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.

It's the End of the World as We Know It

I now know why I almost failed 8.01 (freshman physics). I've just spent the last two and a half hours watching the resistance of my compound increase as I befuddling-ly added more carbon black. My parents should demand a refund, because they sure taught me the wrong stuff back at the 'Tute. Did the operators mistakenly load the non-conductive carbon black? Did the loading curve for this polymer suddenly flatten out and take a dive? Am I actually asleep dreaming all of this? Not sure if I am usually this productive while I sleep, but I think I will now mosey on down to the lab to look for agglomerates in a hundred wafer samples of insulation jacket. They look surprisingly similar to little black olives.

At what age does senility set in?

Don't Turn Around

Perspective is everything. Did you ever notice that when you "toot" (this is how my sister and her husband have taught my little niece and nephew to euphemize this bodily function), you don't mind sitting in a cloud of your own fragrant (hey, that's the way it's translated from Chinese) discharge? In fact, some people rather enjoy this experience. Or at least they get a kick out of it. And yet when someone else in your mal odoriferous proximity happens to toot, it's like the most offensive, glare provoking action that person could inflict on you. Or how about when the gaseous by-product of your most recent meal decides to travel upwards instead? As someone who thoroughly enjoys leftovers, I can't say it's the most unpleasant experience. However, I have a proclivity towards the solid version of meal remnants, but if it was really good...well yea. Anyhow, I have yet to meet someone who enjoys sharing a gastronomic rerun that originated from any person other than themselves.

So next time you flash me one of those nasty glances, I'll throw a big grin back your way. Afterall, my mom told me to smile no matter what. =)

Another Day in Paradise

I love leftovers. Soups gain depth and sauces souse (that's a new word I hope I'm using correctly). Food more often than not just tastes that much better the next day. Often I am reminded of the company with whom I may have shared that meal. Hopefully it was a pleasant experience, otherwise I tend to emotionally bar myself from eating that particular food again. If I can eat it though, it's like a bonus, because I don't have to cook anything new or go out and shell out way too much money on a bowl of noodles I can make myself. And when time is of the essence, meaning, I'm hungry now, leftovers make my day. Am I alone in the way I savor remnants?

So why is it that we feel slighted when we pick up scraps? Jesus rewarded the woman who asked for the crumbs from the master's table even after she was ignored and shooed away. What an amazing attitude to have - to understand that the gravy swabbed from His napkin was worth her daughter's life. Wow. After watching A Christmas Carol on TV, I was not only reminded of the over-abundance I wade in everyday, but how stiff my bed feels from the pennies I shove between it and the boxspring. I remember a time when experiencing God's compassion and generosity towards people were a part of my everyday. I was thankful for little things, like seeing the sun peak through the obdurately overcast sky, hearing the voice of my mom on the phone tell me to speak English because she couldn't understand my broken Mandarin, and Diet Coke that took more than three hours to find, purchase, chill, and sip. The only thing I still thank God for on a daily basis is being regular. No joke. Do you know what it's like to hop the C or D train everyday for over a year? In the absence of convenience, I see God in most everything. But in the overflow of blessing, I lose Him in the glare of my rearview mirror. God is good...all the time. All the time...God is good.

I guess asking Santa for a Tempurpedic mattress won't get rid of the crick in my neck. How about just a pillow?

I still have so much to learn.

The Prisoner

The operations segment of my division rolled out a re-org last week. My boss decided it was time to shake up the org chart for the sake of the business. But as much as it was explained that way, pride took front row to business acumen. Calls to HR, threats of law suits, and generally unhappy people gives the office a strange, unsettling feel. Having known about this shuffle awhile ago, I had been immunized to the initial shock. But I was taken aback by the commotion this all caused. Why are people so personally invested in their jobs? Is it that hard to disengage your human identity with the cubicle you occupy? The abode you call home? The vehicle that gets you from A to B? Dude, I drive a Camry. A CAMRY. Not even one of the nice looking ones of late. Asian females with bratty, culturally challenged kids who play the piano, violin, and captain the math team drive this car. The only thing I have in common with them is my inability to obey traffic laws (thankfully I have learned to anchor my identity in the Lord...most of the time). Granted, I do my fair share of stashing work stress in my briefcase and toting it home with me. But a good movie, a welcomed hug, or some yummy food will easily take precedence in my one-idea-at-a-time mind. In fact, sometimes it's enough to fool me into believing tomorrow is a sleep-in day or a day where I am pleasantly awakened by, well, something pleasant, like an early tee time! In any case, I thankfully boarded a plane just in time to avoid the initial aftermath of the corporate chaos.

Today is business as usual, at least for me.

Sleep All Day

As I quickly got comfortable in my cloud of a bed last night, my mind was formulating today's blog entry. But I'm struggling to remember the sleepy prose that seemed so eloquent as I prepared to enter the best part of my day. Something about getting over shame to take more risk. Brain dump begins now...

So what is it about embarrassment that makes someone...okay, who am I kidding...that makes me shy away from trying new things? I'm not terribly competitive or at least I've convinced myself that I am not. But the element of shame that comes with inadequacy sometimes overwhelms me. To give you a picture of how ridiculous this is, when I first became a Christian my freshman year of college, I fought the numerous invitations to join Bible studies because I didn't want others see me struggle to find where the heck John was in my crisp new Bible. Crazy. I didn't want to learn to play golf because I was afraid I wouldn't be able to hit the ball straight and far enough to finish one hole (which actually still happens even after six months of playing, mind you). Absurd. I still get pangs of anxiety in anticipation of using my four note range to impart cacophonous pain on my friends. Ludicrous. Isn't that the point of karaoke? Okay, not wanting to ski had more to do with not wanting to break a leg, but after almost doing just that, i'm ready for the next season (let me at that mountain!). But why the heck am I so concerned about what others think?

I need to get over myself and live a little.

November Spawned a Monster

Happy birthday!

Sunglasses at Night

I think it's amazing what our minds can conjure up and then convince us that the game is real. An operator on the floor came up with this absurd story that a few others have been sabotaging her work in order to get her fired. So they wait on the sidelines and go through the painstaking motions of undoing her work only to redo it the wrong way. How can that be? We have a hard enough time getting these people to simply WORK. But no problem getting them to dismantle and rework product all the while doing their own work too? I can't believe I spent half a day listening to all the sides of this crazy story. I guess this is a bit how parents feel.

Then I think about all the times I tried to scam my parents. As a kid, it was my job to keep them on their toes, right? Problem was, I was never that great of a liar. If I went into a life of crime, I think I would end up in the top ten of the annual Darwin awards. So why do we lie? Do we throw out those white lies to protect ourselves, to keep the waves calm, or just for pure sport? When people lie to me, I feel disappointed (granted I find out). But when they lie and I discover their deceit through other avenues, it's worse. For a moment, I feel betrayed, but then it ultimately points back to me. Why did they find it necessary to hide the truth from me? Is it because I can't be trusted? Or are they afraid of my reaction? I can hardly remember a time when they were trying to protect me from the truth. But that's just my perception. I guess it's true what they say. You can't change other people; you can only change yourself.

Who's they anyway?

She Will Be Loved

"Always the friend, never the girlfriend." Fortunately, I can't speak from personal experience. An old friend dropped me a line recently and asked why she constantly goes through this cycle of befriending guys only to have her heart broken when the guy's eyes divert to another girl. My heart goes out to her. Rejection is hard, but rejection when there is hope is painful. So I had to go to the source; I asked a guy. What are the signs we gals should look for in drawing boundaries so we can protect our fragile, easily misguided hearts from taking a beating? If you guys don't make a move in a few months, then we should finish building that fence.

But then the age old question still exists. What exactly are you guys looking for? The conclusion to this complex problem seems too simple. If you ain't got the looks, you gotta make up for it in personality. Overly simplistic? I hate to say it, but we gals agree. Well at least this one does. However, we tend to word it more eloquently, as to give it more substance. Eye candy is nice, but we are definitely aware that the lollipop doesn't last forever. So we look for character, for a good heart, and for money...oh wait, that's not it. Let me try that again. It's the kind part of your heart we're aiming to find. Once we find it, everything else falls into place. You become good looking, fun, and what we WANT. So we invest in our friendship with you to seek out that good heart, but therein lies the danger that we might fall into the vicious cycle again.

"Always the bridesmaid, never the bride." Can't say that's any better, but that's another story.

It Ain't Enough

Yesterday was a day of humility. My so called "golf game" brought me to my knees, 'cause no part of it seemed to work. But surprisingly, there wasn't a hole bad enough to ruin my chipper mood. The sun was shining, I was having a great time with friends, we had course-side seats to the 18th Annual Bridge School concert (Paul McCartney), and once every three or four holes, I would rip a nice drive (keep in mind this is relative) off the tee. Guess that's what they say keeps you coming back for more, and in my case, coming back later this week! I wonder when the novelty of this sport will wear off.

In the evening, I enjoyed one of my favorite dinnertime "events" - huo guo. My stomach is like a bottomless pit when it comes to hot pot, but apparently my colon didn't appreciate the overstuffing, sausage-like experience. You know, you can only stuff a sausage so much. And once you've reached maximum capacity, the stuffing has to go somewhere. I'll leave the imagery at that.

In all this, I remembered that my whole life seems to reflect God's plan to humble me. I think I was born way up on a self-built mountain, and little by little, He's knocked rocks out from under me. It's been a chain of trials marked by a record of survival that can only be attributed to His mercy. Pain is simply an element of daily life that causes me to be more dependent on Him.

In the meantime, there's golf and tennis. Who's up for a round?

White Flag

Started work this morning from my toasty bed at the ripe ol' hour of 4am. Extrusion was having trouble running a product we rarely make. I tried my best to clearly verbalize what I knew in my head needed to be done. Turn this knob, speed this up, pull this out. I was surprised at how incoherent I was for the first few minutes. Looking back, I can imagine how garbled I must have sounded in my half unconscious state. But even though I was disturbed from my slumber, I really wanted to get this product running again. It didn't take long, however, for me to realize that Pete was determined to shut the line down and cruise through the rest of his shift. My attempts to deter his "easy money" plans were fruitless.

So why even call? Why disrupt my much needed beauty rest? Why ask for help when he had no intention of implementing the solution? Unless I drove to work and ran the extruder myself, there would be no product going out the back door on grave. My everyday seems to be filled with these futile attempts at fixing problems. This used to be incredibly aggravating, but now I just throw my hands up and laugh. If they didn't pay me to work, I would have given up long time ago.

So nevermind the plans, the countless hours of working towards the better, and hoping and believing that progress can be made. I am too weak to push anymore. Congratulations, world; you win. I lose.

Psalm 25:16-18

Regret

Over the weekend, it took me the good part of an hour to hang Christmas lights. Christmas lights in October, you ask? My patio has been in dire need of additional lighting, and I figured these lights could add a festive appeal to my otherwise dreary cement slabbed "yard". I had my doubts that tiny quarter inch squares of velcro could anchor the weight of the bulbs, but after failing miserably with double sided adhesive tape and refusing to drill holes in the awning, velcro was going to work, darn it. I moved the heavy mirror closet door aside, which has called the patio home for a few too many weeks now, and reached way down to give my new lights electric life. Ta da! Nothing. Each bulb could have lit on fire, and I woudn't have known it, 'cause the bright sunlight overshadowed all other feeble attempts at emitting light. I had to wait until dark to see if my efforts were in vain.

That night, I had an audience in my brother to whom I could unveil the colorful new outside decor. We plugged that sucker in, and all but one red bulb did their job. A small setback, but not enough to burst my bubble. My brother re-installed the lone infidel and we gave it another whirl. BINGO. For the past few days, coming home and catching a glimpse of those lights has made me crack a smile just before entering my home.

So how is it that a realist (okay, I'm a pessimist, who am I trying to kid?) can muster enough out of character juice to string a few strands of hope together and then hang the better part of her life on it? Is it because all other efforts to find happiness have failed? No. Is it because I've been deluded into banking my future on futile investments? Gosh I hope not; I'd like to think I do my fair share of homework. Is it because others have taken advantage of my naïveté and taken me for a ride? I'd like to think I'm a decent judge of character. Maybe I'm not as much of a realist than I had thought. Maybe I'm just a fool.

Last night, the Christmas lights fell.

Stop Me if You Think You've Heard This One Before

It's early - before the butt crack of dawn, and I'm running on pure caffeine. Came in around 3am to co-teach a class, but instead, I was pulled away to fight major fires on the floor. For the past hour, I've been running from area to area putting on bandages where the blood was gushing. Got the constraint up and running, which was a major accomplishment for production, since we are knee deep in the busy season. Major case of nostaglia today, taking me back to the days when I got called in during the wee hours to help push product out the door. Once again, they've been fooled into thinking I'm some miracle worker. Ha.

So if you can actually relate to this rambling and like to play with polymers, drop me a line. I've got a job for you.

Love to Hate You

Why is that I allow people to treat me as if my feelings are secondary to theirs? Do I have a sign on my forehead that says, "Exploit me!", which can be interpreted to mean "yes, I will treat you like you're the most important person in the world, and you can do whatever you want, because I will always forgive you"? I have learned that a heart can only take so many beatings, so many tramplings, because eventually, it will not re-inflate to original size.

I suppose I should believe the best in people, believe that they are not out to hurt me, believe that they too just want to love and be loved. So is it safer to simply not trust anyone and be ultra careful about who I open the door to? Or should I naively prop the door open and welcome anyone who crosses the threshold? I guess discernment is the best answer to this age old dilemma. I had better listen more intently to what God whispers in my ear, since I have either chosen not to listen or subconsciously disregarded His counsel. Gosh, I will I had come to this revelation earlier in my life.

Blasphemous Rumors

Awaiting my lunch date outside an obscure Japanese joint, God pulled a fast one on me. Thinking we're all, as the Chinese say, "clever", we planned to meet up before noon to beat the lunch crowd. So as I approach the front door, I see a girl carrying groceries, happily walking, minding her own business. We exchange polite glances and continue on our merry ways, me to the front door, and she wherever the sidewalk was leading. But then she stops, swings her bags around to face me, and says, "Annie?" Stunned, I search my files for common girls names to fit her face. Oh my gosh, it's the girlfriend who turned my Zoloft needing friend into a "the sun will come out tomorrow" crooner! After swapping small talk about jobs, houses, and the weather, I am struck by a 10 second pang of guilt for writing my first blog entry. Doesn't last long, but it's enough to make me record the encounter here.

God had way too much fun with me today.