good luck” should really be “I’ll have good luck.” Sounds to me like I’m giving the luck to someone else. And it doesn’t say what to do with the penny afterwards. Can I throw it back down on the ground and still remain lucky? If I use it to pay for a Quarter Pounder, am I just forfeiting my chance at luck? Does saying “…and all day long…” mean I have to keep it for 24 hours? Or can I keep it until I feel the luck is all used up? Or maybe until I find another penny and pick it up?

I pulled into a gas station, got out of my car and immediately stepped into a big puddle. And I was wearing sandals. Not too lucky. And a later I received a nice little speeding ticket. And pennies are supposed to be lucky? Maybe I should have shown Mr. Policeman my penny. I’m sure he would have understood.

I’m not too sure how much luck this fake copper penny holds, but I wonder if I still have those Wonder Woman bracelets.

Take Me Away!!!!!

I’m not sure if you can still buy Calgon, but I think I could be in one of their commercials right now and represent the product quite proudly.

I wouldn’t care how big the production crew and how many cameras there are. Show me a warm bath overflowing with bubbles and I’d strip down and jump in quicker than… well… quicker than I can eat a bag of those new dark chocolate M&M’s… because it’s really a coin toss which I need worse.

I don’t know why they use those perfect-haired-models in bubble bath commercials. They don’t look like they’ve had a rough day. Or week. Or month. Or life. These so-called-creative ad agencies need to use a strung out woman with six kids and a traveling husband. Distract her kids with lighters, open outlets, and sharp objects and put her in a peaceful bubble bath for 15 minutes. Let’s see if she comes out a new woman. If she does, I’m sold. Reality commercials. It should be the next fad.

Putting a jackhammer to my head just might possibly release some of the pressure.

I don’t even think I’d feel it. While spring may sprout beautiful flowers, it brings hell to my sinuses. Really, put a nail on either side of my nose and go get a hammer. I’ll wait. I wonder if Calgon has a medicinal line of products. It would be awesome if I could sink into a tub of bubbles to escape life while simultaneously treat a sinus infection. Bring me a shot of tequila while you’re at it. That always helps.

This blog is going to take me forever to write because I keep stopping to scrunch up my face. Somehow closing my eyes really tight and wrinkling my nose makes the pressure a whopping 2% better. And of course then I see dots when I open my eyes, and by the time it takes to refocus on the computer screen, I’ve completely lost track of thought.

…now where was I...

Oh, I was discussing the pros and cons of capital punishment. Wait, no I wasn’t. I was talking about how I’m in desperate need of a little R&R. A get-a-way. Time off. An escape. At least that’s where my topic was headed. Whether it’s in the form of a vacation or in a vat full of suds, I need some time to regroup.

I went on a long nature walk by the Arkansas River yesterday morning. Just me and my trusty canine companion, ChaCha, by my side. Now that I think about it, this nature walk could have jump started this whole sinus issue. Damn nature.

Camera in pocket, I wanted to be prepared in case I saw something photo worthy. But the only picture I took was of a couple of fishermen. Instead the walk turned into an hour of self-help. A prayer walk. Meditation. You know what I’m talking about because we’ve all been there. It’s that moment of truth when we finally realize how screwed up we really are. No matter how perfect we try to be, we’re all just as dysfunctional as the next.

As my not-so-modest dog took a lovely dump on the river bank, I tried to think of solutions to my life’s obstacles. I’ve been here before. I’ve blogged about it before. Why does it take us so long to learn? I realize that I’m trying to resolve issues that are out of my control. But even though things are beyond my power, doesn’t mean that I’m not directly affected by them. But then there are those times when I’m totally in control, yet I keep banging my head against the same wall.

Why do we do this? Why can’t we just fix our problems and move on? I’ve come to believe that those who say they fix their problems and move on, are lying. We are all a slave to something – be it a person, an addiction, a situation, ourselves. It gets us all. None of us are safe. We’ll criticize someone for making a bad choice and then we go home, shut the door and live silently in our own stupidity or shame.

The morning walk rejuvenated me. It made me feel productive.

So when I got home I decided to continue the theme by doing a little house cleaning. I turned on my nifty Roomba and let it run around the house vacuuming while I… well… took a nap on the couch. June Cleaver would be SO jealous. The Roomba is a marvelous invention but, like me, it gets stuck in tough situations. It gets trapped under a chair and keeps running into the same four legs until it finds a way to wiggle out between them. If a Roomba can figure out how to wiggle its way out of repeating the same thing over and over again, so can I. Right? That was a hypothetical question by the way. Your honest answer is not needed.

As much as I would love to continue this enjoyable, deep, psychological evaluation of my thoughts…

I feel like my head is going to explode any second. No more need for the nails and hammer. Surely the explosion will relieve some of the pressure. I just googled Calgon and they do still sell it. Sure wish I had some. There are several things I’d like to drown in those suds.

And I’m serious about the reality commercials. Palmolive has sure passed up some great after-Christmas-dinner opportunities to show us in real time how it "works like magic to bust away stuck-on food." And in case you’re wondering… no, I don’t consider those staged infomercials as reality commercials.

Ok, off to bury my head in between two pillows in hopes of accidentally suffocating myself. At least for eight hours anyway.

Some Things Are Just Not Cherry-Worthy

Poor lady. I don’t know why she continues to subject herself to my family’s craziness.

She’s in her eighties and lives down the street from my grandmother. She goes to church three times a week – if not more. Every Tuesday she goes to the hospital to visit anyone who needs cheering up, whether she knows them or not. She weighs all of 80lbs, soft spoken, pale as a ghost, tight curly short brown hair and is as sweet and innocent as anybody can be. And I’d bet you a million dollars she gets uncomfortable during our family’s “questionable” discussions.

She was invited to join us for Easter lunch.

However, we had to wait to eat until she returned home from church at 12:30pm. Asking my family to wait to eat for anything is considered criminal. It was only 10am when we arrived at my Grandmother’s, and you would have thought it would be a week until our next meal. Everyone bumped elbows while hovering over the turkey and ham. Picking out and eating the tiny pieces apparently isn’t considered really eating. And somehow selflessly finding these treasured slivers for each other made our own gluttony guilt free.

“Let’s not invite her next time,” my grandmother said as she “tasted” a roll. “We can’t just wait until she’s back. If we invite her next time, we’ll just tell her she can’t go to church.”

We took turns being the lookout. The lookout’s job was to stand at the kitchen window and watch for her red Cadillac to pull into her driveway. It was during my shift when she finally came home after her selfish morning of worship and praise. I yelled through the house, “She’s home!”

Moments later the phone rings. When my Grandmother answers, her voice suddenly goes up three octaves higher…

“Ohhhh hiiii honey. Ohhhh, you’re okay. You just come over whenever you’re ready. Do you need Becca to come down and walk with you?”

Wait. Whenever she’s ready? My, how Grandmother’s attitude changed. Just mere seconds ago she was salivating over the corn casserole. And what’s with her volunteering MY services? Being the youngest in the house, I guess she assumes I get around better and I felt this wasn’t the time to compare arthritis medicines.

I look at my uncle, “You go get her.”

“What… you want me to throw her over my shoulder and come back running?... Ok.”

Within a few minutes she finally arrives to the house carrying a bowl of special fruit salad. It was special because she put cherries in it. She doesn’t normally put cherries in it but thought this occasion deserved some.

Sitting at the table scarfing down our food, we had our usual off-the-cuff conversations.

My mother told a story about one of her students and it somehow turned into one of those things I’m sure the elderly neighbor feared.

Mom: He said he lives behind The Honey Hut.

Me: What’s The Honey Hut?

Grandmother: Sounds like a strip joint.

Aunt: And how would you know what a strip joint sounds like?

Grandmother: I just know.

Mom: Whatever it is, his dad buys him burgers there.

Uncle: Strip joints serve food, too.

Aunt: And how would you know that strip joints serve food?

Uncle: I just know. Where’s the phonebook?

My uncle is very inquisitive. He will ask a million questions about any topic until he feels he’s received enough to base some sort of opinion. I usually bring up a topic on purpose just to get him going.

The way-out-of-her-comfort-zone neighbor is silent as my uncle returns to the dinner table and begins flipping through the phonebook. Her eyes are down and she occasionally picks at her special fruit salad.

Uncle: There’s not “strip joint” listed in the phone book.

Mom: Try “adult entertainment.”

Uncle: Nope, not there either.

Aunt: I’m somehow pleased to know you don’t know how to look this up.

Me: Try “ho.”

Grandmother: Try “entertainment, adult.”

I don’t want to know how my grandmother knew how to find the listings of strip joints. I really don’t. My mind cannot even go there. Turns out The Honey Hut is listed under “restaurant and bar,” so the question is still unanswered. I trust my uncle will get to the bottom of this stripper matter and report back to the family.

She didn’t last long after lunch. Shocker.

She’s a sweet lady and tried very hard to change the “stripper” topic by talking about the troubles with her cordless phone. Right after the kitchen was cleaned and right before it was Sunday afternoon naptime, she fetched her bowl of leftover special fruit salad and waved her goodbyes. My uncle escorted her home so he could take a look at her phone. Turns out she just wasn’t hanging it up correctly.

I wonder if she’s looked back on today’s Easter celebration with my family and wondered if it was special enough for cherries.

I Just Love Pointless Humor

I emailed him earlier today but accidentally sent it to his home email instead of his work.

At dinner last night we discussed the possibility of taking the dogs for a walk this weekend over The Big Dam Bridge which is the longest pedestrian-only bridge in North America. Ironically we were eating at Damgoode Pies, which is, in my opinion, the best pizza in Little Rock. Looks like we had a Dam theme going. Since he can’t read his home email at work, he replied to me from his office.

This is our exact email exchange:

From: Me
To: Him
Subject: Bridge
2:51pm

did you want to walk the bridge today?

From: Him
To: Me
Subject: Hey there
3:05pm

I noticed that you sent an email to my gmail account with the title of “bridge”. That is all I can discern from the message since company policy prevents me from actually opening the message. I am assuming that you are asking if I want to help build a bridge to the future. If that is the case, it depends on what would be my role in this. If I can be supervisor or assistant to the supervisor, I might be all about it, otherwise, I will have to see what the full job description is and what the point of the bridge will be.

From: Me
To: Him
Subject: Re: Hey there
3:10pm

oh crap. sorry. i guess my home puter defaults to your gmail. my bad.

if you remember our last night conversation correctly, YOU are the doer and I'M the delegater. therefore i am the supervisor on any building-of-bridge project. if you wish to delegate, you will need to hire your own people to work under you. the bridge that i'm proposing would run from my front porch straight to Tunica. i realize this is quite a large task to initially comprehend, but i have faith that you can make this happen.

in the meantime, maybe we can walk the dam bridge here?

From: Him
To: Me
Subject: Re: Hey there
3:48pm

I think it would be fun to walk the Big Dam Bridge tomorrow morning before lunch. That sounds fun. As far as your bridge to Tunica, I am thinking about the materials now. I think building it out of flying pigs would make an excellent choice. That way we won’t have to get permission from all the landowners between here and there to build the supporting pylons on their land and thereby saving the manager (you) tons of money. I just need a research grant of $2.5 million to develop the flying pigs.

From: Me
To: Him
Subject: Re: Hey there
4:05pm

Tomorrow's climb will be a fun outing. I may even shave my legs for it. Not promising anything. I'll run to the store and load up on bottled water, hand held fans, and folding chairs. You never know when this chick might need to sit down. We can strap it all onto ChaCha's and Rock's backs. Well, except the folding chairs. You'll have to carry those. My job is to sweat as little as possible.

I'm sure you studied your whole flying pig theory, but I'm afraid it won't work. I would end up having to hire a large quantity of pig feeders and pig poop picker-upers. I'm sure people would rather have pylons than pig poop. Plus, there would be a constant need for vets, as well as replacement pigs. We may have to consult the Pig Labor Union for any other hidden issues. I feel this would be way more costly than building a bridge with simple MDF.

From: Him
To: Me
Subject: Re: Hey there
4:42pm

Sounds like a plan, for the walking of the bridge anyway. It is supposed to only get up to 50 for a high tomorrow and there is a freeze warning out for the state tonight.

As far as the pigs are concerned, part of the $2.5 million will be a way to research making the pigs use photosynthesis to survive, and as a result they will only consume sunlight and carbon dioxide. The only waste products will be oxygen and water vapor. It will have another consequence in which it will help the environment by reducing pollution and reflecting some of the harmful sunlight and heat radiation back into space, thereby helping to cool our planet. Also, the extra water vapor will help to regulate the temperature in both summer and winter. It is entirely possible that people would pay to have the pigs reside over their land. Plus think of all the things that will happen now that “pigs fly”. As far a sickness is concerned, thanks to my bioengineering they will be immune to all known diseases that can affect pigs. The only concern will be with any new viruses they encounter while in the sky, since that is foreign territory for pigs. Thanks to my new cloning process, it will be easy to supplement new pigs for the older pigs that pass away from old age or the occasional run in with airplanes. The average life expectancy for these pigs will be 15 years (a little short for current pig life span, but since they will flying for their entire life, I think that is acceptable) with hopes that future generations will make it to 50 within 7 generations. The older pigs that must be put down will be used to supplement the dwindling food supplies. Since they exist on sunlight, the meat will contain vast quantities of healthy antioxidants, Omega-3, Omega-6, Vitamin A, Vitamin B1, Vitamin B2, Vitamin B6, Vitamin B12, Vitamin D, Vitamin E, Niacin, Calcium, Potassium, Magnesium, Iron, and several others. All while being low in fat and containing no carbs. The meat will be kosher, and be proven to increase life span by 10% and reduce the risk of heart disease by 75%. It causes smokers to be able to quit the habit by suppressing the nicotine desire. The ears of the pig will actually be cocoa beans that when rendered into chocolate, is found to contain 0 calories and in some individuals will cause slight weight loss.

So all-in-all, I think that my flying pigs, which will be known as fligs, will be an improvement to society. And you as my benefactor stand to go down in history for helping to create the world’s greatest invention since the stick.

From: Me
To: Him
Subject: Re: Hey there
4:45pm

you see... THIS is why i love you.

Meet me in the middle

I would love to stand at the peak of Mount Everest, but I have no desire to do the climbing.

Put me in a plane and drop me off at the top. I’ll stab the icy ground with my flag pole and declare shameless victory. I’ll raise my arms in the air, do some fancy foot work, and soak in the amazing beauty that very few have seen. Some may call it cheating, but I call it avoiding avalanches, falling rocks, frostbite and lack of oxygen.

To some people the dream is the process. It’s gathering all your climbing gear. It’s the training and the focus. It’s the expectation of surviving with the chance of death. It’s the sweat, strategy and teamwork. It’s inhaling the freezing air and being warmed up by the adrenaline. It’s overcoming fear and the feeling of triumph. It’s pushing yourself to the limit and then pushing it even farther. It’s the experience of it all.

I don’t camp, much less climb mountains. I would rather be forced at gunpoint to listen to eight hours of rap music than sleep outside in a tent. And I really hate rap music. Sure, I’ll show up for the campfire and s’mores. I’ll even hold your hand and sing Kumbaya. But when it comes to nite-nite time, I’m headed either back home or the nearest hotel. Be sure to call me in the morning when you’re fixing breakfast over an open flame. But once you break out the hiking boots, backpacks, and ropes, I’m gone again.

All of this to say, every one of us has a different dream. Some of us just have larger dreams than others. While one strives to reach a mountain peak, another might desire to tackle the smaller hills. One might want to buy a Lamborghini and another to finally pay off the Pinto they bought five years ago. One person might dream of packing up and moving their life to Europe, while another might yearn for the security and stability of a family and home.

I say whatever makes you feel alive… do it.

However, my advice is to always take a keen sense of observation and level headedness. Problems follow us no matter where we are. Whether we wave our freedom flag on that mountain or choose the stability of the solid ground, if we don’t see things for their truth they will always have us in a suffocating headlock. They don’t disappear just because we’ve changed the scenery.

And yes, I’m talking about something that I have a hard time doing as well.

I have dreams. They may not be as big as yours, but they’re still dreams. They’re not financial or material. I don’t have any political aspirations. I have no desire to be a spokesperson for any particular movement and I don’t have any goals to be a CEO. I might ride in your pretty Lamborghini and may even think you’re cool for having it, but I’m not going to save my pennies to buy one.

Even though I’ve been told my emotions and thoughts are complex, I live a simple life.

I want a simple life. I do best with structure. The more structured my life, the more fun I’ve had jet setting to France, Thailand or even a road trip to Tunica. I can fly by the seat of my pants as long as I know that I’ll eventually come home. That I have a home.

I’m going skydiving soon and I would have never thought of it if my friend hadn’t mentioned she was going. Although we’re waiting for her hectic schedule to let up, I look forward to the freedom and open air while strapped to someone who has already done it a few thousand times. I didn’t even know that skydiving was a dream of mine. It kinda just happened. That’s the way most things happen in my life. I don’t know that I want something until it’s presented to me.

I’ve only had one job interview in my life. And that was almost 17 years ago. Every job I’ve had before and since has just fallen in my lap. I’ve left jobs for better offers. I’ve turned down jobs. I’ve wished for a new job and it’s somehow found me. I’ve never been without an income. I think this is a true representation of how I live my life. I sometimes don’t know that I need or want something until it’s in front of my face.

I wish my dreams were more concrete.

I wish I had a list that I can check off. As much as I would love to stomp grapes with my bare feet at some winery in France, I’ll go if the opportunity presents itself. I’m not booking my flight just yet. But if you want to go, call me. Seriously.

If I had to pick one dream, it would be love and acceptance. That’s no shocker, I know. I realize that sometimes my own fear jeopardizes that opportunity. But sometimes I feel like it will happen similar to the way my career path has. I mean, I didn’t have to suffer through climbing Mount Everest to find friends… why would I to find a guy?

I’ve done some amazing and crazy things in my life and I have no regrets. And the things that I didn’t take a bold chance on have turned out for the best. The only two things I ask for out of life are loyalty and understanding. Two things that I hopefully have proven myself of having time and time again.

And if my “big dream” in life is love and acceptance, then this is what I expect out of those closest to me. I will give it back ten fold. Promise. There are no one-way streets in my dream.

No big, tall, icy mountains to overcome. No smoke and mirrors hiding a truer meaning.

Like I said before, whatever makes you feel alive... do it.

Just look both ways before you cross the street. Don’t run with scissors. Wear clean underwear. But above all, while floating down this river of life, don’t forget those who love and accept you… no matter what.