LOVE―to go fast

“No one is so old as those who have outlived enthusiasm.” Henry David Thoreau

Enthusiasm for "toes in the water"

“Lucy!―you drive that wheelchair like you drive your car!” a fellow physical therapy school student yelled at me as I wheeled around the corner and about ran her over.  The near accident occurred as I was traveling at breakneck speed (surely I was running late) down the hall to my class.  

At some point during our spinal cord injury class we were all subjected to the experience of being “wheelchair bound” for a week. Unlike most students, who found the experience to be cumbersome, I found great joy in the speed with which the wheelchair provided on long straightaways.  I like to go fast!  

Amazingly, I have made it through my life with only one speeding ticket citation.  The ratio of citations to actual occurrences must look like the odds of winning the Powerball lottery.  1:13,578,892―or something to that effect.  

I have no idea why it took me this long to figure out the simplicity of this idea―especially in how it relates to so many facets of my life. Polo, skiing sports, BASE jump, skydiving, parasailing, surfing, sailing, roller coasters, biking, boating...all of it! These all have one thing in common.  Speed.  I love to go fast. I really love to go fast!  I REALLY really LOVE to go FAST! And with a level of enthusiasm that I feel sure I will never outgrow. I have a desire for new things and learning that I hope I never lose a passion for. 

And now, I have discovered barrel racing.  Wow!  What a rush!?!  My Mother used to summarize my speedy little self by simply telling people I had only two speeds: Stop. And Go Really Fast. At it’s basic core, that’s exactly what happens in barrel racing. You haul tail to one barrel. Stop to make the turn around it.  Haul tail to the next barrel. Stop to make the second turn. Haul tail to the last one. Then, after that last turn, you haul tail out of the arena. Oh yeah, I forgot to mention stopping at the third barrel―maybe that’s why I knock that one over the most...   I always have had a little trouble with STOP.  I need one of those Forrest Gump signs that says, “Run Forrest! STOP Forrest!”

The part I like about going fast is the wind in my hair, the exhilaration of the senses, the sound of the “rush” blowing by my ears.  That “rush-ing” sound is even my favorite part of duck hunting―there’s nothing better than the sound of the birds coming in at sunrise.  “Whoosh!” as they swoop down onto the water.  There is something magical about the air in all of these activities and the sense of speed I associate with all of them. 

I am a Gemini―an air sign.  I’m not a big astrology person. But I think there’s something to the whole thing. Let me just say that at the very least, when I read the description of a Gemini I find quite a few similarities to my own personality. 

In awe of the sky and air at Pawley's

Gemini: changeable, mutable, sparkling and light quality, enjoy being in the middle of everything, talkative (haha!), curious about lots of different things, big communicators, talented at writing, teaching, and public speaking.

If Gemini were a drink, it would be champagne. Bubbly. Fun watch. A refreshing change from the ordinary. Always changing. Light on the palate. A party in a bottle. Easy to get dizzy on when over exposure occurs. 

I do run life at a dizzying pace sometimes.  I am often asked, “Do you ever take the time to just slow down?”  

The answer: Yes. I do stop. I have been in a Pawley’s Island hammock for the last hour writing this entry. In this moment, one could say I am the bubble at the bottom of the glass of champagne. I am stuck to the bottom for just a few more seconds―then it’s off like rocket, up through the flute of the glass, to the surface with “POP!” What a ride! What a rush! It’s not for everyone. But it’s me.

Stop....go really fast.

A place I like to stop...

Love―for the duration

FRIENDS

“Friends are a strange, volatile, contradictory, yet sticky phenomenon. They are made, crafted, shaped, molded, created by focused effort and intent. And yet, true friendship, once recognized, in its essence is effortless.
Best friends are formed by time.
Everyone is someone's friend, even when they think they are all alone.
However, sometimes it takes more effort to make it work after all.
Stick around long enough to become someone's best friend.” 
―Vera Nazarian

Old friendships are like a fine wine, that keeps getting better with time...

I have been blessed with many good friends in my life.  Just like spring flowers vibrantly bloom and fall leaves turn bright colors―so too, certain friends have been more prominent during different seasons of my life. 

I love making new friends. It’s been one of my favorite things about what I’ve been doing the past year.  And how I do love my old friends as well!  These are the friends I can go weeks, months, or even years without much contact―then pick right back up with―as if no time ever passed. Both new and old, friends are a blessing. 

A good (old) friend once quoted to me a great line from the movie Sweet Home Alabama... “you can have roots and wings” ―as relative to my travels. Well, if that’s true―old friends are, at least in part, the roots of life. Our old friends know us like no one else.  They know the things we hid from our parents growing up. They know the depth of broken hearts we’ve had. The silly of our youth. The struggles of our growing up. The wishes that have come to fruition. The dreams that we have been forced to let go of. They know the blood and sweat of the pursuits of our adulthood. 

"You can have roots and wings..." Sweet Home Alabama

Old friends are very much the “mathematical constants” of life’s equation. By definition that would be: a special number, usually a real number, that is “significantly interesting in some way.” Old friends ground and define our equations.  And, quite often, when the equation of life is not working out as we’d planned, we scratch everything but those constants for a clean slate “do-over.” But the real, the special, the significantly interesting in some way...that all stays put―as we try to work the numbers again and succeed.  

I was reminded on one of my most special and dearest friend’s birthday recently of thoughts we once shared on this topic from the movie “City Slickers.” All of the characters were at some major crossroad in their life before heading out west to wrangle cattle for a weeks vacation. What the movie highlighted so well, was how old friends are a mirror of truth we can hold up (like a compass) when deciding how to navigate those crossroads. Who are we?  Where do we want our life to go? Not that our friends decided this for us, but that they are the best guides to show us our history and what has defined us thus far. 

I wouldn’t have made it past several crossroads of life if not for certain old friends. And I love the promise I share with one of these old friends (which most recently moved from the unspoken promise that was always there, to a spoken one when we coined the promise into a simple phrase): “for the duration.”

A beautiful "cross road" of life...

It was through this promise that I learned what the love of old friends is really about. Friends that go through broken hearts and share in the amazement that they didn’t kill us. Friends that make each other keep laying down tracks for dreams that seem far away―in hopes the train will one day come.  Friends that provide the emotional fuel to allow us to climb over the mountain to the other side. Friends that (symbolically) hit each other over the head with the cast iron skillet for wake up calls when needed. Old friends. Loyal friends. Friends―for the duration. 

WORK― at PROBLEM SOLVING

If the only tool you have is a hammer, you tend to see every problem as a nail.Abraham Maslow

It’s funny how one person can struggle with things changing so much and have someone so close to them struggling with them not changing.  The problem with life is so often bad timing.  Why is it that when we want things to stay the same they always seem to change?  And when we are dying for a change we find ourselves stuck in a maze―hitting brick walls at every turn―unable to escape to the new place we so desperately need to get to?

The problem of bad timing can manifest itself in many shapes, sizes, and forms. But Alanis Morissette’s song “Ironic” comes to mind as the best way to portray what I am talking about.  Lines like: “A traffic jam, when you’re already late...” (which is every day for me). And “A death row, pardoned two minutes too late.” That whole song is about bad timing.  My favorite line is: “It’s like 10,000 spoons when all you need is a knife.”  ONE KNIFE...please!  And isn’t it ironic? ...I was actually hunting for ONE plastic SPOON for my “to go” yogurt breakfast just this morning.

That’s where my quote comes in: “If the only tool you have is a hammer, you tend to see every problem as a nail.”  While this quote has many applications, when is comes to life’s timing issues I think it speaks volumes regarding our approach.  Bad timing can be navigated poorly or very well...depending on how we look at our available options for a solution.  When we choose to only see what is familiar to us (a hammer), sometimes that limits our vision for solving the problem to doing it the same way we always have (by hitting the nail).  

Me feeling the AWE of the HAMMER (apparently!)

I will never forget working on Habitat for Humanity project one summer at Camp Baskerville in middle school...mostly because it was about a thousand degrees outside everyday.  The contractor that led the project was a wonderful man who really took the time to teach us some building skills.  I think I was about thirteen years old, but with supervision and direction, I built a closet that summer.  

Two members of the family BEFORE the remodel was finished

Another member of the crew working hard.

It was part of a remodel that was done to a sweet and deserving family’s house.  There was a moment when I was trying to nail a cross support rod into a tight space with an old fashion hammer (no air hammer’s on this project) and there just wasn’t enough space to finish driving the nail because of the tight angle at the back corner of the closet.  I called the contractor over for help.  He walked right in, saw my dilemma, flipped his hammer over sideways, and used the flat outside edge (instead of the head) to tap-tap-tap the nail down into place.  I had a “blond girl moment” and thought to myself “now why couldn’t I have figured that out!?!”

Yes, that's me...Many thanks to wonderful friend and fellow Baskerville attendee Katherine Sabalis Miles for digging these old pictures out of her scrapbooks!!!  Who knew my "best feature" had been documented in white GUESS cut-off jeans!?!

The answer: Limited vision.  I only knew one way to solve the problem.

I was reminded of the above incident as the man who delivered my new sofa and chair/ottoman this past week struggled to get the bottom pin of the door to my house out from the hinge last week (the doors had to come off in order to get the sofa in).  I swear he would still be there trying to get the pin out the same way over and over again unsuccessfully had I not gently “suggested” that he flip his hammer over.  Ever heard that quote by Albert Einstein? “INSANITY: Doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results.”

After the “suggestion” was followed, he just looked up at me like “Who are you Lady? Bob Villa’s daughter?”  

My point on bad timing is this: We can’t always fix our timing issues by hammering down the nail the way we know how to. Sometimes we have to get a little more creative.  And sometimes, we just have to wait until the right helper comes along to show us a new way.  

Duke―loving the new chair and ottoman...but still hating Monday's as much as me! (taken on 02-25-13)

LOVE―unpredictability

“All human plans [are] subject to ruthless revision by Nature, or Fate, or whatever one preferred to call the powers behind the Universe.” Arthur C. Clarke, 2010: Odyssey Two

Still here!

I am still traveling, but a very unexpected turn of events has occurred.  The basic definition of opportunity is a possibility due to a favorable combination of circumstances.  

An “opportunity” to stay in Winchester for a bit was presented to me two weeks before Christmas.  The “favorable combination of circumstances” being a job I like, a place I like, people I like, and the fact that the Georgia State License Board made a clerical error in my transfer of license by endorsement to their state―two actually.  Those errors would have left me with no work for two weeks in December which would have equaled no paycheck.

Duke playing in the Snow with some furry friends

So, after going home for a week after Thanksgiving and preparing to move to Georgia for the winter, I REVERSED gears on 3 days notice and turned right back around to Virginia.  It was quite the whirlwind to move up here on such short notice―I stayed briefly with one friend who was nice enough to offer temporary residence in her extra cottage.  I knew Fran was not the best place to live during a cold Northern Virginia winter, so I had no choice but to find a semi-permanent place to rent. 

New little rental house!

As of two weeks ago I have settled into a cute little house on the westside of town that I LOVE.  It has a fenced in backyard for Duke.  The cats love it too―though I have recently discovered they developed a bad habit in Fran...  Since they spent most of their day lounging on the dashboard in the sunshine, they now think it is okay to get on counter-tops!  The water bottle is out and rules are being enforced!

Snowfall in Davis, WV

WHITE OUT conditions skiing!

Between Christmas, moving, starting a new job, moving again, and the typical “Lucy speed” pace of life...things have been a little crazy.  I am hoping to get back on track with writing.  There are still many adventures to be had and shared in Virginia.  For instance, this past weekend I was fortunate enough to join my two best friends in WV skiing as over a foot of fresh powdery snow fell on the slopes!  It was a much needed breath of South Carolina air to spend time in my “Happy Place” with my friends.   

PRAY―for good ride.

A good ride.

“If you do not expect the unexpected you will not find it, for it is not to be reached by search or trail.” ―Heraclitus

A beautiful VA trail ride...

My time in Winchester is drawing to a close.  It has been an incredible first stop.  As I started this journey, I felt like a large part of it would involve getting out West. And I do think it will―eventually.  But my next stop is Bainbridge, Georgia.  A little unexpected, yes.

A rather large pumpkin!

Bainbridge should serve me some excellent Winter weather for a motorhome. It happens to be the Large Mouth Bass fishing capital of the world.  Not surprisingly, my Father has already planned a trip to come visit. I have a feeling I will see him a good bit and I would love that. There are sure to be good hunting and fishing opportunities―Bainbridge is very near Thomasville, GA (which is known to be a hotbed for Quail hunting)―and I am excited to say that the nearby Red Hill Polo Club in Tallahassee, FL should be a good place for me to continue my new Polo habit. 

A beautiful farm house I pass regularly...did not want to forget this view!

The change that’s coming up in my life will thrust me into the unknown again: new people, new town, new job setting (not home health this time, but a combo position of hospital, out-patient, and skilled care work―a lot like my old job in Charleston).  Despite the many nods my way of “Oh, you are so lucky to be able to do what you’re doing” I know everyone can relate to the hard part of uprooting every time I move. At least living in Fran (the motorhome) cuts down on the stress significantly in that I don’t have to pack!  The sad part for me is that I have made some really good friends here.  I love Virginia.  I will really miss the Polo, the mountains, the festivals, the rivers, the fishing, the arts, the smell of wood burning stoves, the hot cider, the trial rides, long walks with Duke, and the life I have lived here.  Virginia has given me her best―and I won’t forget her. It was unexpected how much I fell in-love with her.

"The trail" of life winding on down the road...

But as Buffalo Bill said, “I could never resist the call of the trail.” And my journey does not stop here.  Soon it will be time to shout, “Giddy-up Old Fran!”  Time to hit the trail once more.

Duke riding in the truck while I work...He's always ready to "hit the trail!"

LOVE―to play.

“We don’t stop playing because we grow old; we grow old because we stop playing.” George Bernard Shaw

Love to PLAY!

I have conflicting information presented to me on a regular basis.  I think life has a tendency to do that. 

In the same week (very recently), I was called “an old soul” by one person while concerns of immaturity were expressed by another.  I will readily admit that more often than not, the accusation of immaturity has been more prevalent than the nod toward wisdom. I believe the main concern at hand by those who love me is that I have held on to my “inner Peter Pan” just a bit too much.

However, when it comes to the LOVE of play, I make no apologies.  I work really hard.  I give 110% to my job for the 50-65 hours a week that involves.  I don’t always do my job perfectly,  but I do always put my patients’ needs first.  So when the computer closes on Friday afternoon, I don’t open it until Monday morning.  That’s just me.  The weekends are time for play!

Dogs teach us a lot―the importance of PLAY just being one thing. Duke in hot pursuit of a bumper...

One recent past weekend was no exception.  Since beginning my travels, I have tried to take full advantage of play.  I have hunted and fished.  I have been learning to play polo.  I have gone to vineyards.  I have paddled rivers. But this past weekend was a “bucket list” weekend.   It involved one of those “you’re insane” kind of activities like jumping out of plane.  Not for everyone.  

So it got me thinking about the why of it all.  Why do I LOVE to play so much?

Specifically, why thrill seeking?  Why does what would terrify some, thrill me?  Why am I not scared?

I am stupid.  I am an adrenaline junky.  I am courageous.  Well...not really any of that actually.  Here’s the admission: I like being scared.

It is my opinion that fear is the emotion we feel that most directly opposes the word lifeless―I dare say even more than love.  It is impossible not to feel alive when you are scared.  When you experience something that evokes fear, it produces the ancient “fight or flight” response.  For me, the feelings associated with that response are the exact opposite of being bored. 

Now tonight I am finishing this blog as I ride out hurricane Sandy inside of Fran.  I am truly scared for the first time in long while.  This is a different kind of scared.  This is not the fun kind of scared―as I am wondering if Fran will be flipped on her side in these strong winds or if a tree will come crashing through the roof.  Luckily the tree that crashed through the motorhome parked here before I came this summer was the only likely prospect within our reach as a potential landing zone.  I’m hoping the other close trees are too far away should they loose their integrity.   

The morning after I realize how lucky I was!

I did say I liked being scared, right? A dear friend jokingly accused me tonight of doing this on purpose.  

“Lucy, I bet you looked at the Farmer’s almanac and saw that it said there would be a hurricane in Virginia at the end of October and thought to yourself, ‘I bet it would be fun to ride out a hurricane in a motorhome’ so you went there on purpose...just for the fun of it!”  

My friends know me all too well.  But no―I didn’t plan this.  And no...I won’t do it again.

A near miss to a motorhome parked near mine.

Mark Twain once said, “To succeed in life, you need two things: Ignorance and Confidence.”  I am sure of both tonight.  One: my ignorance of how powerful this storm was going to be.  Two: my confidence that God is not yet done with me on this earth―so I will likely survive to seek out the good kind of being scared in the form of “play” again soon.  

EAT―It’s stew time!

"Nothing would be more tiresome than eating and drinking if God had not made them a pleasure as well as a necessity".  ~Voltaire

What a wonderful thing food is. It follows seasons. It becomes tradition.  It stirs memories and nourishes souls.  

A good start on Lamb Stew!

One of my favorite things about food is how it becomes an expression of love.  I love you enough, my friend, to cook for you―to feed you.  My Mother comforted me with food when I was sick.  I ordered my favorite meal from her for my birthday.  I came home from college to favorite dishes and was sent back to school with leftovers from other favorite dishes.

In Psych 101 Maslow’s hierarchy of needs taught us all that we had basic, physiological needs: Food, water, shelter, oxygen, and sleep (the latter of which I should be trying to do right now).  Unless these needs are met we are unable to move up the hierarchy to safety, love, esteem, and self-actualization. When those basic needs are catalogued―the ones the allow us to function―food is always listed first.

To feed someone is to love them and meet them at their most basic need.  I think I love that part more than anything about cooking for others.  It is why, no matter how much of a cliche´ it is, when we take people a meal when someone dies in the South, it’s a simple way to say, “I love you and I’m thinking about you.”  

When I was a child we would go “crabbing” every Summer at Pawley’s Island.  We would catch crabs on crabbing lines and in crab traps. Then we would spend hours picking the meat on the back porch while sitting in crickety wooden chairs pulled up to a metal table with newspaper spread over the top.  I would get lessons from my grandmother and aunts each year on how to  perform properly this task.  How to “release the meat” when getting the lump meat from the bodies was taught only once I was old enough and dexterous enough not to destroy  the precious cargo inside the crab body...younger children were only allowed to pick the claw meat which was more of “an appetizer.”  

The whole process―from start to finish―was so involved.  Catch the crabs.  Boil the crabs.  Pick the crabs. Put the meat up in the freezer.  Not to mention launching the boat, packing the cooler so us children would have all the proper provisions, etc.  The summer process was then followed by the winter one...(which is where I was going with all this).  We would take the meat from the summer crabs, thaw it, and then start the process for the Christmas crab casserole (which is a whole other process!).  The crab meat became this symbol of tradition in our family―of how the years would come full circle―but we would all still be together in the same place each year on those two times.

So there it is.  Food is all about tradition to me.  Comfort. Memories. And a hearty goodness that is meant to be enjoyed.  As Voltaire states, a pleasure―and may I add “in every way possible.”  

There's Something 'Bout a Green Truck!
(the name of the wine if ya can't see it)

When you eat you must also drink.  So food is often accompanied by this other pleasure we call―wine.   

So it came to be that on the first cold weekend here, as my dog was sick and I was at home tending to him, I made a good stew.  Oh, how I love to eat a good stew! This concotion was not just any stew either.  It was a lamb stew.  Oh, how I love lamb!  Sometimes I get so excited about food I feel like I must look and sound like my nephew on Christmas day.  “Oh, it’s just what I wanted!!!”  He is so excited and appreciative of each gift.  I will often find myself doing the same thing when eating a good meal as I make my way around my plate.  “Oh, these field peas are the best I have ever had!  What on earth did you do to them?!?”  Then I few bites later I am asking for the recipe for the squash casserole I’m inhaling.  

Enjoyable.  Yes.

So for Fran’s (the motorhome) first big stew I went all out.  I bought a good leg of lamb and made sure there would be an abundance of meat available in the stew―for there is nothing more disappointing than for a dish to advertise a main ingredient but then have only minuet portions of it present.  To a red wine, tomato, onion reduction I added carrots, plump golden raises, the lamb and almost an entire spice bottle of curry.  It was delish I must say...  And more than anything I was amazed by how well I functioned in my little kitchen on such a shoe-string budget of counter space.  Since the bathroom is two feet behind me, it made for nice “spill-over” when I feel behind on the “wash dirty dishes as you go” effort I tried to maintain.  Other than that...flawless execution.  

"It taste so good..."