Cafe Musings

Yesterday, Saturday October 10, 2009, I spent 11-hours photographing a wedding. Starting at the hair salon with the bride-to-be for her hair and makeup session, her maid of honor and one bridesmaid, back to the hotel to get dressed, and following the dressed party, dashing across a busy six-lane street to the hall where the ceremony and reception were to take place (no limo needed). There, I hooked up with my partner-in-photography and we proceeded to record the day's events. The ceremony, the traditional pictures, cocktail and reception candids, speeches and toasts, garter toss, bouquet toss, dancing toddlers, adult tears of joy, laughter and silliness -- 90% of which I spent standing, leaning, walking, running or kneeling.

It was a very successful day of photography. As I loaded up my car I knew that I wasn't going to do JACK-SQUAT the following day -- today!

After my personal time this morning to pray, meditate and thank God for guiding through the maze of the day before, I uploaded the 480+ images (I'll get my partner's 360+ images later this week), archived them onto a DVD, cleaned out my 'fridge (only one plastic container of food had decayed beyond recognition -- I'm getting better), did 2 loads of laundry (THAT'S where that shirt was...!), showered, put my "face" on and bounced to the nail salon for near-torturous, acrylic fingernail "fill ins" and HOT wax, eyebrow hair ripping! The price for upkeep...

Later today, I was sitting in my favorite D.C. dig, Busboys and Poets Cafe. Dining on a scrumcious late brunch of broiled catfish layered on top of collard greens and a cornmeal pancake along with a lemon iced tea, I had to remind myself that it was OK for me to be there. Just because. No justification other than a beautiful fall day. Period.

I have this annoying sense that if I'm not in the midst of DOING each and everyday, I'm being lazy. That if I am not striving toward a goal with a sense of urgency, I'll end up 75-years old as a greeter at Wal-Mart. To a certain degree, I believe that is true. I have desires to work my plan for an abundant future but desires are like navels -- most people have them (I once knew a young woman who really did NOT have a navel!). It takes dedication, focus, faith and work to reach your goals!

Not today and I needed to relax and be OK with that. So I eat my catfish, collards and cornmeal pancake, and I open up my O Magazine. What do I see in very large purple and red letters on the page before me -- "How To Become The Person You Were Meant To Be."

I order a cup of coffee and proceed to take a quiz "Who Am I Meant To Be?" by Anne Dranitsaris, PhD. Dr. Dranitsaris writes that the quiz will help me discover my "striving style" which she defines as modes of thought and behavior that direct us to seek satisfaction in different ways.

My striving styles is Style #4: Striving to Be Spontaneous.

"Action-oriented, curious, outgoing, and often technically gifted (I remember that I took my grandparent's mantel clock apart as a kid and I get giddy when I talk about camera lens f/stops!). You live for new experiences. You are drawn to risk-taking and aren't afraid to fail." Word?

The Style pretty much nails me. What further gets my attention is written under "What to Watch Out For":

"When you can't satisfy your thirst for variety and excitement, you may see yourself as trapped, which can lead to impulsive and self-destructive behavior -- drinking, drugs, breaking off relationships, ditching financial responsibilities."

D'oh!

"Life will have meaning for you as long as you feel stimulated...You'll be happiest if you change jobs every so often and travel extensively. Movement is what keeps you going."

In all fairness, I didn't take time to finish reading the complete article as I am sure there is more to just knowing my Style. I will. It really doesn't tell me anything I don't already know -- but I'm talking about doing, not knowing, right?

4th at the White House

Let me answer this question first. No, I didn't see President Obama, The First Lady or the First Daughters. They'd made their appearances earlier that day, I was told.

I was invited to spend July 4, 2009 at the White House a few weeks prior. I was really excited about this but had to keep it hush-hush. Right.

My daughter and son accompanied me through the growing throngs of people headed to the Mall to watch the annual firework display. We followed the stream until we arrived at the gate to the White House grounds. Specifically, the South Lawn of the White House.

Flashing IDs, opening purses, and walking through metal detectors, we joined 1,200 families of military personnel. It was like a corporate outing outside. Kids milled about with painted faces and balloon animals. Some people were dressed like they were going to a garden party and others dressed like they were going to a Nationals' ball game. At stations throughout, we were served endless Dove ice cream bars and assorted beverages (sodas, beer and wine -- the REAL food had been served hours before we got there). We spread out our blanket and plopped down for a good show watching live performances of Jimmy Fallon, singer Michelle Branch and the Foo Fighters.

I can't say I've ever watched Jimmy much on TV, ever heard Michelle Branch sing or rocked to the Foo Fighters before but while sitting on our blanket on the grounds of the White House at this historic time in our country's history, sipping ginger ale from my free, commemorative imprinted, plastic cup, I was going to enjoy every second of whoever performed.

At about 9:15pm, the fireworks burst into the sky. I watched the incredible pyrotechnic display and thought, "how blessed am I, how blessed are we all right now to be here, at this place with my family. Yeah, there are still some worrisome things in life we all have to deal with when we leave here tonight, but not now."

I took a relaxing sigh, oohed and aahhed at the firey plummage above, and said "thank you God."

Radio Flyer

I bought a bicycle off Craigslist.

After weeks of spinning classes, I was feeling envious of the bike riding commuters I would see while on the bus to work. So free, so flowing as they cruised by and not at all like the insane zipping of bike messengers. I could do that, I thought! It only takes me a 20-minute bus ride to the office now. Riding a bicycle could save some of that time and give me outdoors exercise. Just what I need!

I logged onto Craigslist and searched for "womens bicycles." Scrolling through the "no", "oh no!", and "oh hell no!!" price offerings, one ad caught my eye. Opening the link, up pops a photo of a sleek, red, women's 10-speed bicycle. Kewl, and not only for the right price but the seller would bring it to the subway station if the potential buyer had no car.

Perfect! I have no car!

The Seller replied to my inquiry about the bike and we scheduled our meeting at the Metro station. That day, I arrived early decked out in my short, black exercise pants, newly purchased helmet, and an orange t-shirt with white writing that says "when your life no longer fits, change it."

The tan SUV I had been told to look for pulled up with the bike on the back. My Seller came out, we shook hands and exchanged introductions as he unloaded the slightly scratched, but seemingly complete, working bike. He explained that since being recently laid off, repairing and selling old bicycles had become his part-time gig. That and watching his kids.

He rolled the bike over to me.

Like the pro-novice I am, I faked like I knew what I was looking at. I'd ridden my last bicycle before I entered junior high school and it was a black, 3-speed beauty. Now, I couldn't tell a chainring from an onion ring.

"Give it a ride," he said. Nearly toppling over while I swung my leg over the seat, I stood for a second making sure that all my neurons were firing and I could remember how to ride this thing (spinning class bikes are wonderfully stationary).

Once the data in my brain downloaded, I pushed off and sat on the seat. After a few wobbly feet, I got into my balance and pedalled around the mostly empty parking lot. "Not so bad," I thought as I rode in a wide circle.

Returning and dismounting better (hold the brake), I happily handed Mr. Mom the cash. He offered to help me with any adjustments I might need in the future for which I was very appreciative.

Riding home on the Metro with my n-used bike (pedalling it home at that distance was NOT an option), I felt like I'd just come from the toy store with a brand new toy! I also thought "Oh mah Gawd, what have I done now?! Would I even really ride this thing? I'm 50-friggin' years old! What if I get a flat? Is there a AAA for bicycles?!"

I knew that voice well. It has haunted and taunted me for years. Now I know how to shut it off and I did. I was blessed to find it, blessed to buy it and, above all, blessed to be physically able to ride it. I'd let God take care of the future.

Arriving at the closest stop to my home, I rolled it to the sidewalk, mounted up and rode it the 5 blocks home. Feeling the warm summer wind flow over me reminded me of why I loved riding my first bike. Freedom. Your own power propelling you forward. Awareness of everything going on around you. The clicking of the wheels as I glided down hill.

I rode into my building's garage, dismounted and took the elevator up to my apartment. There amongst books, papers, and furniture I put the kickstand down setting it beside the dinette set.

During a text message conversation with my best friend, I asked her what I should name my steed. "Radio Flyer," she texted back. Kewl, I like that.

And that's who "she" is. Radio Flyer in da house.

Whew!!

OK, so like….

I got up at 5:-unGodly-30am this morning to prepare for a 6:30am spinning class at WSC (Washington Sports Club) I signed up for. Spinning is sitting on half a bike and pedaling like crazy to dance mix music going nowhere -- how fun! There, amongst the 20-30-something tiny@$$ women and GQ men, I pedaled through 45-minutes of a class taught by this tall, taut young woman named Chandra. I took a "bike" off to the side of the room in case I fell and caused a pile up (yeah, I know it's a stationary bike class but I have a vivid imagination).

After Chandra helped me adjust my seat and showed me how to increase/decrease tension on the wheel, as though going up and down hills, I parked my fluffy, 50-something tush onto a skinny little bike seat and started pedaling. And pedaling. Slow hard pedaling. Fast easy pedaling. Now she wants us to what?! Stand and pedal at the same time?!! Is she NUTS?!! Oh, everybody else is doing it. I got two, standing strokes in before I had to sit back down on the seat. That was it! I'm done!! These legs haven't ridden a bike in over 40 odd years let alone stand and pedal at the same time. I need a drink!

Proudly I stayed and "rode" through the entire 45-minutes of the class. As it went on, I could pedal standing a little longer and increase the "hills" more and more. Afterwards, I stretched out my legs and arms and off to the shower before dressing for work. It wasn't so bad and I feel energized even if my butt hurts. And maybe I can do this a couple of times a week.

Tour de France? You are out of your MIND?!! Tour de Washington, DC Mall? Perhaps.

Blessings!

Flickr

This is a test post from , a fancy photo sharing thing.