Her first name is Burton.  She must be named after her grandfather or something.  Her middle name, which she goes by, is Deja Vu.  Her nickname, used only by her close friends, is Flying V. She’s a female and she’s black.  In the winter, we spend most weekends together and often times a bonus weekday.  She knows how to have fun, loves the outdoors, and keeps me on my toes and heels.  We have a mutual respect for each other and rely on each other to get us through the ups and especially the downs. She also doesn’t mind when I pee on her. It’s no secret that I have a girl crush.  Deja Vu is my snowboard.

Deja Vu loves boarding through the trees on chair four at Lost Trail Powder Mountain.  We will be weaving in and out of the of the perfectly spaced trees and Deja Vu keeps dropping the F-bomb in sheer excitement.

I say to her “Deja Vu.  This is a family ski hill.  You can’t keep talking like that”

She says, “Lisa, get over it.  I don’t see one single person in these trees to hear me.”

I look around and she’s right, we have not seen anyone since we left the groomer and snuck into the trees.

Mostly Deja Vu is a powder whore.  She admits it.  Don’t even bother her unless you can promise six inches or more.  On powder days she is the first one up and in the car ready to go.  We did go up one day for 36 inches and that was difficult.  We crashed on upper Thunder just under the chair.  I had to dig her out of the snow which was not easy.  She started crying and saying we were going to be here until June.  I had to yell at her to pull herself together and get her head out of her ass which made her laugh because she doesn’t have a head or an ass.  Eventually we got going again, crossed the cat track and headed down lower Thunder and all was well until we got to the flat part just before the lower cat track.  We crashed again.  This time even I was worried that we would be there until June.  Deja Vu was not stuck but every time I tried to get upright my arm would sink into the snow up to my face.  There was nothing solid to push against, just 36 inches of soft fluffy snow.  Even if I undid the bindings it would be like trying to walk on water.  So I started rolling; using Deja Vu as a lever.  Deja Vu is not religious or a church goer, but you would have thought different that day as we started a slow role towards solid groomed snow.

“Good God Almighty” she yelled, “Sweet Jesus and mother Mary whose smart idea was this?”.

Eventually we fell off the powder lip and onto the solid snow packed road with a thud.  We were exhausted and covered in snow and this was the first run of the day.

My friend Aaron Lebowitz has started designing, building and selling snowboards in Missoula. Soulmotion is the name of his company.  Every time I see him at Lost Trail he uses his enthusiastic, lover of life, triple latte energy to entice me to ride one of his boards.  I do want to try out one of his boards for sure.  But how can I possibly leave Deja Vu planted in the snow by the lodge and ride the lift with another board? We’ve been together for so long I don’t even know if I could ride another board.

Don’t get me wrong.  Deja Vu and I have had our moments.  One time I embarrassed her so bad that she was wishing she was a ski and could just spit me out.  That’s the difference between a board and a ski.  A ski can be thinking “have you lost your mind?” and eject you down the mountain while the ski comes to a safe stop.  A board on the other hand is bound to you for the whole ride.  You could be sliding on your back, head first down an icy mountain and that board is still attached to your feet.  If you’re thinking fast you’ll use your board to help break the slide instead of picking up speed the farther you go.  We had just gotten to the top of chair two the day I embarrassed Deja Vu.  The wind was howling at the top and right in our face.  I eased to the edge of the chair and in a timely manner stood up at the get off point and the wind blew me  back into the emergency stop arm.  The entire lift came to a stop.  Deja Vu is scrambling in a mad panic to remove herself from the scene.  The lift guy has to come out of his warm shack to start it back up as an entire chair lift of people are waiting.  I’m non gracefully dragging myself with my arms away from the chairs in a legless, homeless person kind of way.   Deja Vu did not speak to me the rest of the day.

I have been equally upset with her at times too.  We were going up the rope tow to head back into the lodge when the rope tow stopped.  We were maybe 20 feet from the start so we waited for the rope tow guy to walk from the bottom shack to the top to flip the switch or plug it back in or whatever he does.  As we waited a punk kid got in front of us on the rope.  There was barely enough room between me and the person in front of me and now there was another kid in that space.  Deja Vu starts mouthing off.

“Who does he think he is? I’m gonna run his ass over….as soon as this rope starts I’m running him over. Teach his ass a lesson”

I said “no, no you’re not.  He doesn’t know any better and you do.  Get ready”

I grabbed the rope and leaned back.  Abruptly the rope tow started back up and Deja Vu and I were prepared.  The kid in front of us was clearly not ready and we ran over him.  I did not talk to Deja Vu the rest of that day.

Most days Deja Vu and I have an epic day.  Sometimes we have a biblical day, which is an epic day times two.  There are times when we are floating peacefully together down the side of a mountain on a blue bird day with soft powder spraying in our wake and we know that this day was meant for us.  We fall in love with the moment.  We find the perfect spot where the turn and the slope of the mountain create a sensation of zero gravity.  You’ll know it’s us.  All you can see in the bundled up helmeted, goggled me is my smile as you hear Deja Vu dropping the f-bomb. There goes the Flying V.

You can find more entertaining blog posts and the monthly book selection at Wild About Books. Thanks for reading.

December 1987 and we are preparing to leave the hospital with my first born beautiful baby boy.  Not much more than babies ourselves we clumsily wrap the baby up in a blanket.  Wait.  Why is it such a mess?  For the last two days our baby had been brought to me like a tightly wrapped burrito.  Where was I during the wrap your baby like a burrito lesson?  The nurse’s aide comes in with a wheel chair to take us to the front door.

“Could you show us how to wrap the baby up in a blanket?” I ask her.

“OH MY LO’…..” she says with her eyes about to bust out of her head in amazement at our stupidity and the fact that she is going to let these two people out into the world with an infant.  “….. IS this yo’ practice baby?”

She takes Zach from me and wraps him like an egg roll with a head sticking out, hands him back and pushes me down the hallway.  She shakes her head and mutters incomprehensible sentences for the whole wheel chair ride  with no hope in our parenting successes.  Zach is known from this day forward as “our practice baby”.

April 1988 and I’m fairly certain that my 4 month old baby is about to die. He’s coughing like a 60 year old man that’s been smoking most of his life.  I am convinced that he is going to cough up a lung into his baby bed. He sounds like a goose who just ate a dog and the dog is stuck in his throat.  It’s 4 am.  I have no idea what to do.  I should call the doctor.  I love his doctor but it’s 4 am, I would wake him up.   I called him.

“Croup,  he just has croup.  Take him outside in the cool night air and he’ll be better.”

Croup?  Why has no one told me about croup?  I called the doctors office  later, much later that day and left a message for the doctor.  Please tell the doctor I’m sorry for calling him at 4 am.  It’s not  Zach’s fault.  He’s my practice baby

December 2002 and we are waiting patiently for our turn at the driver’s license office. This is a monumental day for a 15 year old boy.  We practiced parallel parking on the way up and had an in depth conversation about the interesting personalities of the people that work for the driver’s license office.  We discussed that it’s better not to let them see you cry because it does appear that that is their mission and you would make their day complete with tears.

Finally it is our turn when they call out “next” and we step up to the desk and hand the woman our completely and properly filled out paperwork and Zach’s birth certificate.  She doesn’t smile or greet us.

“What’s this?” she ask holding the birth certificate.

“That’s his birth certificate” I say a bit confused because it’s clearly a birth certificate.

“It MUST  be a sealed certified copy” she says like I’m a complete fool.  She’s trying to intimidate me with her advanced degree in rudeness.

“Well.” I said.  “This is what they gave me the day he was born.  It even states “mother’s copy” on it. How can you get more certified than the mother’s copy?”

She gets in my face, looks me in the eyes and with her mouth that looks like it just ate a lemon with a curdled milk chaser and yells, “NEXT!”

Remembering my advice to Zach, I hold back my tears and pull out the my imaginary super hero cape as this situation calls for Super Mom to take action.  Mom’s know what I’m talking about.  There is a time for politeness and there is a time for the primitive, protective, don’t mess (sic) with me; Super Mom!

I reach up and cover Zach’s ears as I look into the disturbed depths of this driver’s license office employee and articulate each word speaking slowly so that there is no misunderstanding.

“It…..is……not…..his……fault;……he….is…….my……..practice………….baby.”

And we walk out without a driver’s license for my 15 year old son.

I’m only telling you this story because as followers and readers of my blog; you are my practice readers.  You get to read my typos, my misuse of its and it’s, my verb tense changes in the middle of a sentence, my run on sentences, lack of commas, too many commas.

I’m learning.  I’m practicing.  I will get better.

I took an Ed2Go writing class.  After turning in my final assignment, the instructor noted that she used to have bad dreams about people like me; talent in a thick mist of fog deep in a forest filled with whirling dervishes,  trying to find it’s way out.  Totally rough around the edges with a hint of maybe; someday.  She suggested I take her grammar refresher class; which I will do next.

I would like to conclude with one more Zach story.

When Zach was in junior high one of my jobs at the school was to scan the students lunch cards when they arrived in the cafeteria.  Just before the kindergarteners were about to show up, a teacher’s aide came in early to grab a lunch.  She told me that Zach had been a hilarious contestant in the spelling bee.  I laughed and said that she is clearly mistaken that my Zach can’t spell worth a rat’s ass.  She was convinced that it was my Zach and that he had made it into the fourth round.  Yep, you are confused.  There is no way any one would think to put my Zach in a spelling bee and he certainly wouldn’t make it to the fourth round.

Turns out Zach was in the spelling bee, he was entertaining and he misspelled “peak-a-boo” in the fourth round.

On the morning of the spelling bee the actual spelling bee participants decided that they did not have the….um….they were scared to go on stage in front of their peers and screw up.  The teacher told the alternates that they would be in the spelling bee.  They too quickly decided there was no way they were going to risk their reputation in a spur of the moment decision that they had not prepared or dressed for.  They had also not spend the obligatory evening before stressing about it either.  The teacher quickly realized that he was not going to get a speller on stage and that he must do the next best thing and get a student that could act like a spelling bee contestant.  There was one junior high student who fit that description…. Zach Honey.

To the delight of his teacher and all of his fellow students, including himself, he made it into the fourth round.  Spelling three words correctly, but more importantly,  entertaining the crowd at each turn.    He was given a standing ovation when he left the stage after being knocked out when misspelling a word.

The lesson I learned from my 13 year old practice baby that day was that you can do anything you want to.  You have to act like you are what you want to be and you have to believe it and don’t forget to have fun while you’re at it.  Zach did all of those things that day; he was a super star and a spelling bee contestant.

I’m reading a great book right now that my good friend, hero and pottery teacher just loaned me.  “Steal Like an Artist”.  It’s a quick read but full of delicious insight for people in pursuit of a creative dream.  

Thank you all for being my practice readers.  It’s nice to have an audience and I’m having fun writing this blog.

Next week’s post will be the Wild About Books March book selection.

Wild About Books

The books that I choose to read seem to keep guiding me to try meditating.  Meditation must be an incredible life changing experience.  I think there are things that I do that clear my head. Knitting would be one.  You have to concentrate just enough on the knitting that you can’t be thinking about dinner or tomorrow or yesterday.  Mountain biking on a single track trail is also close to meditating for me. Once again, you must be focused on the trail not on how you screwed up the building reserve budget.  Mostly, I have been pushing this idea of meditating to the side.  I don’t really have time to add meditation to my day.  Sitting still and doing nothing is not in my makeup. Five minutes at the end of yoga twice a week is my limit.  But then, the benefits of meditation is brought to my attention again and again through a another book or an article or a shared TED talk.  The moment I finally decided to research meditation was when my good friend and co-worker came into my office and announced that he’d been thinking about trying meditation.  My mouth dropped open in amazement.  This was not a person who I would ever expect to want to try to meditate. He is a busy man, a husband, father, an iconic leader in our community. He is not the character that I have construed as a meditator. Here was my sign to not let my curiosity of meditation be put on the back burner. I was now responsible for two people in need of meditation.

The first book I tried and am still slowly reading is “Real Happiness: The Power of Meditation”  This book is a good step by step, start it slow, guide to meditating; full of tips and helpful hints.  It starts with three days a week for 20 minutes each time.  I tried 5 minutes once and it did go fast.  There aren’t any strict rules.  Sit quietly and comfortably, set a timer, focus on your breathing. If thoughts come into your head, which they will, recognize them and then let them go.  That’s it.  Finding the time is the difficult part for me.  Really! Finding 20 minutes a day to sit and focus on your breathing.  Maybe get up 20 minutes earlier…… I am.  For the next month I will meditate for 20 minutes a day. I’ll let you know how it goes.  I will be your guinea pig, your science experiment.

The Wild About Books February Book selection is “10% Happier: How I Tamed the Voice in My Head, Reduced Stress without Losing my Edge and Found Self-Help that Actually Works-A True Story” by Dan Harris.  This is a memoir about an ABC news anchor who is very hypocritical about meditation and how he changes his ways and becomes a daily meditator.  I found the book to be very entertaining and a better introduction to meditating than “Real Happiness”.  I will be more ready to read “Real Happiness” once I finish Dan Harris’ book.  Interesting that both meditation books I’m reading have happiness in the title, although in Dan Harris’ book title it is meant to be comical.  What sold me on “10% Happier” was the NPR author interview “How a skeptic learned to love meditation” which I recommend you listen to; click here for the link to it.  Wait…..  Are you still reading?  Go back and listen to the NPR interview before you go on; it’s only 5 minutes, you have time.

See.  He’s funny too.  It’s a good read.  If you need more motivation to meditate, even if you don’t, I recommend you watch this TED Talk by Shawn Achor “The Happy Secret to Better Work” This too is very entertaining and this guy gives a 30 minute talk in 12 minutes.  In that 12 minutes you will learn to rewire your brain to work more optimistically and more successfully.

One more TED Talk to share with you and motivate you to meditate is by Matthieu Ricard, a Buddhist monk and happiness researcher, “How to let altruism be your guide” The message in this TED talk is how to implement sustainable harmony in our society.

Big shout out to my staff for finding and sharing the TED talks (thanks mom).  If you would like to see more Wild About Books monthly book selections or just browse the weekly blog post go to Wild About Books website.

Darby School District has many great qualities.  Fantastic teachers, a caring support staff, an active board of trustees, enthusiastic coaches,  a driven administration, responsible bus drivers, hard working custodians and a school foods program that is becoming a role model in the state of Montana.  We also have an amazing adult education program.

The adult education program runs so smoothly and effortlessly that we often forget about all the hard work that goes into the program. Adult ed is one of the school’s best connections with the community.  We open our doors most afternoons and evenings as the parking lots fill up for pottery, pilates, zumba, cast iron cooking, computer classes, political discussion classes, book club, fly fishing, and on and on.  Here’s the link to the Darby Adult Ed Winter/Spring 2015 schedule.

I’ve taken several adult ed classes and only failed two.  My good friend is the pottery instructor.  The biggest thing I learned from her class is that I am not a hands on creative artist.  I need a pattern to go off of like in knitting.  I failed to create a blob of clay into something recognizable.  It would have been more fiscally responsible of me to pay the teacher to make me something than to spend my money on the class and supplies. The instructor said I was the first person to return all of my leftover clay and supplies back to her.  Students love her pottery class and it was one of the most popular adult ed classes that was offered.

The other class I failed was volleyball.  I love sports but volleyball never clicked for me.  I am more of a throwing the ball athlete, not hitting it with the tender soft spot on your forearms and wishing you had worn long sleeves. You must be constantly looking up to perfectly set the ball to a tall player remembering to finish the set with jazz hands.

For the Spring 2015 adult ed session I’ve decided to propose three classes of my own.

• Pickleball
•  Ultimate Frisbee
•  Running Club

In a previous post “Career Adventures“, you will remember, that my goals were to be an entrepreneur, adventurer and writer.  Offering these adult ed classes will fulfill all three.   Entrepreneur (make a little extra cash and serve as a networking opportunity), adventurer (I’ve never actually played pickleball or indoor ultimate frisbee, what could be more adventurous than teaching as you learn) and writer (although I must be careful not to get run out of town by writing about Darby and its people, I believe that these classes could lead to some excellent writing topics for future blog posts).

Pickleball was brought to my attention by my dad who is an avid player of the sport.  He always has his pickleball paddle and pickleball ball in the trunk of his car.  He plays several days a week and in tournaments, usually with a doubles partner.  The game is a cross between tennis, badminton and pingpong.  The court is a third of the size of a tennis court, the paddles have a short handle with a head almost the size of a tennis racquet but looking like a ping pong paddle.  The ball is a plastic wiffle ball and there is a net similar to a tennis court.  You can easily convert a tennis court or a basketball court into a pickleball court.  You can play singles or doubles.  The United States Association of Pickle Ball, USAPB website is a great reference for court size, rules, and supplies.

I did play ultimate frisbee once several years ago at a cousin’s wedding.  We were all playing in dresses and tuxes at the Daly Mansion.  It was one of the best weddings I’d ever attended and I’ve wanted to play ultimate frisbee ever since. This game is similar to soccer but with a frisbee.   There are two teams, each team trying to get the frisbee to a player in the end zone.  You can’t run with the frisbee, you can only throw it.  You can run if you don’t have the frisbee trying to get open for your teammate to throw it to.  This is a fast paced game and can be played inside a gym or outside on a large field.

I do have some experience in running.  I’ve been running off and on for almost 20 years.  I’ve run several half marathons, a ten mile trail run and numerous 10K and 5K runs.  I recently completed my fastest 5K at the Diva Run in Missoula but normally I’m a pretty slow runner.  This past summer I got to experience the joy of running with a group.  Three of my running friends and I ran in the mornings for several months and I attribute that group running experience to my fastest 5K run.   The adult ed running club will meet at 6am three mornings a week, the last meeting being a field trip to the Missoula River Bank Run in May.  I will have two assistants (they are unaware of this) the pottery teacher whose class I failed and the high school PE teacher.  I’m not sure I will find 7 people willing to go running at 6am. Every adult ed class has to have a minimum of 7 students or it is cancelled.  No worries.  If three sign up we will still have a running club it just won’t be an adult ed class.  I highly recommend running with a group and make sure you invite some talkers to entertain you. One of the very best books I’ve ever read is “Born to Run“.  It’s a good book for runners and non-runners alike.  This book explores the runners of the Tarahumara Indians of Mexico’s Copper Canyons.  They run hours per day for their commutes, eat pinole and chia seeds, drink homemade beer and run on hand made sandals made from old tire rubber and string. Another great book for runners and those wanting to take up the sport is “Chi Running” a book on how to run effortlessly and pain free.  This book will help you work on your form for the most efficient and safest way of running.  “Chi Running” takes you to a new level of running.  You should be excited about your daily run not dread it and this book will help take you there.

Check out some Adult Ed classes in your community.  It’s a good way to get you out of the house on a long winter’s day and meet some new people.  You can’t sit on the couch reading all the time; get out and have your own adventures.

Stay tuned.  The next post will be the Wild About Books February book selection.

The Wild About Books blog has clearly gotten off task these last couple of posts, but there sure were numerous views, visitors and comments with my rambling about daily life in Montana. I would like to thank Tom for being such a good sport and assure everyone, including Tom’s girlfriend, that the flirting in Darby is all innocent fun.   The mission of this blog is to be a seriously great resource for book lovers.  I digressed.

The January Book selection as stated in the first blog of this month is, “Orphan Train”.  I just finished and this is a wonderful book with  very good writing and an intriguing story line.  It took me a few pages to get into it and then I had a hard time putting it down.  I  recommend this book and believe that you will enjoy it too.

“Orphan Train” has opened up a door for me that I was unaware had been closed.  My maternal grandmother was raised in an orphanage in the same time frame as this book and reading it has me asking many questions about her.  Pauline Stanley Wright died a tragic death when I was 3 months old so I never really knew her. Perhaps this unknown story of my grandmother is even more interesting to me now that I am almost the age she was when she died and my daughter is the age my mom was when she lost her mother.  I know from the few stories I’ve heard that she was loved by all. I also know that when I watch the relationships between a granddaughter and her maternal grandmother that I have missed out on what appears to be a key relationship in our lives. Granddaughters seem to be more patient and accepting than daughters and not as sensitive to the comments from the grandmother. Where a daughter will take a comment from her mother as criticism, a granddaughter will  take it as wisdom and carry it with her.  When I watch my daughter sit with my mom and teach mom how to use her new iPad or help her with her facebook page I know that I was robbed of a special relationship with my grandmother. Then I feel selfish when I think of my own mom, who had just turned 24, and lost her mother.

My mom told me stories about her mother as I was growing up.  Some stick, most don’t and now I’m craving the details.  How did Pauline and her brother Robert end up in an orphanage?  What happened to their mother Roxie?  How did anyone survive hardships 100 years ago?  In the “Orphan Train” they shipped the orphans out west and put them to work, free labor.  I wonder how people today can complain about “our economy” when they read books or hear the stories from this time frame of the early 1900’s.  I asked my mom to start emailing me stories about her mom.  I’ve also asked my Uncle’s and cousins for information as well. This is the door that has been closed. Untold stories suppressed. Due to the tragic death no one in the family talks about it. The story hoovering over us like a bad dream that we don’t want to re-live. Is it possible to create some family healing through story telling?

One story I remember is that every Christmas at my grandmother’s

orphanage all of the children would get an orange.  They were so excited to get an orange that they ate the whole thing, peel and all.  Another story I remember and still play in my head is that my mom was in a state of shock after her mother’s death.  In a trance. Shut down from the world.  Then the baby would cry.  And a voice would tell her; “you’ve got to take care of the baby”.  I believe that my orphan grandmother has been looking out for me ever since. It’s about time I got to know the story of my guardian angel.

One of the theme’s or lesson’s learned in “Orphan Train” is that everything happens for a reason.  Perhaps you get fired or you’re having a difficult relationship with a co-worker.  In order to get through difficult times you have to remind yourself that everything happens for a reason.  I believe this and make it through life preaching this, but deep down, I doubt it.  I can never come up with a reason for my grandmother’s young, preventable, and horrendous death.

Hard to believe I’ve written 20 posts already and not once have I mentioned Tom, the Darby UPS man.  I only bring him up now because my biggest fear came true today while at my appointment at The Electric Beach and Hair Studio in downtown Darby.  Yes, as I’m sitting in the chair with hair and aluminum foil heading in every direction, my nose looking bigger and my face looking redder (without the hippy style hair to help tone it  down) in walks Tom, the hot UPS man.  I make myself small and try to hide behind my pregnant hair stylist. I’m tempted to get up and run into the tanning booth room; when I hear;

“Lisa? ……Is that you over there?”

Of course he knows it’s me.  My truck is parked out front.  The whole town knows I’m getting my hair aluminum foiled today.  Even my beautiful man Brett asked me that night what I was doing in town  all day.  All day translates to 90 minutes.

I never thought I would be the kind of person who spent 90 minutes getting my hair done.  I didn’t start getting my hair aluminum foiled until I got progressive lenses and my baby turned 20 years old.  It was then that I decided I didn’t want gray hair too.  It’s bad enough that I now tilt my head in that awkward way when I read in order to look through the reading part of my progressive lenses.  I wasn’t going to magnify my aging with gray hair too.  It was more the color of dirty dishwater; not really a color at all.  No one else uses the term “aluminum foiled”.  I still can’t call it what it is.  I don’t want to admit that I get my hair colored.  But now Tom knows.  This will be the last time I get a cut and color appointment at noon.

“Tom! …..did you pick up my package today?”

I had ordered some jeans from Amazon. I have to tell you my new favorite way to shop for jeans is on Amazon.  You buy enough so that there is not a shipping charge.  You have millions of styles and sizes to choose from. They arrive in a week and  you try them on at home.  The ones you don’t like go back in the bag, go to the Amazon website and hit the return items option.  They email, you a UPS label for free, no shipping charges and refund your credit card right then. Done.   Skinny jeans.  I bought skinny jeans. Junior skinny jeans.  I had a feeling they may not fit over my hips and butt. I was never able to test that since I could not get them over my calves.  I’m a size 6  and could not get these jeans over my calves.  A person would have to be unhealthy or 9 years old or more likely an unhealthy 9 year old to put these jeans on.  I printed my label and placed the package in the hall at work for Tom to pick up. I put a sticky note on the package that said; “Tom, pick me up” and I drew my boobs on the sticky note so that he would know who it was from.  The English teacher walked through the hall as I placed my package on the floor and asked if those were eyeballs.  No, I said, they are my breast.

All the women’s eyes in Darby get wide with excitement at the sound of the UPS truck.  I always feel bad for the substitute drivers who have to deal with the looks of disappointment at every stop.  One evening I heard the UPS truck coming down our driveway and I ran outside  to meet the truck. The driver is not Tom but a substitute.  “Oh jeez!” I said to the driver, “I thought you were Tom; I almost flashed you my tits”.

I also feel bad for the husbands. “Did you order something again dear? The UPS man is here” as his wife scurries through the living room tripping over the cat to get to the front door.

Whenever there’s a group of women together we end up talking about Tom.  I was in a pilates class one day and we start discussing Tom before class.  We were all laughing and joking about hot Tom.  Some of the women didn’t know of Tom and said they would go home that night and order something online for him to deliver.  We started our class and one of the pilates students came in late.  As she walked through the room and started rolling out her mat I interrupted the class and said “we were just talking about your boyfriend”. She looks up and says “Tom??”

One of the women business owners in town says she always signs the little machine thing and he never looks at so one day she wrote “kiss me” instead of signing her name.  She forgot about it and the next time he delivered he hands her the machine to sign and he’s already written  “when?”  Her face was very red when she handed it back.  This man could write a book.  He could probably do a lot more than write a book if he wanted to.

Everyone has a Tom story in Darby.  These are all mothers and wives. Young and those who aluminum foil their hair.

“Tom brought me a big package today”

“Oh whatever; in your dreams”

I have finally figured it out.  You will be so proud of me.  After 50 years; I have decided what I want to be when I grow up.  There have been times in my life when I thought I knew what I wanted to be.  At four years old I wanted to be a ballerina or a check out girl at the Bi-Rite Grocery.  At ten years old I decided I would be the first woman president.  As a young teen I figured I would have 9 children so that I could own my own professional baseball team. There have been many ideas, but nothing I felt passionate about. It’s why I never finished college.  I was never passionate enough to spend my time and money on a particular degree.  My college transcripts look like my music playlist.  A hodge podge of mismatched unconnectable dots. Honestly, my all time dream and proudest accomplishment is being a mom.  I wanted 5 kids; I wished for twins during both pregnancies.  I loved changing diapers.  I’m a freak, but it’s true, I loved it. But I did that and the jobs I held at that time were secondary as the mom job came first.

A list of Lisa’s career adventures:

1. Check out girl at the Bi-Rite Grocery (that was one dream come true)
2. Check out girl at Mickey’s Mart in Disney World
3. Assistant Manager at Subway (I was over 18 and could use the meat slicer so they made me assistant manager)
4. Work study job at Guilford Technical College
5. Drafter (in Germany)
6.  Drafter (in North Carolina where I also became a licensed plumber and licensed Heating and Air Conditioning Contractor)
7. Maid, waitress, bartender, dishwasher, lawn boy, pool cleaner…..(CINDERELLA!!!) at a “resort” in Montana.
8. Caretaker of a Motel in Darby
9. Caretaker of a Laundromat in Darby
10. Step aerobics instructor
11. Summer Camp Leader
12. Substitute Teacher
13. Leader for Adventure Cycling
14. Assistant Secretary at Darby School
15. Secretary at Darby High School
16. Bookkeeper for a crook in Hamilton
17. Nine days at Halo Heaven (first job that I said; “this isn’t working out for me” and didn’t come back the next day)
18. Lightfoot Cycles (assembled recumbent bikes; this was my favorite job)
19. Darby School District Clerk and Business Manager (this is the best job I’ve ever landed; but, it’s not me).

Nineteen jobs in 50 years.  My dad has worked the same job in that exact same time frame, as in; one job for the last 50 years!  I’m sure I’ve left out some things too.  Like selling rubber stamps; a network marketing gimmick in which you spend more on the product than you make. I bet on football too; but that ends in the same result as the network marketing.

“Do what you like and the money will follow”.  Is this true?  Do I have the confidence to test these waters.  Throw in the proverbial steady job towel.  Will I let wild abandon win over ridiculous, meticulous,  never ending, non-motivating, waste of my talents paper pushing desk job?  How much longer can I fake caring?

A Writer. An Adventurer. An Entrepreneur.

That’s what I want to be. Is it possible to make a living being an entrepreneurial adventure writer?  Should I not even think about that part and just do it?

“Let the world know what you want and the universe will take care of the rest.”

Montana adventures naturally lead to a good story.  Let me practice my writing on you (ha, like I don’t already).

It was New Year’s Day and I was traveling with my beautiful man through the Big Hole towards Jackson.  We had just finished cross country skiing with our black lab on Anderson Mountain at Chief Joseph Pass on the continental divide. There was plenty of snow at this elevation and it was a brisk 5 degrees.  The sky was a brilliant blue and the sun was bright and glistening on the snow.  It’s very magical and peaceful cross country skiing on this mountain.  We arrived in Jackson for a soak in their rustic, quaint, full of it’s own personality hot springs.  It’s 5 degrees and walking out the door into the pool area is a challenge wearing only a bathing suit.  The steam from the hot water has frozen on all of the fixtures, power lines, furniture and walls surrounding the pool creating ice stalactites and stalagmites everywhere .  I feel as if I’ve entered the scene of a spaghetti western Disney movie. Even the hand rail into the pool is coated in a frozen sculpture.  The water is 101 degrees which is just perfect, not too hot that you are torn between the too hot water and the too cold air.  After 40 minutes or so we are pretty much cooked. We get out soaking wet and look for our towels on a stalactite. We were now famished and decided to try the restaurant across the street.  Jackson Montana has a population of 50 and has two restaurants; one at the hot springs and one across the street.  Rosa’s Cantina.  Yum, some Mexican food sounds perfect.  We walk into the restaurant, there is a women on the floor playing with two basset hounds.  I hope that she is a customer.  There is a man sitting at the counter staring at us in a “Deliverance” kind of way, knowing that we aren’t from around there.  I hope that he is a customer.  No such luck.  They are the proprietors of the establishment. The waitress and the cook.  They greet us and tell us to sit anywhere.  We are the only customers and have our choice of truly anywhere.  The basset hounds are also excited to have customers and follow us  nudging  our palms with their wet noses hoping for some pets as their owners holler unsuccessfully for them to “com’ere”.  The restaurant smells like smoke, wet dog, dish water and old grease.  I’m starting to question our choice.  We sit in a booth and the woman brings us two plastic covered food stained menus.  Brett’s upset that he forgot his reading glasses.  I assure him not to be upset about that, that this is not a Mexican restaurant.  I read the menu items off to him; chicken fried steak, fried prawns, fried seafood platter, burgers with fries and many more frozen items that can be quickly turned into a meal with the magic fryer basket.  My vegan stomach was not seeing any options, Brett is trying to figure out how we politely walk out and the basset hounds are insisting that we must be family.   I stand up.  Brett stands up.  The bassets get more excited.  Finally I say “I think we’re just going to head home for dinner.”  We  get out, cross the street and enjoy a meal at the hot springs.  The end.

It’s always like this.  Every adventure is a story and every day is an adventure.  You can’t make this stuff up.  I’d be missing the boat if I didn’t write it all down.  A writer, an adventurer, an entrepreneur.

“Don’t be afraid of death.  Be afraid of the un-lived life.”

Zach, Mom and I spent an afternoon brew pub hopping in Durham last month.  My 73 year old mom was the designated driver because she doesn’t start drinking until the evening.  Zach and I don’t have those parameters.  Durham is a small town with a lot of people.  There are little hole in the wall businesses everywhere in Durham; all with their own personalities, selling everything from locally crafted beers, to homemade cupcakes, to shops with local artist made jewelry and locally made beeswax candles. Durham is maybe the coolest little town there is and it’s kind of a secret.  Only the truly adventurous will wander into an old garage building and find themselves with the best cup of tea they’ve ever had or a most delicious vegetarian perfectly southern meal placed before them or find themselves in a yoga class.  Eclectic squared would be a good description of Durham.  They also have their fair share of craft breweries.  We’re driving around Durham in mom’s car looking for the next brew pub with the google maps lady giving directions.  “in a quarter mile turn right onto Irwin Street”.

Mom; “did she say left?”

Zach and I “NO!  RIGHT ,RIGHT”.

Mom “@$$%@#”.

Google Map lady speaks next and she is so polite.  She just redirects never indicating that we made a wrong turn.  We drove by the Methodist Church eight times that day . We find the brewery and it doesn’t open until four.  Back to the google maps lady.  We drive by the Methodist Church to the next brewery which is only the facility for making the beer, the tasting room is back on Main Street.  Google map lady again. Go by the Methodist Church.  There’s not a lot of parking in this town, but mom is able to save the day.  Handicap Parking Permit!  Mom’s new knee got her one handicap parking permit.  Doesn’t make sense to me.  She needed the handicap parking permit with her old worn out knee.  They should make her park on the next block with her new bionic knee.  Reminds me of both times Hannah dislocated her shoulder, she went to the emergency room, they put it back in and gave her some great pain drugs.  She didn’t need them now.  Her shoulder’s back where it belongs.  An afternoon of brewery hopping with my mom and son and parking in the handicap parking.  We were also in charge of dinner since Meg, Hannah and Dean were all working.  Google lady, Methodist Church, Whole Foods, Google Lady, Methodist Church, back to Meg and Dean’s.  Oh holy cow I forgot the best part of this story.  Before we left the house I realized that we did not have a key to lock up.  Think, Think.  We locked up the house from the inside.  Opened the garage door, hit the shut garage door button, ran through the garage, ducked the shutting door while at the same time jumping the electronic eye Indiana Jones style.  If the handicap parking permit people hear this story they will revoke mom’s permit.

What did we talk about on our day together?  I know what we did not talk about.  The ending of mom’s life.  Crass?  Yes.  But no one talks about this.  This is the societal elephant in the room. What is our fear? Death or hanging on to life? What is life and where do we draw the line?  That’s our fear and so therefore we do not talk about it.  We should.  We should be discussing what are you going to want when you are not able to make a decision and we have to make it for you.  I just finished the book “Being Mortal: Medicine and What Matters in the End”  by Atul Gawande.  Atul Gawande is a doctor who experiences life’s ending and how families deal with the logistics, nursing homes, home health care, and family responsibilities on a regular basis.  In this book he uses his own personal experience with his father’s end of life story.   This is now required reading if you are a follower of Wild About Books.  People do not want to spend thousands and thousands of dollars on ultra fantastic bypass stint open heart surgery so that they can live for two more months recovering and on mind numbing pain drugs.  They want autonomy.  They want to be with family and play cards and have a beer.  This affects everyone.  Please read this book no matter what your age.  We need to address this.  It is a big issue that should be talked about. Who picked this subject on Christmas Day?  Go snowboarding.

Next post is the January book selection; I promise.  Click here to see more Wild About Books Posts.

One day my step brother David was telling a story about having just listened to a show on the radio and about how progressive and liberal the speaker was only to find out he was listening to a republican which totally amazed him that a republican could be speaking in this way.  I spoke up and said; “you see, in the end we all want love and goodness and to get along”.  David’s eyes got big as he exclaimed; “YOU are an optimist!”  Ever since that moment whenever someone ask my political views, religious views, views in general; I proudly state that I am an optimist.  This will help explain the two books (with two completely different perspectives)  that I am reading now.  “Mere Christianity” and “The End of Faith”.

“…..a cold, self-righteous prog who goes regularly to church may be far nearer to hell than a prostitute.”  C. S. Lewis “Mere Christianity”

“…we live in a country in which a person cannot get elected president if he openly doubts the existence of heaven and hell.”  Sam Harris “The End of Faith”

I switch back and forth reading a little of each trying to understand everyone’s points of view. Sometimes I’ll be reading and forget which one of the books I’m reading.  You wouldn’t think this was possible; but it just goes to prove that we are not as different as we think.  In the end I believe that most people want love and goodness and to all get along.  I’ve often been conflicted at Christmas time.  Why do I carry out the Christmas time traditions when I’m clearly not a religious type person. I actually get angry with society and what Christmas time has turned into.  This can’t be what it was meant to be.

Both of the banks in our town are offering Christmas Loans to help people out during the season of over consumption and spending beyond their means.  How very christian of the banks to help us out like that.  But what is the definition of “christian” when used as an adjective.  Let’s take a moment to look that one up  :” treating other people in a kind and generous way”.  Interesting definition because you can be considered christian without being a christian.  This has started out very cynical, I should back up; although I’m fearful that this entire blog post may be cynical and if you haven’t enjoyed it so far you may need to skip this one as Christmas and it’s commercialism and  societal pressures always turn me into a Grinch.  The very fact that the banks are offering to give out money as long as you sign a paper that you will give it and more back to them does not seem to be treating other people in a  kind and generous way.  It seems a little back handed and hypocritical.  Abusing the definition of christian appears to be the norm.  How has  “treating other people in a kind and generous way” come to mean getting a loan so that you can buy presents, lights, trees, prime rib and giant blow up snow men for the yard in order to celebrate the birth of Jesus Christ? How many shopping days until Christmas?  We can shop on Thanksgiving day now.  Black Friday, Small Business Saturday, Cyber Monday, the new chain store in my town will be open on Christmas Day and my favorite the after Christmas sales when you can spend it all on yourself!!!!! Thank God for Christmas to give us a reason to do so much shopping that we need to take out a loan.  We haven’t even discussed the stress, cooking, baking and extra weekend work that we have put upon ourselves to get though this joyful time of the year.  Who’s family will we be with; his? hers? the step people? the in-laws? Feelings are going to be hurt.

Enough of this. Stop stop.  Plenty of people enjoy Christmas time.  They get to visit family and friends.  They get to give them a gift and truly enjoy giving.  They get to decorate  a tree with all of the ornaments collected over the years and decorate the house and host a party.  They get to go Christmas caroling with the neighbors.  They enjoy the hustle and bustle of shopping for presents and the savings on those special savings days.  Hooray for these beautiful people who look forward to all of these things.  I am happy for you.  I am happy that taking out a small loan at Christmas time helps you have a successful and happy Christmas for you and your family.  These traditions are special and historic to people and in the words of Meg Poe; “if it matters to them; then it matters”.  Who am I to knock their special time and how they enjoy it.  Everyone should enjoy the Christmas season in a way that makes it special to them and respect each others way of celebrating.

Can you see it?  Can you see my Grinch heart growing?  I still will not be putting up a tree or lights.   I will not feel guilty for not doing those things.  I will not feel pressure to buy presents just to buy presents.  I will wake up on Christmas morning with my beautiful man, have a cup of tea and hot oatmeal.  We will pack the car and head to the ski hill as is our Christmas tradition.  We sit by the fire in the lodge and dress for the outdoors.  I will lose my beautiful man for 30 minutes or more on Christmas morning at the lodge.  He personally finds every employee at the ski area and wishes them a Merry Christmas.  This is his gift and his special way to spend Christmas.  His gift is a genuine wish for a Merry Christmas as well as a heart felt smile to all of these people working on Christmas day.   He treats people in a kind and generous way and I love him for that.

I hope you all find your special way to have a Merry Christmas and don’t let society or peer pressure dictate that for you.  Find your own way to enjoy the holiday season and don’t forget to treat people in a kind and generous way.

Our next post will be the announcement of the January book selection. Check out Wild About Books website for more post like this one and to take this month’s poll.