I Grabbed the Wrong Leg

It was a beautiful day for a drive with my big sister to Port Huron to visit an aunt. Nature called our names so we pulled into a rest area east of Flint. I got to the restroom before my sister as she was dawdling. 

I secured my spot when I heard my sister enter and claim the stall next to mine.

Obviously, I had a choice. Continue my business or have a little fun. I chose fun and grabbed my sister's ankle under the stall wall!

A rush of "oh my gosh" followed by soft screaming filled the room as the woman’s legs disappeared from my sight. "You scared me to death" she breathlessly sputtered.

I profusely apologized as the person turned out not to be my sister, and believe me, it was extremely difficult to say I was sorry, when struggling to hold back a laugh.

I hurriedly finished, washed up, and ran out to my car where I hunched down low to avoid detection - and waited an awful long time for my sister to return.

In the meantime, she was in the restroom chatting away with the still frightened woman. I could only guess what they talked about. My sister finally returned to the car and told me how much I had scared the woman. I remained in my hunched position but was able to laugh with my sister about this incident.

One thing I know for sure - every time this woman uses a public roadside rest area, she will remember the strange person who grabbed her ankle. She, too, has a story to tell. I can only hope she remembers it with affection, but probably not.

Steps taken for my pilgrimage

I met a woman many years ago, Julie, who shared that she was on a pilgrimage around Michigan to promote a camp she was creating - Morningstar.  Wearing a backpack, shorts, a billowing green shirt, boots and carrying a simple walking stick, she was gypsy'ish, almost hippy'ish, in appearance.  A great conversationalist, I enjoyed hearing her very expansive story.

I've thought of Julie, often, over the years, and wondered if her dream ever came to fruition; mainly, I was secretly envious of her as I also carried a dream to be on a pilgrimage to something or somewhere. Life and responsibilities intervened, and yet I never lost my desire to create my very own challenge with a cause, like Julie.

Then I got to thinking (occasionally a bad thing when excess time presents itself). Why not do something extreme and allow me to be the cause, purpose and subject?  My kids are gone, am retired (there has to be a better word for this - retirement almost says to me that at a certain age, we are tired...thinking on that), my husband and children are very supportive.  Bam!  A walking, cycling, spinning and elliptical adventure of 1500-2016 miles from September 1, 2015 to December 31, 2016, was birthed.

This adventure board of my long-long dream - my own challenge - A Pilgrimage to Celebrate My Life - my personal adventure, odyssey, saunter, trek.  The life coaching class I took gave us support as our adventure boards materialized, and am pleased with how mine speaks to what I plan to accomplish as it now stands, not only as a reminder, but a record, of my, gulp, endeavor.  

This year has been fraught with illness and weakness and deaths and turmoil - yet, also hope of actualizing who I am in the face of the secret unknown, to make me "better" so I can better serve and help others, unselfishly and willingly.  

Visualizing the end goal - 489 days to achieve 1500-2016 miles.  Gotta get my walking stick out and cleaned of spider webs.

 

I'm ready to stretch myself.

Time of rediscovery

I am a retired Baby Boomer.

The second month of this new freedom finds me seeking my identity, post-work, and reevaluating what I want from life. In spite of this wide-open space filled with opportunities to uncover, I remain stuck remembering hurtful remarks made trying to demean and break my spirit -- "put me in my place". One particular comment of "who do you think you are?" continues to hold me captive. I earned my degree in journalism and heard, "it's about time" with no effort of a congratulations for this accomplishment.

These negative judgements, perhaps bullying, have been roadblocks in my quest to change, grow and challenge myself throughout life as in the depths of my soul, I believed what people told me. But, I am my father's daughter. He had such an ability to rise above injuries, surgeries and medical conditions, to create something new in his life. And, I am my father's daughter.

Dreaming - it's what I do, spending time musing about what could be and how to achieve that which I dream about. 

 

I have some accomplishments, am open to change, forgave the lost opportunities, and can focus on what plans emerge in my musings. ...and yet, the bully-statements get me in the gut.

 

As I said, I am my father's daughter, so borrowing from him and to prepare for life in retirement -- 

• I took a class at Northern Michigan's Interlochen Fine Arts Camp, where we designed, brainstormed and created blogs. I found my cubbyhole, an activity that feeds my soul and allows for my writing and telling of stories -- in particular, freedom to share my life without verbal judgement. I am The Barefoot Norwegian.
• I tore our small galley kitchen apart, chose calming new colors, and proceeded to sand, paint, toss and create a pleasant and peaceful place to create meals.
• I meet with a "life coach" (a person who counsels and encourages clients on matters having to do with careers or personal challenges - Oxford Languages). I cherish the personal time where the coach hears me and guides my many musings and directions, while creating an acceptable action plan. I highly recommend finding a life coach if you are blocked, scared to move forward, or want to bounce ideas around.
• Learning to accept that I'm an equal to others and having goals are important at any age.

Baby steps...

I had a dream

Today is my formal class Introduction to Blogging for Artists and Writers at Interlochen College of Creative Arts.  As a real student, I spent the evening on campus at the Stone Motel.  During the night, I had the proverbial dream of walking around trying to find the classroom, losing my "ticket" to the class, loading my purse with candy M&Ms, which I had to move around to find said ticket.  I finally, emptied my purse of all these treats to discover my entrance paper.

Finding the hall, I walked into the classroom - which was full of obvious intelligent and highly successful people.  The teacher welcomed me and asked me where my tuba was.

...and so, the adventure begins...

My biggest cheering section