On a High

Freedom. It comes at a price. But isn't that a driving force for us to put value in things? The higher the cost, the greater the value. Talking to a coworker this morning about the free showing of The Chornicles of Narnia my old church sponsored on Saturday night, we agreed that the quality of the movie doesn't matter much when it's free (not to say that film was a bust, on the contrary). But if you've plopped down $30 for a couple of tickets and some snacks, and the film fails to entertain, then you feel slighted. And so it is with joy in my life. It has cost me much, causing me to cleave to it with everything I am.

These last few years, I have had no freedom. Hope alluded me, so all I had was today. At the end of everyday, I was grateful that He gave me the strength to make it through, and sometimes I even had the occasion to smile. But what about tomorrow or the next day? I did not believe His mercies were new every morning, at least not for me. I did have faith in God, though. But how, you ask, can you have faith but no hope? In trying to reconcile the two, the Lord has reintroduced to me the way He loves me...at a high price, without question, and just as much tomorrow as He does today.

"When he is at work in the north, I do not see him; when he turns to the south, I catch no glimpse of him. But he knows the way that I take; when he has tested me, I will come forth as gold." Job 23:9-10

Suddenly I can pray without worrying about God refusing to hear me. I'm excited to be awoken before my alarm Sunday morning to worship the Lord with my church community. And the Word? It's alive again. Guess there was a good reason He kept those words in my heart all this time.

It's good to be home.

Golliwogg's Cake Walk

I was expecting to have a quiet, work filled day hiding inside from the wet drear that defines the start of of the northeast winter. But my plans were stilted when little Megan crawled into bed with me at 7:30am (I usually am up at that hour, but on PST, mind you). I pleaded for some extra sleep time, which she surprisingly agreed to. But it took only 15 minutes for her to interrupt my morning nap with a gentle, "Aunt Annie, let's not sleep anymore, okay?" How could I say no? Actually, I didn't say anything, and eventually she gave up, since I woke up alone at 9:30. Between hide and go seek, watching the Incredibles, and making sprinkled covered, chocolate-dipped marshmellows, Megan and I decided to squeeze a little piano time into our packed play schedule. And it was then that I had another revolutionary reunion.

Years ago in my junior and senior high school days, I met a master communicator who spoke more personally to me than anyone had ever dared. His ability to move my lackluster emotions to new heights compared to none. His name was Claude. How's that for an everyday name? Claude Debussy was able to make my fingers speak in ways that words could never do. His music led me all the way from deep, personal exploration to performance and competition for the enjoyment of others. In a way, he taught me to simply feel, and to feel with confidence, if that makes any sense. I met him again today. And I was reminded that this language that had become my mother tongue in my youth had been suppressed for too long. My deadened heart was awoken. The bonus in all this? It brought new meaning to bonding with my three year old niece.

Thanks, Claude.

Look What You've Done

Is it possible to live in contradiction? Finding joy in the day to day has been relatively easy lately, as I've made a conscious decision to recognize God's gifts at all levels. I'm grateful for everything from my well-designed, Japanese nail clipper that catches my errant, unwanted toe nails, my 5 wood, even though it lets me down 40% of the time, all the way up to the folks who have shared their daily days and nights of late with me. God's longsuffering wipes up the splattering of my bad decisions and ferrets a better Annie out of the crevices where I hide with my sins. Everyday, I am more conscious of His mercy, more stupified that He offers it on a regular basis to me. The good things become even better in this light.

But to look ahead to the years down the line destroys the smile I adorn during the waking hours. Hope alludes me. To put that non-refundable deposit on fleeting happiness, well that just seems nonsensical to me. My rest comes at the end of a day, knowing that I have made it through another 16 hours experiencing the little joys of today. Tomorrow? It does not belong to me.

So to those who see the golf slugging, corporate climbing, merry Annie, I've fooled you. I've made a fool of...well, just me.

Long Lost Friend

(written on the plane from NRT to SFO 23 October)

Being able to relive Sunday gave me extra time to put my jetlagged thoughts into a more cohesive narrative on my brief trip to Japan. Seeing as this was Asia, it wasn't a surprise that I was able to fulfill a few quality culinary pursuits in the form of melt in your mouth sushi, ramen far superior to its supermarket wanna be counterpart, and onigiri that just goes to show that the Japanese really do know their rice. My tastebuds could have gone home content after consuming these treats, but there were still cultural faux pas's to be made, overpriced souvenirs to be purchased, and shrines to be photographed on this trip.

What they say about the streets and railway stations of Tokyo being packed is true, and everyone on the subway is either asleep or completely zoned into playing games on their cell phones. But the sardine can of a subway station was surprisingly bearable, because there was not an annoying ring tone on volume setting 6 to be heard, turning the heads of irritated passersby. So in the midst of the class 3 rapids at Tokyo station, it was actually rather peaceful. I can't say this has negated my traumatic travelling experiences in China (especially on the bus), but hey, you have to start somewhere, or at least that's what the therapist tells me.

Kyoto lived up to its postcard-esque reputation, even though I didn't catch the brilliant fall foliage or celebrated cherry blossom spring season. It had character, though, rich in history, courtesy, and overall charm. If I had to choose amongst Tokyo, Kyoto, Nikko, and Koyasan (the four cities I visited), I'd choose Kyoto to make my home.

By far, though, the highlight of my week abroad was the reunion with my third grade best friend, Mariko. After more than two decades since our last goodbye, God saw fit to let us rekindle a friendship built on recess, ABCs, origami gifts, countless letters, and birthday and Christmas cards. It was an experience to talk to her on the phone, as I did not recognize the gentle, yet joking voice speaking to me in nearly perfect English. Finally seeing her in the train station was quite the event; I think my friends identified her before me by the jacket she told us she was wearing and the friendly wave she offered. When I saw her, I was struck by how beautiful she grew up to be, and how familiar her eyes and smile were. Two hours and a plate full of tempura later, I was amazed at how well this stranger knew me.

Waving good bye in the train station made me sad, for fear I would have to wait another 20 years or so to see her again. So now it's your turn, Mariko, to meet me on the west side, and soon, so our reunion doesn't have to be overshadowed by the doleful cloud of a long, impending separation.

Having more closely considered my latest Asian jaunt, I only vaguely recall the sights, tastes, and smells of Japan. All of that was upstaged by the re-illumination of a special friendship.

You Raise Me Up

Play up. That's probably some of the best advice I've gotten in a long time, better even, than the commericial adage "Just Do It". I've noticed that I have a slight inclination to settle into less than what I'm capable of just because I'm not challenged. Life at the office is this way. It's a great place to work, mostly because of the people. But also because you can get away with average work and be labeled a high performer. If I worked my butt off, I would probably run the joint, not because I'm the most qualified, but simply because I'm the one who actually does everything I was hired to do.

Tennis is the same. Whenever I play less skilled players, I ease back into the lob-dink, not so aerobic sporting where I have to convince myself to take a shower afterwards. Don't get me wrong; I still have fun. It's tennis afterall. But I too easily meld into the mediocre, drift with the status quo, and look apathetically at change as to practically not recognize it.

So what am I striving to play up to? Running. Running alone keeps me at my slow, 10 minute mile, trek-it-back-home-after-two-miles pace. Skiing. Helping beginners resigns me to the easy blues, greens, and bunny slopes. Karaoke. Okay, there are some things better left untouched. But most importantly, I am on my way to looking up to the higher standard that the Lord intended for me.

We've begun a new small group, exploring what it might look like to imitate the early church in Acts. Imagine being just as concerned with the spiritual health and growth of other members of your church as you are for yourself. Prayer times originally intended to tick off the request list transform into extended, worshipful, communing times with the Lord. Sin travels all the way to reconciliation without getting stuck at shame so that God gets glory for our sin. Imagine that! And we study God's word directly, not some other person's interpretation of God's word. It's a tough road to stick to, but with God rooting for us, how can we lose?

Did I mention we also cook and eat yummy food together?

I Dreamed a Dream

There exists a paradox that seems errant at best - when you reject the seemingly good things that come your way, and yet long for the bad that will undoubtedly serve no productive purpose. Isn't that just messed up?

I find myself in a constant state of immaturity. Sometimes it's a matter of realizing the error of my ways slightly after the fact, but on occasion, the thought does occur to me in the midst of the wrong. The test, though, is what I end up choosing to do. I feel like the kids I used to counsel. It's just too easy to live in the pleasure of today, even if tomorrow brings pain.

But I suppose that knowing is half the battle. So am I halfway there?

Angel

Have you ever felt used? I'm not sure used is the best word to describe the unequal, seemingly unfair sense of give and take I perceive, but to some degree, that's how I feel. It's relatively easy for me to have an attitude of indebtedness to those around me, probably because I am lucky to fraternize with generous friends. They not only share their material treasures (especially the edible sort), but they also parcel out their precious time and help to me. I could never do enough to repay their magnanimity. But it's the ones who seem to solicit my attention, company, and friendship when it's convenient to them who bewilder me. In ages past, they have earned my trust and love, so when they are in need or are simply in the mood to hang out, I'm there. But those occasions inevitably pass, and I am left by the wayside. Past, positive events beckon me to go back to them when those periods of silence vanish, only to wait for the cold shoulder to resurface.

Ultimately, I am motivated by my love for my friends, to love and love some more even if the affection is mitigated upon return. But I am...so tired of the straight line.

Neverending Story

Surgery last week was not as eventful as I expected, which is a good thing in my book. I can thank God for watching over me in that regard. Few surprises, although I did bump into a long, lost Stanford friend who was assigned to be my anesthesiologist. I knew him when he was studying for his EE PhD. Uh, yea, a slight change in career since last we conversed. So he pops up just before I get wheeled into the OR. Okay, so that part was an added precipitance. Anyhow, Matt opted not to participate in my surgery, because he knows me, but we did get a chance to chat a little in recovery, where I was, of course, in the proper condition for friendly, catching up discourse. Ha.

The other anesthesiologist discussed my options of being put under or being mildly sedated, while one of the orthopedic surgeons tossed out the choices of numbing my entire right arm or locally anesthesizing my finger. After deciding to wait on nerve repair this surgery, we all agreed on a sedative with a digital block. Excellent choice, the consensus was (did I mention my nickname was Yoda in college? I'm sure you see the resemblance). For those of you who have had surgery, you might be able to relate to an impending sense of healing coupled with a twinge of doom. It is a paradox that is not easily reconcilable; trust me, I've tried. I didn't have to worry about it for long, though, as consciousness ended just after they parked my gurney in the OR.

I awoke to Matt's voice inquiring about how the surgery went. Considering I was in no pain, good, I guess. It wasn't until late that night that I realized the extent of what the doctors had done in the "more challenging than we had thought" pinning of my middle phalanx. Let's just say the previous dosage of Vicadin that had knocked me out did nothing to ease the excrutiating pain. They must have given me a placebo by mistake, at least that night. Since then, the pain flares up when it feels like it, but not with enough intensity that I need to dive into the motor skill impairing candy. All for the good of the local driving community. Who said I'm selfish all the time?

So now I await patiently, amidst vein inflammations, milder pain killers, and bouts of dizziness for the bone and the wound to heal. And I must vicariously live through my golf and tennis buddies' stories of down the line winners and impossible birdie shots from bunkers to get my sports fix for the summer. I'm not sure what's more painful - being a spectator or getting my finger busted.

Anyone want to see the pin?

Wrapped Around Your Finger

The accident happened like lightening, but the time it took for Rich to wrap up my filleted index finger felt unendingly longer. We then began the long journey down the mountain with blood drenched palms and a sense of regret for having left Half Dome unfinished. But there was no time to dwell on what remained undone.

The jog down was filled with all degrees of emotion as my finger went through the frightening stages of frostbite-like behavior. Two miles from the top, we rejoined the rest of the cast of fellow hikers, but I could barely get myself to stop. In retrospect, I was a bit rude, pummeling through them, disregarding niceties and whatnot. I hope they understood; my mind was fixated on putting six more miles behind me.

By the time we reached Yosemite Falls, the pain crept up to a throbbing. This was a good sign, since then I could feel my finger. In any case, we called 911 to patch us through to the Yosemite medical services. They asked if they needed to send someone to get me, but since my finger was pink again, I figured I could make it all the way down.

After three and a half hours, we found our way to the Yosemite clinic, where x-rays showed that the Nalgene bottle had broken and displaced the middle phalanx of my right index finger. I had no idea a bone had been broken. I was only worried about getting the profusely bleeding gash stitched up. But that was just the beginning. The doc then performed a digital block (I won’t explain it, but just so you know, that was a dang big needle), so he could flush out the wound and check for ligament damage. And after a dozen or so stitches, and a painful dressing as my finger regained consciousness, we began our four and a half hour drive to the Stanford ER.

The intermittent talk about another digital block, antibiotic IV, and a 2-3 hour wait for a hand surgeon to see me didn’t make for a shorter day. But the docs at the ER ended up not doing much more than jab me with four more needles, unwrap and rewrap my mangled finger, and set me up to see a hand surgeon the next day. Thankfully, I was able to sleep in my own bed that night.

Climb Every Mountain

There is a gross amount of satisfaction that follows the accomplishment of a great feat. This motivates people to push their bodies to extreme limits for all sorts of reasons. There’s the love of the sport, the thrill of the challenge, and the consequential nod in the history books. Who was it that climbed the mountain because it was there? I, on the otherhand, climb a mountain so I don’t ever have to do it again. So there lies Half Dome, once for the taking, once to be conquered, and of course, a trip I don’t have to plan.

I was quite apprehensive about the trek, primarily because I was unable to participate in all three preparatory hikes. Somehow, ten minutes on a stairmaster at a Holiday Inn in Trenton, Ontario did not suffice as adequate training. Granted, I did it three days in a row, but well, ya, I know. Dave was also unhappy that I wanted to do the hike in my trail runners. So I got myself a new pair of hiking boots, which I broke in at the office two days before our trip. After much heckling, my seasoned hiking coworkers gave me great advice about layering polyester clothes and socks, and how to tie my boots. All went well, the boots were comfortable, my legs didn’t give out, and I didn’t lose my nerves at the base of the dome. But then the unimaginable happened.

After taking an alternate fork in the climb to the cables, Rich and I followed a couple up a narrow, less traveled incline that we hoped would intersect the ascending cables. I actually had a flash of revolt, thinking we should traverse back to the base to find the proverbial road more traveled. But I trusted my brother, who is much more experienced in the outdoor arts. As soon as I swung my left leg around to follow my right, which had found a sandy foothold, Tupperware fell from the sky.

Solsbury Hill

I am spent. It is the fourth day of carting around my Chinese coworkers, bending my brain to think mineral insulated cable, building an operations infrastructure for a 10 year behind the times plant, and having a front row seat to half masticated western food in the mouths of my Chinese kids. And of course, they are not satisfied with whatever I order. Sigh. What can a parent do? Last night, I discovered they don't have shelter for the weekend, so travel agent Annie put together a makeshift tour of Toronto and Niagara Falls. Not bad for someone who's never been to Toronto as an adult. Just when I was about to put the finishing touches on the itinerary, lo and behold, the one credit card amongst the three has expired. Of course. But be gentle in spirit, and pray for divine navigational skills, as now I must deliver and check them into their hotel.

I'm physically tired, lonely, and have eaten my way to whale beachdom. Pretty unattractive, huh? It is draining to have three children; I am now able to commiserate with all you multi-kid parents. If y'all ever need a babysitter, I'm available, if not out of kindness, out of sympathy.

But freedom is near. I can taste it. So much so, I practically danced through the factory this morning as Peter Gabriel sang for me. This afternoon, I will chauffeur the kids back to Toronto, rush back to the airport, and hop a flight to Jersey with a softer, more sensitive willingness to serve my sister, her hubby, and her three tykes.

Grab your things, I've come to take you home.

Feels Like Home...The Remix

Generally, it is a relief to come home. But this trip has been wrought with hectic preparations and so much left undone. It's an unsettling feeling to board your plane having left projects lingering, emails unopened, and phone calls waiting in voicemail. It's like leaving the garage door open, the stove on, and the mail overflowing in your mailbox. Did I mention my gas tank is empty?

But the tradeoff is well worth the uneasiness. On Sunday, I took my niece and nephew swimming in their new community pool. Granted, it's a bit early in the season to take a dip here in the east coast, but they had waited since our New Orleans trip to get me into the pool again. Little Megan was so cold, she was like a tiny popsicle even after submerging up to her neck. As bad as it was to see her shiver (she's probably going to get a cold), I couldn't help but giggle hearing and watching MeMe's teeth chatter and tiny body shake. She's just too cute.

All the stress, well, it was even worth the 6:30am wakeup call I didn't ask for on Monday. But now it's back to the rock pile...

Btw, anyone know if it's bad to sing Erasure songs as lullabies to little babies? =P

Somewhere Only We Know

For the faithful few who have inquired about my relatively recent bouts of depression, I am here to report that the Lord has been good. He always has been. I'm the one who doesn't have the luxury of being consistent. It's just not in my nature to be steadfast and solid. This is utterly unfortunate for my close buds who have tacetly signed a do-not-desert-Annie contract. I bet there have been many a-times they looked for a back door in the small print. So what if I can't prove that a document actually exists; they can't prove one doesn't, right?

One thing I have discovered (or more like verified) - the few who have stood by me, they love me dearly. And I am moved to tears when I think on that. These are the few who hurt when I cry, and pray intently that the Lord covers me with His grace when my spirit fails. In God we trust; all others bring data. I sure got my data now, and am doubly grateful for my accompanying sojourners.

God has also chosen to speak to me through His faithful servants. You know, the ones who actually listen to Him. Take a peak at the messengers' divine notes:

"Although you may feel some level of apprehension right now, know that the Lord sees you as a princess and He holds you precious in His sight. 'You are my servant...in whom I will display my spendor.' Isaiah 49:3

'See, I am doing a new thng! Now it springs up...I am making a way in the desert and streams in the wasteland.' Isaiah 43:19"

"During my quiet time praying for you there was a sense of great potential for you to honor and serve God (not that you're not honoring or serving now, but potential in an even greater sense)."

Even, even though, no matter, regardless. Today, these are my favorite adverbs, because they tell of the Lord's overencompassing mercy on this meritless soul. Even in the midst of this great state of sin, He sees potential and hope. It certainly is His kindness that leads us to repentance. How, how, how could He forgive me? My Lord, He is a great God...no, today, to me, He is a kind God.

That's not to say I'm cured. But those walls...those walls don't seem as high today. Thanks for asking, all three of you. =P

I'll See You in My Dreams

Tomorrow I go under the knife. I have to admit that I am a little shaky. But surprisingly, I am more nervous about being blind for 24 hours than I am about having surgery. Just thinking about how I'll get around my house, eat, and get to the bathroom without tripping over something makes me nervous. And what will I do while I'm awake if I can't read, watch TV, or go online (trapped in my house, of course)? I'm reminded of how important my sight is, of how much more I value seeing over my other senses. I'm amazed and grateful for the things the Lord has allowed me to see. I hope He lets me see much more...

Let Me Fall

The jungle in my patio has been tamed. On Monday night, I spent an hour and a half uprooting monster weeds that caused many a-visitor to inquire, "wow, your garden is going crazy; what are you growing back there?" It's amazing how the unwanted can fluorish while the wanted, with all the care and attention you can muster up, can simply die.

I similarly wonder about raising kids. You can impart the same rules and values, and yet their individual personalities seem to win out over upbringing. How far do you go to strive to teach, discipline, and direct them? Seems to be an allegory parents can use to describe our faith. God will forgive us every time, but it's inevitable that we will sin. So do we passively go with the flow, make the mistakes we are too stupid to avoid, and go back to Him for the forgiveness we desperately seek? In my mind, I know the right answer to that question. Don't we all? So when the opportunity to follow the higher road arises, does the faith in our minds win out? I often find myself too weak to listen to that "c'mon now, that ain't good" voice. Instead, I squire alongside my worldly wants, and fall into that all too familiar ditch I call home. *Sigh* There is so much out of our control; makes me glad God's up there taking care of things on our behalf. Now if only I could stop screwing up so much so He could get His job done.

So should I even bother trying to plant anything in my newly tilled potential of a garden? Obviously, I haven't yet internalized the lesson, have I...

Voices Inside My Head

People are so easily swayed by words. Take for example when you're told that that dude's got something against you. Several iterations of "why?" can race through your mind as you try to pinpoint the time when you may have stepped on his proverbial toes. What the heck did I do to make him not like me? Maybe he caught me when I wasn't smiling (right again, Mom). Or when someone suggests that another person might have an interest beyond friendship, your interaction with that person takes a turn for the awkward. Suddenly, you notice that they notice. Completely innoculous attention suddenly is filled with artifically conjured "come hither" advances. Okay, maybe not. But suggestion has more power than we give it credit...at least when it comes to people's proclivities towards other people.

So how about when your "I've been on skis since I could walk" friend tells you that the hill isn't as bad as the map makes it out to look. "Everywhere else, this would be a blue, but it's a black here. You can handle it." So after realizing there is no other way down, you (okay, I admit it, this is me) reluctantly head over the edge, cutting through mogul after mogul, while taking my friend's name in vain in the only two breaths I take the whole way down. Looking back up at the bumpy face of a mountain, my friend quips, "By the way, it's actually a blue, but everywhere else, it's definitely a black!" I'm not sure which was better, but I had the inkling to impale him with one of my ski poles. Lucky for him, he's much faster than me on skis (nevermind his being my ride home). Not quite analagous to the premise with which I started, but in general, we are susceptible to the pull of people's words, especially from people you trust. Or from those you thought you trusted.

Moral of the story; don't trust anyone. =P

All Star

I have been chosen.

Last night, I had the fortuitous opportunity to be a date at the Warriors vs. Rockets game. A friend got tickets last minute, so against every non-spontaneous bone in my body, I jumped at the chance. 9th row, a parking pass, and even better, the tickets were free! Originally we were going to play tennis, but instead of flaking on me and bringing some hot boy toy who would've drooled at the chance of going with her to the game (more because her of course), she picked me! I felt like the little green, rubber alien in Toy Story as the claw slowly descended upon the sea of alien brothers only to scoop him up. What a great way to start the week.

The game was fairly uneventful the first half. The Rockets were faster, defended well, and always found the hole in the Warriors' defense. The Warriors, on the other hand, seemed to just stand around and watch the Rockets sink 3 pointer after 3 pointer. It was sad. But in the last period, our homeboys came alive, charging the basket, led by a net finding Baklava (http://www.livejournal.com/~wenfy/ Mar 15 entry). After taking a dive to an 18 point deficit, The City came back to tie the game with only a few minutes to go. But alas, in true Warrior fashion, they could not deliver in the end. But we had a good time, with numerous 4th period turnovers, fouls, and a slam dunk getting us up out of our seats (did I mention they were free?). Good old fashioned ball game craziness complete with yummy garlic parmesan fries and chili dogs.

It's good to be an American.

Story of A Girl

Over the weekend, after discussing first impressions, Howie mentioned that I came across as a jubilant person, always happy. That was the exact word he used. JUBILANT. I couldn't believe it. How many beers did this guy down? I'm sure those around me who were lucky enough to have such an absurdity land on their unexpecting ears had to exercise great restraint to not spit their beef stew across the table. But I was pleasantly surprised to hear that I came across in such a positive light. Afterall, no one wants to pull others down into their doom laden pit or exude an unapproachable aura that keeps potential new friends at arms length. I've been known to do both. But lately, even in the midst of my sadness, I've sought to glue my grin on my tired face, selfishly hoping to pilfer some happiness from those in close proximity. Even at the office, a few have mentioned an unwonted appeal to my optimistic countenance during and after heated, political discussions of late. A smile goes a long way...even mine. Who woulda thunk it? Mine!

Thanks, Mom, for the good advice.

Goodnight, My Angel

We just heard that an operator's husband died yesterday after suffering from a heart attack while undergoing surgery to replace his kidney. He had been anxiously waiting for a kidney transplant for the past couple years, and finally the promising opportunity surfaced. He was stable, though in intensive care, and we all thought he would pull through. Now this terrible news. And last night, a small group member shared that his coworker was driving back from LA over the weekend and got into an accident which ejected her eight year daughter from the car. She had not been wearing a seatbelt and did not survive. I cannot imagine the devestation this mother and my coworker must feel. The words not yet spoken, the feelings not yet shared, and the adventures left unexplored together. Mourning traps you in such a lonely place. I hope God will find them where they hide.

I am spent.
______________
February 28, 2005

Seeing Tilessa step out of the limo, I expected her to be overwraught with grief. But surprisingly, she greeted us from afar with smiles and laughter when she caught sight of us. It was our everyday Tilessa. But as we came closer to offer a friendly embrace, she broke down. It was heartwrenching to see her in pain. I was at a loss for words. What can you say that would do anything but inflict an unnecessary reminder of her present anguish? As we watched one of the brothers-in-law help the widow walk down the aisle, the sight of her husband as she approached the casket brought more tears. Tears became weeping, and weeping soon became sobbing. What greater grief than to say goodbye to a loved one way before his intended time. An abrupt end to an earthly life (Ron was only 42), but a welcomed beginning to a joyful life in heaven. Keep looking up, I tell myself. Keep...looking up.

Ironic

Another operator is just about to get written up for running product out of spec without notifying an engineer. To be safe, it's general practice for ops to call one of us if they cannot produce product to spec within normal operating process conditions. When they call us, they abdicate responsibility for shutting down production and potentially pushing bad material through the plant and onto the customer. So why is it that people figure that not disclosing information is better than being upfront and offering the situation as it is?

I suppose that I should also apply this philosophy to my own state of health. Sadness pervades my everyday, and I perceive my depression to unduly and emotionally tax those around me (or so I have been deceived to think that way). I wish I were not so sad, but it is a season of life I must endure. It is a strange place to be, needing company but not wanting to be around anyone. I can only tell you that despondency envelopes you like a high-walled fence. The walls continue to encroach upon your space and thus your sense of freedom, since your despair seems to constantly bring your thoughts back to the source of your pain. It is a vicious, unforgiving spiral. This makes it even more of an arduous task to dig your way out.

Fortunately for me, God is not only a merciful god, but He is also a stern God who has no patience for my inward melancholy. And thus it has been a relieving experience to tell those close to me the truth about the malady of my heart. I just hope their prayers are enough to tear some holes in my fence. I just want to be able to breathe again.

The Games We Play

I suck at Spider Solitaire. Mind you, I used to be pretty good at this, winning every third, two suited game whenever boredom drew me to this arguably entertaining time-suck. But ever since the beginning of this year, I have not been able to keep my win rate up in the 30s. So now I play even more, just to try to get my success rate back up there. But it's demoralizing to not be in a place you know you can be in. What is it that suddenly makes me incapable of finishing this simple game? Is it harder or am I just dumber? What am I missing here? What is it that has changed? Someone clue me in!

I suppose it is my own fault that I put stock in something that is going well, only to have it pulled out from under me. Maybe I've already gotten my fair share of the good life, and now that I've used up my quota, it's time to give someone else a chance. That's to say there's a finite amount of happiness out there. If I had known that, maybe I wouldn't have put any hope into the things I thought had potential. Because it's a sad place to be, not being able to finish what you set out to do. Makes me not want to try anymore.

Time to go eat my Costco salad...and maybe play some more Solitaire....or maybe not.

I Didn't Know Until You Told Me

Honestly, I'm tired of things not going my way. As selfish as that sounds, it is just the way I feel today. I stayed up on the phone and computer last night preparing operators for a critical run early this morning. So when I got here at 7, I expected to hit the ground running. What do I find? The extruder was set up for the wrong resin. Of course. Part number, description, and weight were not sufficient to have things ready and waiting. I should have bit the bullet and come in last night to run the darn thing myself. Nevermind I was supposed to be on vacation this week. Thunderstorms? It's not like I've never lived in the tropics. Bah. So now I sit here waiting for some sign of life from those lazy butt compounding guys.

On top of a frustrating day at work, my own brother turns me down to watch a cheap movie tonight. Being out of town is a viable excuse, I suppose. But that leaves me alone at home to do laundry. Maybe I'll paint another wall. Or go for a long run. Or cook a nice meal and hope the yummy smells entice a passerby to knock on the door to keep me company.

So then I discover that two operators in another division at our main site in Menlo Park were exposed to an excessive dose of radiation. Word has it they have burns on the left side of their faces, on their left arms, and are now losing their hair. Frightening. When I heard the news, I had flashbacks of this nuclear submarine movie (I think it was called K-19) where these guys died of radiation poisoning. Made my stomach cringe - I almost couldn't watch parts. I can only imagine the pain and trepidation those two guys must be experiencing.

Suddenly the trials of my day seem trivial. And I'm grateful for a night of quiet rest. It's amazing how God can knock me off my self-righteous molehill in a quick flash. A much needed reality check was exactly what He ordered for me today. And I ain't complaining.

Hard to Say I'm Sorry

Words are powerful. Carefully chosen, the right words can lift your spirits and send you soaring for a day, a week, heck for a long time to come. I still remember the first time someone told me they loved me. Never had I felt so accepted, so enveloped by care. The concept was so foreign to me, it moved me to tears - just three simple words. The other night I read through some letters and emails from the past that still had the muscle to warm my heart. Those expressions of love brought back sentiments of acceptance that still ring true today. It's an amazing thing to be affirmed, to be cherished despite all the faults, and in effect, despite me.

But the wrong words, they can pierce you like a dull knife in a tender place. And just when the wound is about to heal, a quick remembrance of an innocent jab pushes the knife that you thought was gone, even deeper. What's even worse is when I turn out to be the wielder of the weapon. When someone tells me I've done them wrong, the feeling of remorse overwhelms me. "You hurt me" can send a wave of regret that follows me in everything I do. I can't focus, can't eat, and can hardly find the strength to smile. And then words will inevitably fail me - saying "I'm sorry" never seems to be adequate. When you need them the most, words just don't have the strength to right a wrong.

As much as I love to write, my words will never be enough.

No Pain No Gain

Snowboarding can be a punishing sport, at least when you first start out. Why does it look like you've been unduly castigated after a day on the slopes? Bruises all over your knees from begging for mercy and painful black and blues on your butt as a result of the lashings from the not so innocuous bunny slope. I'd include pictures, but then the experience would be more painful for you than for me. But even while I was learning to ski, it wasn't the most pleasant adventure in the beginning. I paid the price in the form of busted knees, chilly toes, and having to eat a lot of cold snow. But it was worth it in the end. How can you not have fun careening down a freshly covered mountain side (as long as you stay on your feet, that is)?

So are all good things supposed to begin with a price? I can hardly make a list of those things in my life that have brought me a joy that has overwhelmed the pain that comes in tow. Suffering seems to be a natural recurrence for me, which makes it difficult to want to tackle the next challenge in line. The contusions on my heart never have enough time to go away before the next ones hit. If God's mercies weren't new every morning, I would have expired long ago.

Hopefully there's a light at the end of the snowboarding tunnel. In the meantime, I'll wait for the bruises to heal...again.

So yummy! 

All the Way to Reno

Dishing out hard earned money for a practically effortless chance at walking away with some extra change seems like a great deal. Not only do you end up eating and drinking for free, but you also are highly entertained in the process. But come now, how many people do you know hit it big and then happily don’t need to return to work the next day? Hmm, let me ask the probability gods who have helped all those casinos to stay alive and kickin’. We’ll let them decide.
Casino +$8, ABC -$8

Come to think of it, this gambling thing ain’t half bad, especially when luck decides to flash a quick smile your way. And hey, these tables aren’t as intimidating as I had originally thought. Teresa is a friendly local just trying to make a living. I should keep her company and help her out. Afterall, dealers are people too.
Casino +$1, ABC -$1

Since I don’t claim to be superstitious, it wouldn’t seem all that important to play on the video blackjack machine that did me right the last time I made my eight dollar fortune. But I found myself meandering about the smoky, cash sucking joint while grandma fed my machine. It’s not that I was waiting for her to vacate the seat upon which she was encroaching; I had to champion a friend who had much more at stake. Show my support, that is, until it was my turn to give lady luck a spin (does lady luck apply to us girls?). I’ll make my money back, grab an almost free drink, and call it a gratifying night.
Casino +$31, ABC -$31 (I know this is redundant, but it’s more dramatic this way)

It’s funny where a pack of second hand smoke, cheap liquor, and an empty pocket can lead you. To the ATM, that’s where. Somehow my shaky hands and bloodshot eyes found the right combination of numbers to dig into the funds that were to remain non-liquid for fear of appeasing the blackjack muses. But I saved some dough buying lift tickets off Craigslist – I can afford this! I got this room for free, darn it! A few bucks bet away is like small change for the hotel room – still a deal! Yea, that’s it. Still a deal.
Casino +$91, ABC -$91

It’s amazing how much time can go by when your nerves take you for a ride. The alcohol wears off, your breathing becomes less hindered, and grandma looks friendly again. She can have her machine back; I have a new favorite money box.
Casino +$8, ABC -$8

Thankfully, I could sleep well that night. Now I wonder where I can find some more friends to head up again so I can win those six bucks back...

Feels Like Home

Stuck in the middle of nowhere, it’s easy to get lost in loneliness, waiting for a phone call or email that will never come. You can’t hop into your car and surprise a nearby friend or zip over to the nearest tea house to pick up an overpriced cup of PMT (which would unfortunately violate my new year’s resolution). Instead, you can try to have a broken conversation with the maid on your floor about how embarrassed you are not to speak Mandarin any better than a pre-schooler, and subsequently resign yourself to chat about the weather compared to back home for 10 long minutes. Or you can dine and small talk with the coworkers with whom you’ve already spent the past eight hours doing non-stop work, which is of course, the default. Nothing like emptying your beer glass a gazillion times thanking each person for welcoming you to their neck of the woods. Nevermind you’ve been here a handful of times already.

Happily I return to my 700 square foot suite (the rooms on the business floor were booked) to find a bowl of cute mandarin oranges that are as sweet as honey. As I pop one in my mouth, images of my even cuter pal searching for a crate of these little treasures at the local Chinese market fill my homesick mind. Ooh, and Independence Day, the only non-dubbed show on TV is on, a classic film promoting the ever-progressing career of Bill “Lonestar” Pullman. I think my brother would agree that Spaceballs was the penultimate professional accomplishment on Bill’s resume. If I knew him personally, I’d never let him live that one down. Time to get into my Paul Frank flannels, a gift from a girl who can almost always make me laugh. The little things are what you notice; they make me smile…at least for a moment at a time.

Trips like these make my potentially new home away from home more difficult to accept. Oh wait, no time to dawdle on the ties that bind. Bourne Supremacy is starting, and if it’s anything like the first one, it’ll cure my jetlag and put me right to sleep.

I miss home, wherever that may be.

Get it Right the First Time

The other night, I pulled my ski adverse knee and ankle ligaments out onto the tennis court. The ball felt so heavy at first, but grimacing through the tightness of my joints, I was surprised to find the ball lighten up a bit and more consistency in my backhand than in my forehand. Unheard of! Seems practice is a good thing for my forehand (along with my pool game, I found out later that night), but a couple weeks off is good for my backhand. Funny how that is.

So what is the most prudent course of action when it comes to something that isn't making progress? Do you put endless hours of toil into it not knowing whether the effort will solicit better results? Or do you take some time off and hope your backhand irons out or just forgets its bad habits while on sebatical? To passively or actively strive for positive change, that is the dilemma. I suppose it depends on the situation.

Maybe I'll just sit back and wait for some advice on this before I actually do something, then compare notes. Or maybe I'll aggressively intensify my efforts for a little while before dropping off...aiya, having choices is sometimes not a good thing. Someone just tell me what to do.

Snow in Summer

A little while ago, I talked about perspective being everything. And so the revelation reoccurred to me this past week while riding in a two door, compact car with only one chain up and then down a mountain right after the first big dumping in the Sierras. I guess it could have been worse; we could have been in the middle of that storm, but somehow being able to see the drop over the edge of the cliff made the trip feel a bit more perilous. After our right chain broke, and we slid to a stop on the side of the road, the chilly, hour long wait for help to arrive seemed to be one of those eternal hours. But it's amazing how safe you can feel in the unsafest of situations. Nevermind the numerous prayers we sent up. Nevermind the visit by three different sheriffs and a fire truck. And nevermind the four bars that allowed us to call the highway patrol to get in touch with a local towing company. I'm sure God's watching over us made all those things happen. But the one thing He did for me that made the difference was to put me in the company of someone I trusted. That feeling of security fortunately shadowed me on the ski lift overlooking the death-defying chutes. And surprisingly, it lasted long enough to help me cascade down the mountain in the midst of winds and snow that gave me that dizzying vertigo feel. His mercy is in fact new every morning.

The tow truck never did arrive, but that kind of divine security was better than any roadside assistance that would have come. If you ever do experience that sense of assurance, don't let it go. Guardian angels only come around once in this lifetime.