stephanieglenn

[stephanieglenn]

Please come out if you are in the area!

[stephanieglenn]

Risk

I tried something new and it didn’t work.  But I had to try. I’ve heard it said that the happiest people in life are those who take risks. I think that’s true. It is better to try and not succeed than to never try at all (actually its better to try and also succeed as it saves time,  but if that doesn’t work the former is just fine). Failure is the absolute best catalyst; it shows you what doesn’t work and sets you on the path to what just might work. So, don’t be afraid to take risks.

You never know where life is going to take you. Things happen that surprise you. It can be scary, but the scary stuff is sometimes the best because that is when real change can take place. So, go ahead and take the risk. You may succeed or you may fail. But if you don’t try you will never know. 

[stephanieglenn]

Window Boxes

I feel badly.  The one lone window box I have is not filled with flowers. I rectified that early this morning.  I pulled up two of my geraniums and dug up a nice plump sweet potato vine transplanting all into the smallish box. It is one Mike built years ago and hammered onto our shed under its little window. The box is small, with lots of slots for drainage, and is one of the reasons the dirt dries out quickly. It is for this very reason I often avoid putting it to good use - shame on me for not wanting to work, or water, hard.

At the local big box store this weekend I saw some cheap wrought iron window boxes and picked one up.  The one I bought had that brown grocery bag colored material in it as a liner to keep the dirt and moisture inside.  At home it looked small up against the window where I planned to put it; and I started to wonder, “Do I really even like this window box?”  “Will it look good with the house?” To help me decide I did a Google search and ended up on Pinterest (of course) to see what was out there; after all, I did not want to be unfashionable or behind times.  I wanted hip window boxes, not be the laughing stock of the neighborhood.  It was in this feverish search that it hit me - dawning like the rising of the sun on a clear day - the window box doesn’t matter; it is the flowers in them.  

Literally every window box I looked at could not actually be seen and the ones that I could see were just that: boxes. It was the purple, pink, and orange flowers springing up and draping over the edges that caught my eye; the array of flora and fauna, the splash of color and texture that made the boxes worth anything at all.  Relieved, “Whew,” I thought, and wiped my brow.  

And so it goes. We frame our lives.  We have our boxes.  But its whats in the box that matters and makes it beautiful.  Songs have been written about this. One of the most popular from this Baby Boomer’s memory is Tapestry, by Carole King. Another one, but not so cheery: Yesterday, When I Was Young, by Roy Clark. Words like “rich and royal hues,” lace the first while the other is full of regret: “I ran so fast that time and youth at last ran out, I never stopped to think what life was all about.”  Granted, there is a melancholy to Tapestry, but it is also hopeful and must be figured into the theme of the entire album (did I say album?). Both songs are about life but only one makes you hopeful because of the way life is remembered as the author frames her experiences in a backward glance.  Life is hardly ever perfect or without pain (studies show) but in looking back the writer is not filled with regret. Roy, on the other hand, makes you and your life feel like a total waste.

So live your life. Plant flowers, water hard, prune when necessary. Go about picking out the best flowers for the show. You only go around once; fall and winter inevitably come. Get to it; and if perhaps you look back from time to time frame that glance in as positive a light as you can; it will do you; and the ones around you, a whole lot of good.

[stephanieglenn]

Merry Christmas!

Everyone has favorite Christmas memories and I have made a few this holiday season.  My favorite so far was when my youngest son and his girlfriend came to dinner. It was the day after the ice fiasco and the snow was falling. They were reluctant to come out to the “country” because of the roads, but they came anyway; after all, Stephen was raised here and he knows we just get out and drive!  An inch or two of snow had gathered on the ground and it was really coming down when they knocked on the door. We laughed and hugged. This is always what you do when you enter someone’s house with snow on your head and face and the weather outside is frightful. I finished up my cooking as we talked and I got to know his girlfriend better.  I had simple gifts for them and we played a couple games of Sorry; a game the kids and I played rather voraciously when they were growing up.  Then I took out some old pictures of Stephen and we talked about the past as Jessica enjoyed his cuteness. He was a darling boy and still is.  He has the best eyes and the best eyebrows. We took our own pictures and then hugged with the vow that we would get together again soon; and we will.

My second favorite memory was of baking cookies with a girlfriend.  There is just something about being with a friend in the kitchen baking.   Enough said.

My next favorite memory was of shopping. I thoroughly enjoyed shopping this year. I like spending money and I like buying gifts for others. It all fell together simply. Right now I have packages stacked at my back door ready to deliver before I head to my brothers for dinner.

I met my brother a few days ago for a little Christmas breakfast and finally paid him back for the last two or three meals he bought me!  His wife came too - an added bonus.

Wonderful memories have been made at work. I am a nurse and I currently work in a small nursing home. Last week we had a Christmas party for the residents. I was singing in the halls and as I did others working in other rooms started singing with me. One little codger of a resident sang a whole verse of Silent Night with me as we just looked into each other’s eyes and smiled and shared the emotions of the moment deeply.  Her eyes lit up and the magic of Christmas descended in her little room.

Lastly, I got on Facebook last night after work (imagine that) and a friend from afar with no religious inclinations that I know of had recorded himself playing a very sweet version of Silent Night on his guitar. It was perfect.  He ended it with a sincere “Merry Christmas” to all. 

So, I’ll just say that to you.  Merry Christmas. May your heart be filled with the joy that comes from a story that has  changed our world in so many ways and heralded the best of wishes: Peace on Earth, Good will toward men.

[stephanieglenn]

Handling the Deplorables

After 7 weeks of being off my bike due to a broken elbow I went out to the garage, took it off the wall, aired up the tires, and went for a ride. Of course I was apprehensive but my rehabilitation working with weights was paying off and a gorgeous Sunday beckoned.  I was soon going to be on the road again, and it felt fabulous.

The first challenge was pumping up the tires. I’ve got the skinny ones so they take a good deal of air pressure.  I soon realized this was going to be harder than I thought and panicked halfway into the process when the pain was too great and my poor little arm could not go on pumping.  I solved this problem by laying a board across the handle of the tire pump and used my abdominal muscles to finish up - a sight that would have looked a little goofy to any passer by.  

When something breaks you never quite know if it can truly be fixed. This is one reason fear and anxiety creeps in when disaster strikes; or, what looks like disaster.  During my whole broken elbow fiasco there were times I became quite anxious, but life has taught me a thing or two and one is that “disasters” are often never quite as bad as you first believe.  The mind is a conjurer and much is played out upon its stage; however, often the first thing we think about almost anything can be quite wrong.  Daniel Kahneman points this out in Thinking Fast and Slow, a fascinating read from this Pulitzer Prize winner in economics.  The realization that our minds are often not as trustworthy as we might believe is great fodder for conversation and a catalyst for becoming a more disciplined thinker.

The few times I wanted to cleanse my soul with tears after I broke my elbow was when the doctor told me the bad news, when I found out I could not work for several weeks, and when I toppled off the couch on day 3. I did not cry when I learned I would be heading out west for several days of R & R. That would be California, where some of the protesting about Donald Trump’s political victory is occurring. Evidently, people don’t like the fact that he is “president elect” and are expressing this anger by destroying the personal property of others and complaining about things that haven’t even happened yet, like not being “heard” or “represented.” One protester said, “My greatest fear is that people are afraid,” according to a CNN interview.  So, I think it is safe to say that fear is a big motivator for the rigmarole and people’s minds have gone a little wild.  Clear thinking is not prevailing; passion is.

In the garage when I struggled pumping up my bike tires I put on a pouty face. This was because my dream of riding on a beautiful Sunday morning was being curtailed. I have a certain passion for biking. But I figured out a way around my problem as healthy people often do when things don’t go their way.  It’s called coping.  We might even call it critical thinking.  If for some reason I could not have ridden that day I would have continued to work on my muscle strengthening and waited for that strongly desired first ride; alternatives would have been to throw the tire pump across the garage or perhaps destroy my neighbor’s rose garden.

Passion plays a role in our actions.  We strive for what we want. Our loves and hates manifest and become strong motivators for all types of behavior; even murder, the courts say. I am not a very energetic political person but I have to admit that what happened in our Presidential election has captured my attention.  It has captured the world’s attention.  What with all the rioting and craziness, it makes you wonder about people in general and the role beliefs play in how we act.  So, if your team was the GOP, “congratulations to you;” if it wasn’t, hold steady, and maybe your team will win next time around. There certainly is no need to pack up and move to Canada (the celebs won’t do it and neither should you), and no need to trash other people’s personal property or protest the “deplorables” when they haven’t done anything to hurt you - at least not yet.

When I stretched out my arms for that first Sunday ride after breaking my elbow I was a little apprehensive and I didn’t really know what to expect because it was a new experience, but over the next few days as the warmth of fall prevailed I headed out again and again to enjoy the freedom that bike riding is, and found my groove. Life is like that; it is quite a ride and everyone chooses how they want to motor through it. I would hope that we all could agree in a civilized society that brick throwing, looting, and disrupting the peace in ways that can bring harm to others is not okay.  I know our country will settle down and that good things will come. Right now it is just not pleasant.  Maybe if we all appreciated the good things we have and hold in this country, and would have a bit of patience, we would see that all this clamor is quite unneeded. After all it was our President – President Obama - who said, “The sun will come up tomorrow!”  He knows the election of Donald Trump is not the end of the world and so should all of us. 

So, get on with it America, trash your bricks, cope, and let’s work together for the life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness that our constitution guarantees and that we long for individually and corporately. 

[stephanieglenn]

Broken Elbow Day 35: Healed!

I am happy to announce that after 5 weeks of following doctor’s orders I returned to his office today, was re-x-rayed, and have a piece of paper that says my elbow is completely healed. It still hurts a little but that will work itself out in time. Either way, I am now free of the ‘no lifting’ ban and can fearlessly pick up a mug of coffee without worrying that my arm will fall off.

There are critical stages to bone healing and this is one of the reasons not lifting is so important. To make this simple we’ll say there are three stages to this healing and I’ll explain them briefly, so don’t get scared off by all this:

1). Inflammatory stage 2). Repair stage 3). Callus formation and complete ossification

Stage 1 occurs during the first week as a blood clot forms around the damaged bone and chemical mediators help re-vascularization and tissue formation that eventually help new bone form. It is the most important part of the healing process.  Personally, I fell off the couch on day three. I was trying to get comfortable what with my ice, sling, pillow and all, and I got a little crazy. I may have even cried after I fell off. There is just something so very comforting about being on a couch when you are “sick” and falling off of it is just so counter productive. In addition, because inflammation is actually desirable during the first week you don’t want to take medications that are anti-inflammatory in nature, like Ibuprofen. I found this out through my own research after I had been taking daily hits of Advil, or whatnot. Take Tylenol instead.

Stage 2 occurs during week two and three and is the repair stage; this is when fibroblasts form stroma.  At this stage you don’t want to be smoking. Nicotine can cause this stage to be unsuccessful, resulting in a mal-union of the bone. In fact, smoking is bad just about any time during the healing (and living) process, except for maybe after sex.  So, knock it off.  

The third stage of healing is ossification. This is when a soft callus forms which eventually hardens into bone as you and I know it (week 4 to 6).

Mal-union is not a word you want to hear from your doctor when it comes to bone healing. Think malice, malignant, Maleficent! All bad words. Mal-union means the bone is like forever broken. My doctor put the fear of God in me when he said the first day he saw me, “Don’t lift with your right arm because if you mess it up there is nothing I’m going to be able to do for you.” Therefore, five weeks of no lifting and a simple sling for three. This is also when he told me if I was a guy he would put me in a hard splint, because guys are “knuckleheads” who would lift anyway - he meant like bowling balls, not the things I ended up actually trying to lift.

So, now not only did I have a broken elbow, I was  being harnessed with personal responsibility that had ramifications. Dang it. This led me to feeling kinda, sorta guilty if I tried to lift something. Before you get too judgmental these were things like a hairbrush, or cell phone, or toothbrush. I actually conducted a flu clinic in week two, but I don’t want you to know that. And I did not lift, I just kind of slid things around and poked people with needles.

Sadly, what with me being healed and all I can no longer write my “Broken Elbow day anything” blog (sigh). But I’ll report in periodically.

When the doctor told me I was “good to go” today I specifically asked him questions to be sure I understood. I felt skittish. My skittishness comes from remembering the trauma I experienced the day I broke my elbow, the fear of those first few days, and how my life was altered by not being able to work. Now, I have to basically get over all of that so I can get on with my life. And I have to get back on my bike.

My broken elbow did some pretty good things for me; in fact, it brought beauty into my life. I have practiced my writing and shared this gift with others. I took a trip to California and had a truly marvelous time with my family, and I shared my experiences in an almost daily blog.  

While one part of me was dormant I found life in another; which reminds me of 2 Corinthians 6:9, “… dying, and behold, we live” (The Bible, as in Holy, emphasis mine).

Discovering the road to healing of any kind is deeply personal, but once you find it you must be brave enough to follow it.  And when healing comes be brave enough to take it. Get to work, ride your bike, dig a ditch. I don’t know your broken parts and I can’t tell you how, exactly, to heal. This is because finding that process is part of the journey.  But, I can wish you peace, joy, and hope in your travels; and indeed, I most certainly do.

[stephanieglenn]

Broken Elbow Day 33: 76 Monterey

My dad did not dress up for work that day.  He moved slowly, hugged my brother and I good-bye, and went out the front door. I walked to the picture window and looked at him sitting in his car in the driveway. He put his hands on top of the steering wheel followed by his forehead. He did not see me watching. “What is wrong?” He pulled out of the driveway. I was 9 years old and the phone had rung early that morning.

Every now and again the universe throws a change up. In baseball, a ‘change up’ is a pitch accomplished when a pitcher holds the ball with three fingers. When thrown, the friction created by this slows the ball and the deceleration can cause it to arc differently, confounding the batter. He thinks he is getting a fastball when in actuality he is getting something entirely different.  While a change up makes baseball exciting, in life it can be devastating.

That afternoon I walked home from school with a friend. My dad was there, which was very unusual. It was too early. I could tell he had been drinking and he asked my friend Leah if she would go home because he had something to tell me. My brother arrived right behind and we set in our front room together. With tears in his eyes and agony on his face my dad told us our mother had died that morning.

There is no easy way to deliver this kind of news to children. Looking back, my heart breaks for my father, who was harnessed with such a responsibility. It was in the spring, “when flowers bloom and robins sing” that my mom died in a hospital in San Francisco from injuries sustained in a car wreck a week earlier. Her name was Mary.

In the late 50’s and early 60’s seatbelt legislation was up and coming; people were just beginning to figure out that when a human chest meets a steering wheel in a car crash the steering wheel tends to fair quite a bit better than the chest.  My mom was driving a white Rambler when she had her accident on the freeway, it did not have seatbelts, and to top it off automakers stopped making Ramblers a short time later; they were deemed unsafe. Cars are much safer now. I have a young niece who was recently in a car wreck and totaled her car, she was buckled up, the air bag deployed, and she walked away with a swollen hand and a hurt nose.  Thank God, and technology.  

Sitting In my cousin’s kitchen I am just minutes away from 76 Monterey Street in Daly City, California, where my dad broke such unbearable news to my brother and I.  My cousin and I visited the house last night as we usually do when I come back to visit. Unbelievably, this little cracker jack of a house is valued around $700,000. But it is worth much more. It is, in fact, priceless.

It was here my mom and I played Double-Solitaire; or, “Oh Hell,” as she called it. As the game got faster and faster cards flew and we yelled and laughed. On Monterey street I used to massage my mom’s face with Pond’s Cold Cream to make her feel special, and laugh at the curlers she put in her hair and whined when she put them in mine.  It was at 76 Monterey that I discovered my mom’s fear of mice. My dad once chased her around the house with one caught in a trap and she jumped up on a chair and screamed. She was a pretty good sport, but she had a temper, too. One day I misbehaved and she chased me into my bedroom. I had put one of those tinfoil pie plates down my pants to shield my butt (yes, she spanked) and it just made her that much more angry.  Bad me.

Even though she didn’t like rodents once my brother and I snuck a couple of hamsters into that house from the pet store, hoping mom would let us keep them.  We put them way up high on a shelf in the garage. She was just softening up to the idea when our Siamese cat killed them both. Evidently cats climb well and can fish hamsters out of buckets that have no lids. My brother and I rode our bikes up and down and up and down Monterey Street and would pick the long slender leaves from the palm trees and use them for swords. The week my mom was in the hospital I missed visiting her one night because I was too busy having the time of my life doing this.  I regret that choice to this day - but my young heart did not understand.

When my mom wanted me to try a food that was new or different she would always say, “now close your eyes,” real sweet like.  You have to live in the right part of the country to appreciate this, but we had snails in our backyard and we would play with them; we even had snail races, which were pretty boring. When she tried to feed me the real deal - fancy escargot from the store - I didn’t care if I was supposed to be a danged cultured Californian or not; when I closed my eyes and opened my mouth all I could see were the snails in our yard.  There was no way I was going to put a snail in my mouth and to this day I have not.

It was from this house we traveled to the ballpark and where I remember vomiting for the first time. The Giants had played a double header with the Dodgers and we ate hot dogs and drank Koolaid in the hot sun all afternoon. The next morning I thought I was dying and I called out for my mom as my stomach churned right before I upchucked. It is funny now, but back then it was frightening.

Not all of the memories made on 76 Monterey were good ones, but many of them were. As I stood in front of this house this week with my sweet cousin quietly waiting, I absorbed the shock of the past and once again cried tears of remembering.  

As we pulled away I choked and asked, “Zion. Is there a Zion hospital?”   “Yes, Stephanie. Mount Zion hospital in San Francisco.” “That’s it,” I said, “That’s where my mother died.”

For years after I could not go into a hospital nor could I go into a flower shop. The overpowering smell of the flowers reminded me of her funeral and I hated everything about her funeral. Everything. Which brings me to the present.  

The past is a place we visit in our minds.  Sometimes, we can visit it physically; which is a good thing, because our minds can be tricky.  I can say, “my room was so big when I was in 4th grade,” only to return years later and realize it was actually quite small. Much of memory is about perspective and who and what we were at the time. “Gee that was great” or “Wow that was horrible,” takes on new meaning as time passes, which makes the past a good place to visit, but a horrible place to live.  

The saddest people may be those who cannot or will not forget; who in looking back do not move on. To those of us who have been broken and experienced the unbearable, know that whatever life is, it is not just remembering; it is not just 76 Monterey.  It is all those happy, sad, bad, good moments that are yet to come, and the new places we should not be afraid to go.

Time is a good gift. Grieve as you must and cry your tears; then move forward; for the wide world, just as it is, awaits you.

[stephanieglenn]

Broken Elbow Day 28: Order the Dessert

If good food is associated with spirituality then I had an amazing spiritual experience this week. It was at a small Indian restaurant (think curry) called Avatar’s. In Hinduism, an Avatar is defined as the release of a deity in bodily form. I don’t know about all that, but eating at Avatar’s Restaurant in Sausalito rocked my world.  

My cousin and I are like sisters. As such, we have been known to argue. I have watched her make plans, change them, and then change the plans she changed. This almost happened the night we ate at Avatar’s, but I would have none of it. Tiring of oysters and clams I craved food that would fire up my mouth. When we got to the little strip mall that housed Avatar’s it didn’t look like much. Maria: “Oh boy, a hole in the wall.” Stephanie: “Let’s go in.”

If ever ‘don’t judge a book by its cover’ were true, it was true here. The restaurant seated less than 50 people and had a little stretch of bar seating that looked like something right out of Mayberry RFD. The walls were tidily covered with clean, crisp, black and white pictures of Indians in traditional Indian garb, and to get to the bathroom you literally had to pass through the kitchen. I paused, getting my bearings, because I had never ever done this before in any restaurant. I felt the heat of the burners and wanted to pick up a knife and start chopping vegetables, I was so close to the action.  But don’t go here for the looks folks; go for the food.

A dark haired Indian guy with a wonderful accent and name to go with it waited on us and boasted that NO butter, NO gluten, NO Cream (and some other NO I can’t remember) was used in any of their dishes. I recognized very little on the menu except for the curries. Their website announces they are “purveyors of ethnic confusions.” I found this to be true as the menu was a mix and match of unusual food combinations.  

Ashok Kumar, our waiter, and whose father’s picture graced one of the walls, also made sure we didn’t get our pockets picked as he skillfully took us through the menu in his own unique way; there was no time to waste because the door kept opening to let in new customers. We were steered away from wasting money on the special dipping sauces and he offered to pay for anything we didn’t like. Unsure if I would really enjoy the food because it was so different, I coyly batted my eyes telling him I had a small snack an hour earlier and was a “little full.” But he was confident I would be “licking” my plate by the end of the night, and told me so. That sounded a bit crass; after all, nice girls from nice homes don’t do such things; but just keep in mind that when you eat here you will have to tell whomever you are with to get the plate out of their mouth before dinner is over.

When the food came it looked like art and we enjoyed the masterpieces as we ate and ate and ate until we were stuffed. Then Ashok had the nerve to ask us if we wanted dessert. 

I am not a big dessert person when eating out. The choices are usually so mundane: crème brulee, cheesecake, chocolate cake, and “we have the most delicious” carrot cake, or whatever blah, blah, blah pastry.  At Avatar’s they had one dessert and only one dessert, and Ashok would not tell us what it was. “You will love it,” he said. A guy sitting on his little red cushioned bar stool at the Mayberry-like counter piped up, “It is pretty amazing.” 

I was stuffed. I could not finish what I had on my plate. I could not finish my beer.  I ordered the desert.  The only thing I’ll tell you is that it looked like cheesecake and tasted neither like cheese or cake.

If you are looking for a unique culinary experience at a reasonable price from an almost 5 Star Mayberry RFD style Indian diner in California please visit Avatar’s Restaurant in Sausalito. Food critics from San Francisco and beyond rate it as one of the best restaurants in the Bay area. And that is saying a mouthful. Don’t stress over the menu; just remember that it won’t really matter what you choose because you’re gonna love it all. 

And don’t forget to order dessert.

[stephanieglenn]

Broken Elbow Day 27: French Kiss

You meet people from all over the world in San Francisco. Yesterday while waiting for the ferry to Sausalito I talked to Germans, Australians, New Zealanders, and Chinese. People love coming to America, they like our stuff - especially stuff on the east and west coasts.  Oh, and Florida.

The Embarcadero, a road built on reclaimed land that stretches for 3 miles and is the home of famous piers, including Fisherman’s Wharf, is found on the waterfront of Eastern San Francisco.  Across the bay trendy Sausalito beckons with beautiful homes and shops and a rewarding panoramic view of the city and the Bay Bridge. Sausalito can be accessed via the Golden Gate Bridge or by ferry from Pier 41. It was on the ferry to Sausalito I met two Frenchman; but this is not where I got kissed. I had to go to the local market for that.  

Once I disembarked I walked along the Bridgeway Promenade, went to Sushi Ran to check out the menu, and stopped into a local market. Standing in the aisle looking for something I could afford as a snack I glanced to the left and saw a handsome gentleman in a black leather jacket with an orange scarf.  We looked at each other and smiled.

Smiling means something.  We smile when we are amused, to convey kindness, and of course, as a way of flirting.  I sat down with my tea and newspaper and shortly thereafter he walked to a table behind me.  We caught each other’s eyes again, smiled, and he lifted his ginger lemonade, “Bon apetit,” followed by a few more words in French.  Now, if any halfway decent looking guy is going to smile at me, sit by me, and whisper sweet nothings like “Bon apetit,” in my ear, I am going to join him at his table, and that is what I did.

After discovering he was from Boulogne we discussed our professions, for about 1 minute, confirming that the French actually like to enjoy time off from work. The French have a 35-hour workweek and a reputation for balanced living; something we Americans could probably learn from. I also found out a better way to overall health; when he found out I broke my elbow while bike riding Monsieur said, “Remember what Winston Churchill said about staying healthy?” “Nope.”  

1. Drink whiskey incrementally throughout the day 2. Do not participate in any sport

I laughed, and he told me he was an avid bike rider at home. Once I was totally enamored by his charm he dropped the bomb. “I am here with my wife.”  My heart sank.  She had designed his itinerary for the day, which included a solo trip to Sausalito.

While the French (both men and women) have a bit of a reputation for flirting and so forth, theirs is not a culture that tolerates cheating; no matter what you read in the tabloids. I know this because I know a lot about the French. This comes from the one hour I have spent in Paris and the fact that I read blogs about them.  Like any human being in any kind of intimate relationship; especially a family, they tend to value those relationships and would rather they not be broken apart by infidelity. And, believe it or not, no one likes to be the victim of a cheater: not even the French.

Upon finishing our lively conversation he shook my hand, twice in fact; and when he stood to leave he kissed me on cheek number one, then on cheek number 2. “Good-bye Mademoiselle.” I was absolutely smitten by this - he got me. I may have even reacted by reaching out to grab him and as he turned and walked away, but I really don’t remember. What I do remember is how his kiss made me feel: honored, cherished, and feminine.

Those French – they know what they’re doing.  

[stephanieglenn]

Broken Elbow Day 26: Take Me Out to the Ballgame!

Do this before you die: if you are a true fan of baseball - no matter what team you root for - see a game at The AT&T Park in San Francisco. If you are disappointed I will personally help you burn all the pictures you take. And you will take pictures.

Last night, San Francisco Giant fans had their heart broken. You can relate; we all know what it is like to get ready for a ball game. The anticipation and excitement is palpable. We want our team to win so badly. Maybe they have played well all season or come from behind. Maybe they just got lucky; but somehow they got here and we want them to go all the way. Fans in San Francisco were filled with hope believing the Giants could make it happen; they didn’t. But every fan, no matter what shape, size, or variety (including the guy with the Kansas City Royals hat 5 seats down), had a great time cheering on their team in this uniquely gorgeous ballpark.

I was not prepared for the breathtaking design of the stadium and its otherworldly feel.  But this is why we go to such places; they transport us. Unspoiled weather contributes to such feelings. “Come to San Francisco in the fall,” locals will tell you. I agree, and have yet to figure out how sunny, breezy, and 64 in this city feels so much better than sunny, breezy, and 64 practically anywhere else. The designers of AT&T Park exploit this, and other attributes of the city, which is why some have dubbed it the most beautiful new ballpark in the leagues. But don’t believe me, come and see for your self.

AT&T Park is not a large stadium. Around 42,000 people can sit here; it is compact, giving it a splendid boutique feel. You also get a smashing view of the Bay. Imagine this: in addition to the hullabaloo typically found at baseball games you enter the stadium and walk up the ramps and are met by sun, blue sky, a teasing breeze, and breathtaking views of the San Francisco Bay. This is not something experienced at baseball parks elsewhere. Plus, players can hit their home runs into the ocean, your children can play in the mini park behind left field, and you get to eat really, really, great food. Last night my cousin and I made our way into the Club level seating and ate some even greater really great food (I won’t tell you how this happened).  But seriously folks, what else would you expect from this city?  

Growing up as a child in the Bay area one of my favorite memories included watching baseball with our family of four. This is one of the reasons we watch the game; days and nights at the ballpark become memories that draw us together and make us one; even if we disagree about who should win. Back then I watched games at Candlestick Park and our house was divided. My dad and brother rooted for the Dodgers and my mom and I were for the orange and black. The song, Take Me Out to the Ballgame, complete with hand movements, accompanied us everywhere. We sang it at home, in the car, the playground, when we were with cousins, when we were with friends. Baseball united us.

My mom passed away when I was far to young and my dad much later; her passing took me away from the Bay to the midwest and this charming part of my life ended; but the memories linger. 

Over the years, returning to San Francisco has brought me past AT&T Park but never in it. Last night, thanks to my cousin, I took a step and cracked open the door to this new stadium and with it new memories. It was great watching the Giants survive game three and sad to see them go in game four. But I was sitting there sharing it all with family. I imagined how happy my mom would be if she were alive to find me with my cousins, the breeze off the bay blowing on my face, rooting for our team. I looked up at the sky and my heart broke for just a little bit. Then I smiled. “Buy me some peanuts and crackerjacks,” I sang. 

Yes, take me out to the ballgame.

[stephanieglenn]

Broken Elbow Day 24 & 25: Crazy

Years ago I traveled with a singing group to Europe. In Budapest our tour guide said in broken English, “I have booked the good weader.” A running joke with family is that whenever I come to San Francisco I book it too; so far so good, but three days of pristine temp and sun is coming to an end and we are actually going to get some rain. But I will forge on in the ‘City by the Bay.’

It’s important when you come to San Francisco that you do all the activities that make you fit in; one of which is motoring around downtown where you have to avoid locals who think they won’t die if you hit them with your car. You also have to be willing to drive around and around for an hour to find parking, dodge cyclists who wear dark clothes (and have no lights on their bike), and consume great food and drink at really, really, inflated prices. This last one makes you feel fancy and well bred.

Maria and I did the fancy restaurant thing the first night when we ate at Rose Pistola. Along with scallops, mushroom risotto, and sautéed spinach, we bought a $42.00 bottle of wine.

Maria: “I’m not a lush.” Stephanie: “It’s more economical to buy the bottle.” Drink, Drink. Stephanie: “Wow, you can really tell the difference between this and the cheaper stuff!” Maria, playing with her phone, “It’s $14.99 on the Internet.”   Stephanie knows nothing about wine.  

Besides causing us to stumble about and sing afterwards, the wine did serve a purpose.  It helped us forget about Romolo Street. Tourists, and even locals, have “near misses” in this city all the time. This is because the streets periodically disappear out from under you. We found one of these streets driving around North Beach looking for that fancy restaurant where we drank our expensive cheap bottle of wine.

“Should we turn here?” asks Maria as she’s turning. That’s when the front of her Mercedes became completely suspended in the air, and sky and skyscrapers were all we could see. It was exactly like being on the top of the highest roller coaster you can imagine waiting for that first big drop.  “Holy Bananas!” And other such words were uttered.  I braced myself but only after seriously thinking about bailing from the car.  Finally, the ground reappeared and we bragged the next day when passing this street, “We survived that!”

There have been some other “near misses” in the city in the past several hours. On Saturday a small boat of 30 people capsized in the bay. The bay was busy and thanks to the quick actions of good samaritans who got involved in the rescue attempt all were rescued and expected to survive; a bystander even jumped into the cold waters of the bay, swam up under the capsized boat, and rescued a child and his father. 

This is a crazy city with some crazy people, but they pull together when they have to.  They are survivors.  This shows in the way they’ve rebuilt after earthquakes, survived as pedestrians downtown, and even by the way their team plays baseball.  And I am glad to be a part of this crazy, wild bunch, even if only for awhile.

Now, what about them Giants!?

[stephanieglenn]

Broken Elbow Day 23: Dog On A Plane

An airport, and the entire flying experience, was invented to show people how well they can’t follow directions and how they have absolutely no idea what they’re doing. Example: I spent $15.00 three weeks ago to upgrade to “early bird” check in on Southwest Airlines and ended up the last person to board the plane on the first leg of my flight to California. This was because my definition of A-30 on the boarding pass was my seat assignment, not the chronological reveal of the order you board and then scramble to get the seat you want.  Subsequently, I lost my position. It has been way too long since I’ve flown Southwest.

You’d think because of this I would get a rotten seat in the back of the plane? Not so.  After boarding I walked down the aisle to row 9 where a young girl moved her purse from the middle seat, scooted over, and let me have the aisle seat.  I’ll call her Susie.

Not only is the flying experience designed to show how confused you are, it helps you get to know your family better - which is the entire human race from God knows where.  Susie was young, hip, from North Carolina, and worked for Nordstrom. When I discovered this I immediately apologized for how poorly I was dressed.  She had on a Cashmere sweater for Pete’s sake…but there were holes in her jeans. This is because high fashion has changed. I think Susie might have been a little scared of flying, too, for she told me we were in the best seats in case of a crash. That’s not really true, but I didn’t want to spoil it for her. You want to be in the back of the plane when the pilot decides you’re going down; or, someone else in the plane decides you’re going down. But you should only worry about such things if you have no faith in the 1 in a million chance this will ever happen (I hope I haven’t jinxed my return flight by saying this).

On the second leg of my trip I also arrived at the gate late because I don’t learn from my mistakes. Imagine my surprise when I found an empty seat in the first row!  I laughed a sinister laugh.  Being on the first row you are close to the bathroom, you get your snacks first, and you can stretch your legs. You also get out of the plane first (“Yeah, I win!”).  Additionally, I was close to the kitchen and stewardess and kept bugging her for more of everything, including Oreo cookies, which I fed to the dog.  

I have had a fair amount of travel experience but never in my life have I sat next to a dog on a plane.  This was not a lap dog either, but a medium sized mixed breed who could take up the entire floor if it wanted to; which it did, but it turned out to be quite alright.

The owner, Lin, told me her dog was “an emotional support dog.” I don’t know a lot about this kind of thing but doctors can prescribe animals for you, like a pill, only you get to feed it; this sets you up to get special waivers when you don’t want to spend the money to store your animal in cargo. Which sounds really mean of me given the circumstances. So, now I’ll tell you the truth.  

Lin and her dog Stella were on the plane and I was completely charmed by both of them the entire trip. Stella did eat my Oreos.  Lin didn’t because there was no milk. In the end I was very glad Stella didn’t have to go it alone in cargo. I never asked Lin the reason for the emotional upheaval in her life that led to needing dog support, but I made a few guesses based on the fact that we talked nearly the entire 4-hour trip. We discussed everything from our families, her education and mine, relationships, racism and what was going on with all the black shootings, ramifications of the gorilla shooting at the Cincinnati Zoo, and life in China (a place she had lived and studied). I did not know that in China you stand when you pee and poop in public restrooms and there is NO toilet paper. But the Chinese are very mannerly and honor each other in unique ways. I gave Lin a list of movies to see and books to read, one being The Good Earth, by Pearl S. Buck. You should read it, too.

Lin was articulate, mature beyond her years, transparent, and a great listener of the meanderings of a woman of my age.  This was probably because she liked her mom who she often brought up in our conversation. She also had a great unruly Afro that reminded me of Angela Davis, but the Black Panthers would not have been on Lin’s radar as she did not believe in protesting (she told me so) and was only 26. We both decided sitting around a table talking and trying to understand each other might be a better idea if we want to change the world. I actually punctuated this with “there is a time for protest,” which I do believe. 

During the flight Lin told me the reason she was moving from St. Louis to the Bay Area was the kind of energy she discovered when she actually lived in San Francisco for a year.  We both laughed when she stumbled over her words a bit and ended up saying CALergy – a new word Lin and I now claim we discovered and need to patent. You heard it here first folks!

The plane landed and I literally flew off the plane; I met up with Lin and Stella in baggage and Lin shared some CALergy with me by giving me a big hug and thanks for helping her time on the plane pass swiftly. 

Everyone has a secret dream of living in California, they just know they can’t afford it; but not even Californians can afford it so don’t let that stop you. It is a place of wonderful energy, immense variety, and a unique combination of “chill and relax.” 

As my cousin Herb told me yesterday at a party when he was lining me out: “You’re in California now baby – you’re in California.”

Yes, Yes I am.

[stephanieglenn]

Broken Elbow Day 22: The Streets of L.A.

On day two of my broken elbow I thought of the slogan, ‘Gotta Get Away,’ sold it to Southwest Airlines, and then asked if they had a ticket for an out-of-work-woman who wanted to leave town. They said yes.  Okay, that’s not completely true; but its close.

Southwest Airlines has likely made enormous amounts of coin off people like me; who, even though they are out of work and low on money feel they deserve an airplane ride. There is only so much writing, walking, talking, and eating you can do when you have a broken arm and I cannot see me just sitting around the house for five weeks killing flies and meditating on the mysteries of life. Plus, what few friends I have are sick of me pestering them. But there is one mystery I have solved, and it concerns rich people.  I now understand why really rich people who do absolutely nothing travel; they are bored. I feel their pain; so, I’m outta here.

I’d like to say my destination is an extravagant sunny beach where I will wear my bikini; or, the most popular city visited in the world (its not, but that would be London). It’s also not the most popular city to visit in the United States (that would be New York City).  Actually, it’s not even in a top-10 list of “likely to be visited” in America.  This makes me now question why I spent all this money on a ticket. Some say the reason for its unpopularity might be related to human feces on its streets, but I hear they are working on that.  I stole that last line from a thrillist.com website. I stole the next paragraph too:

In this city everyone has a “freak flag” and they let it fly, people don’t dress up much although when they do they try way to hard; and, it is too expensive to live there.  Rent is higher here than in New York City, even though New York City is a more popular destination. Go figure. Things this city is most noted for: highest percent of singles, good job market, best at having cold summers, best destination for a wine vacation and best food destination.  Note: No problem about the cold summers; warm weather is 30 minutes away no matter which direction you drive.

This city is also VeRy, vErY, very liberal.  See “freak flag” above.  Ironically, it is a preppy haven.  So, why would I want to visit?  Because that is where my cousins live and I haven’t bugged them in 4 years.  Bi-yearly phone conversation with Maria: “When ya comin out?” “When ya comin out?” “When ya comin out?”  Enough already.

My cousin Maria has a heart of platinum. We reconnected years ago after not seeing each other for 20 years (that makes me sound really old). She is a loud, cooking, loud, cooking, loud Greek.  When my ex-husband met my side of the family he said, “Now I know why you are the way you are.”  This was not a compliment. At the Greek Festival in Kansas City this September there were t-shirts that read, “My Wife is Greek, Please Feel Sorry For Me,” or something to that effect.  You saw the movie My Big Fat Greek Wedding, correct?  Then you know.

One of the normalizing features of visiting my cousins is the Starbucks right around the corner from their house. If things get too crazy I can try to calm myself by drinking caffeine. Greeks are not calm and we need drugs or Ouzo (an anise flavored aperitif) to make it so.

Trivia question: the three founders of Starbucks met here in college; therefore, if this city did not exist you would not be able to wake up in the morning. Take a risk and guess this city.

P.S. Do not say L.A.

[stephanieglenn]

Broken Elbow Day 21: Fly B Gone

There’s something very feng shui about waking up to a clean kitchen. For one, it’s easier to find the coffee pot; and another, its just flat out invigorating, “Yea, I don’t have to do dishes this morning!”  

While I like a clean kitchen I don’t always do what it takes to have one - like clean it. This is true even when both my arms are working well. These days I have a perfectly good excuse for not cleaning anything (right arm: broke). Here’s a no brainer: if you stop washing your dishes, leave food out on the counter, or refuse to take out the trash, you are going to draw flies. Subsequently, I have a housefly infestation and I had to deal with this problem last night…and the night before.  Before you report me to animal control please understand: there are no small children in the home.

Solving any problem begins with properly understanding it. This is no less true when battling flies. To get rid of flies you have to understand a bit about their likes and dislikes. Let’s start with fly lifestyle issues. Flies are attracted to stinky things. This is why you should not leave food scraps rotting on the kitchen counter or elsewhere in the home.  Having a little knowledge of the life cycle of a fly helps too. But since the growth and development of flies are really gross let’s suffice it to say that after three days of life a fly can reproduce up to 150 little fly babies. This is not good.  That’s why you either have to clean (to avoid the problem in the first place), or, learn to kill flies fast (so you don’t have to deal with their babies).

You would think the most logical thing to do to get rid of flies once you notice them is to get the fly swatter out and make them wish they’d never been born, right?  Wrong. In fact, my principle source of research for this blog (and I have done my research) leaves fly swatting as the last resort. Now I’m wondering if I chose the correct ‘source’ because their idea of a good solution is making homemade fly paper, which might appeal to those who aren’t comfortable swatting anything, including flies; but not me.

You probably discovered this long before I did, but just about any problem in life can be solved by going to wikiHow.com. It works like this. People like you and me submit little “how to” articles complete with pictures to show others how to do really, really simple things. Thus, the picture at the top of the page shows you how to swat a fly with your hand. Pretty revealing isn’t it?  If you’ve never used the site you’ve missed a true gem and it may be the reason you can’t get rid of flies, change a light bulb, or start a car.  In an effort to be helpful I am going to share what I learned on this site about fly killing. If you ever encounter a fly you’ll know exactly what to do. Of course you have every reason to be confident, for like its predecessor, wikipedia, wiki.How is based on rock solid research.

First, flies like sweet things and they are stupid around water.  So, set some soap and water out in a bowl and they will come to the pool party. Use a sweet apple or lemon scented soap.  Mix well and watch ‘em drown.  

Secondly, flies don’t like cayenne pepper. This next tactic makes real sense - make some pepper spray. You do this by mixing a little cayenne pepper in a bottle with water and spraying it in the house; like around doorways, windows, etc. Whether anyone else will continue to live with you after this has not been studied.

A third way to get rid of flies is to hang half filled baggies of water around your house. The rationale is that the reflection caused by water and light tricks flies into thinking it is a spider web; they avoid it and go somewhere else – like your neighbor’s place. Choose this option if you don’t like your neighbor. This same light trickery can be accomplished by hanging old CD’s or empty DVD covers around the house.  At this point you are probably asking who would do such a thing?  Answer: a redneck.

If you have a good reason for not following any of my suggestions, might I recommend taking whatever you have on hand and just start swinging; trust me, the flies will die if you hit them. There is also another boring alternative. Keep your kitchen clean.

[stephanieglenn]

Broken Elbow Day 20: Tis’ a Puzzlement

I have never ever been a fan of crossword puzzles.  But there was a time in my life when I was indubitably drawn to them. While working crossword puzzles may not stave off Dementia or have other magical powers, it does help you become fluent and reveals your cognitive health.  It also fills a void.

Serious crossword puzzlers are a cult of sorts.  They are geniuses of the realm; ninjas, who can complete a crossword puzzle in minutes; and not just any puzzle, but ones like those found in the New York Times (NYT).  The documentary, Wordplay, chronicles the history of crossword puzzles in America and the contribution of Will Shortz.  It briefly touches upon a most clever puzzle created when Bill Clinton and Bob Dole were running against each other for the presidency.  The answer to ‘39 across’ would be correct whether you put in Clinton or Dole’s name. That’s cute.

Shortz is the editor of the NYT crossword puzzle, helps out at National Public Radio, and hosts the yearly American Crossword Puzzle Championships – an eclectic gathering of crossword aficionados who win money by solving puzzles fast and accurately.  People who work crossword puzzles do so for a variety of reasons, but one is because Homo sapiens like to solve problems.  We also value certainty. You figure out the word, fill in the little white space, and bam! Perfection. In a world with a vast array of problems that we can’t solve it is good to be able to have some we can.  

A year ago I experienced a problem I could not solve.  The problem gendered a great deal of uncertainty, fear, and anxiety.  I had never experienced anything quite like it.  It was during this time I was drawn to crossword puzzles. I thought, “What can I do?” So, I bought a small book of  puzzles and worked them daily; I also started reading a book: Thinking Fast and Slow, by Daniel Kahneman.  Both of these exercises helped relieve my anxiety and occupied space as the problem resolved itself - which by the way, all problems do.

The real take away for me was recognizing that my fear and anxiety did nothing to change my circumstances or solve my problem.  I didn’t even have all the facts about my ‘problem’ but I took it upon myself to extrapolate from a circumstance various outrageous scenarios to the point of almost making me physically ill.  This taught me volumes about how I think and how I am often “handled” by fear and anxiety, which ties into a new mantra of mine: If you know something is broken you can fix it.  We all have areas of brokenness; when we become aware of those areas it can change our lives.

Life is often puzzling.  We can’t find the solutions to the grid; but fear and anxiety solve nothing.  If you don’t know the facts stop thinking the worst. Why torment yourself?  Step back and breathe; fill the void of ‘unknowing’ as healthily as possible and take well thought out steps with the information you have; trust that during times of uncertainty there is a plan at work for your good; and that in God’s good time the grid will be filled in with words that make perfect sense.  

[stephanieglenn]

Broken Elbow Day 19: Feng Shui

Last evening I checked out two educational DVD’s from the library; one on the history of Crossword Puzzles and one on Feng Shui. I learned good stuff. In regard to the former, if you can do the New York Times crossword puzzle you can do anything.  So, keep practicing.  In regard to the later: you better start rearranging your furniture.  

Feng Shui is a practice that recognizes your environment is influenced by Chi - the breath or energy of life. Chi exists in nature, your body, and specifically around and in buildings.  The location of your home or office and the arrangement of furniture in it either blocks Chi or helps it flow. Outside, this energy force is highest around water and mountains. This is why the happiest people live in Hawaii. Fact check if you don’t believe me. The “happiest” city; however, is Napa, California. This one is a no brainer.  Chi is not found in the desert so you don’t want to live there. 

Its a big thing to have a Feng Shui practitioner come to your home and tell you where to put your furniture so you get the most out of your Chi: which is basically how you are going to live a happy life and make lots of money. Feng Shui consultants helped design Trump Towers in New York City. They recommended the main doors open toward Central Park. Good idea.

An analysis of your home or business could be costly but worth it because getting your Chi right is important; if you don’t you are going to have a miserable life.  But even if you don’t have lots of money for the evaluation there is hope. Key to understanding Feng Shui is that its practice, at least when it comes to the arrangement of furniture in a room, is largely intuitive.  The DVD said so. So, you might want to use your intuition, which has more to do with your white matter than your gray matter.  Therefore, even if you are not bright you can still be really happy.  Example: you walk into your friend’s house and think, “This room is terrible! ” You are right; it is – you just don’t feel good being in it.  The reason for this is that the furniture is arranged in such a way that the Chi is being blocked.  So when she’s not looking, rearrange it.

Here are some basic decorating principles of Feng Shui:

Your couch should not block the entryway to a room. If your front door opens directly to stairs you are in trouble. I forget why; but put a mirror at the end of the stairs to help the Chi - or move the door. Hang mirrors in general Clean your house and keep things picked up.  (Where have I heard this before?) If you have bunk beds get your kid out of the bottom bunk - fast!  Their Chi is being blocked; or, put some stickers up of stars or planets, which helps for some reason.

Feng Shui does have its downsides; for example, the constant rearranging of furniture could mask Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. It can also cause accidents. You heard about the boy who went into the living room to hang up the phone without flipping the light and face-planted onto the recently relocated aerobics trampoline?  So yeah, you have to be careful with this stuff.  

In summary, it is very important to have your house in harmony with Chi; if that doesn’t work, pack up and move to Hawaii, where neither your house nor your furniture will matter one whit.

[stephanieglenn]

Broken Elbow Day 18: Sideways

Most of what I see on my daily walks is pretty mundane. I was surprised on Sunday morning by a portapotty lying on its side. I approached it from the back. My first thought was, “How did this get here and why is it sideways?” The second, “I hope there isn’t someone lying on the other side of this thing!” There wasn’t.

The movie Sideways appeared in theaters in 2004.  Sideways is slang for getting wasted, banjaxed, blitzed, fleemered, kippered, schnockered; that’s right, drunk. You likely saw it. The plot centers around two unsuccessful middle-aged guys who are friends and go to Santa Barbara wine country to celebrate one of their upcoming marriages.  Their dreams have not come true and their ship has not come in. But it is a comedy as well as a drama.  Miles wants to take Jack on a relaxing week of good food, good wine, and golfing. Jack has other, more lascivious ideas, and it gets him into a world of trouble that is quite frankly hilarious to watch. Watch this movie if you haven’t – it will make you think twice about getting a little too banjaxed.

Sometimes life gets off kilter. We happily roll along and then,” Wham!” Sideways. This is when it is good to have a friend. In fact, whenever I use a portapotty I always imagine the possibility it could tip over and it makes me nervous. Don’t criticize me - look at this picture!  

Porta potties serve a great purpose and I have actually been in some very nice ones. This one is kind of spiffy, even though it’s on its side. One time I was in a portapotty that had a light. Cool. No one likes to be in the dark when it comes to such matters. This leads me to an itsy bitsy teeny complaint and it is that you can’t actually see into the toilet of a portapotty - no matter how bright it is. Because of this my thoughts can get a little weird.  Is there a dead body down there?  Is something waiting to reach up and grab me?  For some wacky reason I also believe in the possibility that a reptile could be lurking in that abyss. Come on, what is the matter with me? Snakes don’t live in porta-potties. Then I searched the Internet on the subject.  Pause.  Scream.

Like most conveniences in our culture porta potties will continue to evolve, like the snakes that live in them; take for instance, the fairly recent addition of dispensers for hand sanitizer. Hand sanitizer was invented in 1966 but just a few short years ago you were on your own in the hand-washing department after using a portapotty. This is because no one realized germs are carried on your hands and spread disease until quite recently.

But all of my jibber jabber doesn’t solve the mystery of this portapotty and why it is here.  Why is it sideways? The answer is I really don’t know. I can make some educated guesses: there is going to be a party on the parkway and its needed, it got lost, someone left their tailgait open and it fell out. Maybe Martians dropped it.  I do know that without a little help it may never fulfill its purpose. It needs a friend. Someone to “right” it.  I’d like to think that when I get a little sideways there is someone around to “right” me.  We can all get off kilter. Something happens and wham, we are on our side.  

In the movie Sideways, Miles works with Jack to help him get his act together and they both make it safely back home. Along the way they laugh, cry, argue, empathize, yell, sulk, talk, and don’t always treat each other the best.  But that is what friends do - and we need them.