Olympic Dreams with a dash of Twizzle

Photo courtesy of CBS

 Breathtaking, passionate, awe-inspiring.

If you watched the skating performance of Meryl Davis and Charlie White last night, then you probably were moved to emotion.  Maybe you watched out of obligation (like my husband) but found yourself entranced by the raw talent and magnificent beauty.  Just in case you missed it, here is a quick recap:

AMAZING!

The pair appeared ethereal, gliding in fluid motion across stark silver ice. Their luxurious purple costumes likened them to royalty and the two definitely reigned as king and queen on Sochi ice. Their moves were intricate and elegant.  White effortlessly lifted Davis across his body in seamless transition, "a curved lift," the announcer said, "practiced for over three years."  Led by musical crescendo, the dancers moved urgently across the frosty stage building up to a grand spin in which White swept Davis off the ice in exquisite beauty.  The crowd exploded in applause.  "A masterpiece" the announcer said while the other explained the routine had been "four to five years in the making." Flawless. They made it look easy.  The reward for all of their hard work?  Gold. First ever for the U.S. in Ice Dancing. 

 As a young girl I'd watch, mesmerized by the skaters lifts and spins.  Impacted by the scene, I asked my dad if I could learn to skate.  His reply, sound and practical, "We live in small town Texas.  There aren't any skating rinks around here."  Small problem for someone with my imagination.  The next time I went to the roll arena, I was Katarina Witt.  I figured I had time, and someday I too would become an ice princess.

I finally got to ice skate when the girls were small.  While visiting family in Lafayette, Indiana we stopped at a quaint outdoor park in late December.  We tied on bulky skates and fumbled our way onto the ice.  I took each of the girls around the rink, holding onto the side rail, afraid that I might fall and take a daughter with me. Far from the grace and poise of Katarina, I still treasure the memory.  I might not have become an Olympic ice skater, but I experienced the same beginning, just a little bit later.   

While I celebrated victory for the acclaimed medalists, I did what I always do.  I felt a tinge of nostalgia for years passed.  I longed for bright eyes eager to chase after empty dreams.  I missed the days filled with youthful creations when I'd mumble quietly,  "I can do it" and actually believed that I could become the next greatest Olympic athlete.

No longer disillusioned, I now know that I won't compete in the Olympics, EVER.  And that's okay, because the tremendous individuals who are competing did much more than dream.  They dreamed with intention, which makes all the difference in the world.  The rest of us who dreamed other dreams watch from home, applauding their accomplishments.  We are grateful to climb the peak and share the summit with them. 

When the dance was over, I stood up, turned on tiptoe, and told Matt that we should twizzle.  (I simply couldn't help myself--who doesn't love a good twizzle?)

Truly, Cinderella


 

Poppin' Tags

photo courtesy of http://portable.tv

  Poppin' Tags. Macklemore coined the phrase, but Matt Hubbard personifies thrift shop livin' luxury.  After the recent populism resurgence, second hand shopping is "in" again, and genuine thrift shoppers not only buy bargains but get things for free: dumpster divin' style!  Yep, my husband LIVES to find "gently used" items discarded near (occasionally lying atop) the receptacle  bin.  Although I don't get the same thrill from the sport as Matt, I have been an accessory to thrifting. 

     The first time we thrifted together was while looking for a Halloween costume. I wanted to dress Matt as Roger Sterling (Mad Men) but we didn't have the right clothes for him to wear at my house (he was still living in Dallas at the time).  So off we went to find befitting dress clothes for the nineteen sixties.  First stop, Goodwill.  We found a couple of dress pants, black and grey-both under $10! With googly eyes Matt said, "These are nice slacks!  I can't believe they're so cheap!"  He wore those pants and not just to the party.  

     I too enjoy the bargain shopping. I've bought numerous items.  What usually happens is that I shop charitable second hand stores for an event; costume or themed party, ugly Christmas sweater party, spirit days at school, but then I end up finding a great pair of capris I can't live without or a bright, springy shirt that's perfect for a Saturday morning in April.  However, I draw the line at trashcan hunting.  Matt does not.

     When we lived in Lubbock, he was constantly dragging in "finds" from the alley similar to that of a dog hauling in a dead bird.  "Look at this lamp?" he'd say, displaying his new find or "can you believe someone threw away this bike?  Looks like new!" he'd exclaim.  However, as he tinkered with the lamp disappointment would sit down beside him.  And in short time the "find" took a trip back to the dumpster. 

    After moving to DFW this past summer, his "neighborhood" expanded, a trash-diggers wonderland. Upon moving in he stumbled across a "Sander! Brand new!  Still in the Box!" next to the dumsters! (The sander currently resides in our garage and we're really not sure if operable.) 
 
     Next while at the Marcus tennis center, he found a lunchbox lying ever so slightly at the top of the trash can. "Did you see this?" he said, holding up the fabric tote as I walked up.  I told him I had seen it and wondered why someone had thrown it away.  Unlike him, I didn't investigate further. "There isn't a spot on it. It's perfectly clean inside." Eyes dancing, he said to me, "Haven't you wanted a new lunch pail to take to school?"  I happily took the lunchbox and admittedly, use it every day. 

     Finally, just last week he wheeled in a Swiss Gear Rolling Briefcase in black.  "It smells a little like gasoline, but I think the odor comes from being stored inside someone's garage." He began fixing the problem.  And in case you ever need to "fix such a problem" here is how: 

1. Stuff gain fabric dryer sheets into the zippered pockets.  
2. Remove and repeat until smell dissipates.  

    He took it with him to Florida last week and reports that it's fully functional, holding all three of his laptops (2 for work and 1 for play- a hoarder's blog to follow) and other work materials. The girls teased him about it to which he replied, "One man's trash is another man's come up."  He has taken Macklemore's words to heart.


Truly, Cinderella

The Personal Blog: A Literary Selfie

     My seventh grade daughter bounded into my classroom today and told me, "Mom, I'm an awesome actress!  I'm definitely going to Broadway!"

     To which I responded, "Humility Madilyn, humility.  Narcissistic much?" She laughed and then I followed up by saying, "Of course you're wonderful!  Tell me what happened today."

     We live in a time of unadulterated vanity.  The Kardashian culture.  "Don't tell me how wonderful I am, because I'm going to tell you first," mentality. Scores of teenage girls post duck-faced selfies, no longer restricted to Sundays instead they post most every day of the week. I know the cardio habits of a stranger (the woman who FB befriended me after I met her at a conference) because of her copious status updates regarding her cross-fit morning workouts. And while I must admit I'm jealous, I'm not jealous enough to go to cross-fit myself!  Another friend tweets the benefits of a gluten free diet, and although I've dipped my toe into this growing fad, I've yet to submerge fully.  A friend from the past brags about the newest piece of ocean front property she's purchased because she is "so blessed by God!" I guess that means I'm not.  Instagram, Twitter, and Facebook have created the new social world in which we live, full of self-promotion.  But we can't blame social media for all our ills—we, the players control the information.  Clearly society craves the ability to connect, not limited to friends, family, and neighbors.  We desire intimacy, even with those whom which we lost physical contact with long ago, and in turn we share ourselves.  For some time now I've objected to this new obsession maintaining that self-effacing propriety breeds respectable women and men, and humanity is doomed, our lives devoid of authentic human interaction if we don't stop.

     However, today I recant.  How can I judge?  I'm just as guilty.  I post irrelevant status updates and glamorous vacation pictures too.  I'm guilty of choosing the perfect picture displaying my best to upload.  And why?  The answer is why not?

     As with anything else newly introduced, we learn how to maneuver and self-monitor.  We learn that it's rude to surf endless Insta images and tweets when enjoying family dinner. We learn that trivialities throughout the course of the day don't always require historical documentation.  Although finding "your dog asleep under the bed" might merit a patient nod and smile, quite possibly even a like from the social landscape to show that we can all relate.  We're staying in touch, and though naysayers claim, “it’s the end of communication" I beg to differ.  It's new and most people inherently dislike change.  They forget to find the good.  

     Allow me a few more words, the perfect anecdote. A best friend of mine recently had a baby. Her husband wanted to post pictures of their adorable, infant son, but anguished over doing so. My friend asked him, "why?" He replied that he didn't want seem like a braggart.  She replied by saying, "If there were ever a time to post pictures, pictures of our newborn son, the time is now."  Excellent point. 

     Naysayers have forgotten the good.  Good like: world events are unveiled instantaneously and doesn't that create accountability? Good like: I'm able to watch my baby cousins grow in real time even though they live hundreds of miles away.  Good like: I'm able to share moments, like my daughter's high school graduation, my youngest daughter's talent shows, my husband's quirky stories, my step-daughter's un-braced teeth with all those who might want to celebrate with me.  In turn, I want to know about your life, too.  To quote Veronica Roth, we live for the moments "that don't suck" and during the other times our hearts break together because this is our new community.

     As of today, I'm crossing back over to the dark side.  I will kiss the pool of water and listen for Echo to return.  And here is why: my life, much like yours, is filled with fantastic, bizarre stories that cannot be kept secret anymore.  The stories wiggle and writhe, scratching at my fingertips begging to be told, but time and again I quiet them because I haven't wanted to appear ostentatious sharing brazen family tales.  I write for myself, but haven't written to you.  Today, the book is opened.  The secret is out.  

     After marrying Matt in 2010, I still feel like I'm living inside a fairytale remembered, a slightly dysfunctional blended-family fairytale, but none-the-less, a fairytale in which I'm the queen!  I invite you to join our journey. 

Truly, Cinderella