Something Happened

by Dr. Marian Fritzemeier, Ed.D. © 2014

Author, Speaker, Educator
 

Something happened tonight that hasn't happened in seven years.

"Surprise," I chime in alongside friends gathered to celebrate our friend's 65th birthday.

I sit comfortably in a tan wicker rocking chair on the back patio while I engage in conversations. I catch up with some friends and reconnect with another I haven't seen in years. The carrot cake is delicious. I savor every bite. I'm comfortable updating friends about my life, my adult daughters, and of course, those three precious grandchildren.

But it's what I don't do that's significant. I don't sit quiet as a mouse observing so I can conserve my energy. I don't leave the group because it's too noisy to find solitude in a peaceful location. I don't excuse myself to clean up my usual spilt drink as I don't spill my Diet Coke.

I don't startle and jump because someone drops a fork on the tile. I don't roam around searching for the family cat so petting kitty provides a legitimate distraction. I don't hide behind my camera when I can't understand the conversation.

I don't wander off to "help" since I can't construct a coherent thought or form a complete sentence.
I don't walk to my car to dig up something I "forgot" when I can't track the cross talk of multiple conversations. I don't go through the motions because I'm disconnected, staring off with a blank expression.

Tonight, I do none of these things. The things I've managed to do for seven years to compensate for my brain impairment in social settings. Indeed, something happened tonight. I initiated conversations. I added to stories. I asked questions. I laughed. I enjoyed myself fully...I didn't escape.

Image from: www.stockpholio.com 4618335923_3 Tate Modern Tribute.

Dancing Dog

by Dr. Marian Fritzemeier, Ed.D. © 2014

Author, Speaker, Educator



Dancing Dog in Front Pack

It is 108°. The A/C is still not working. It's really too hot to do much of anything. I can't get much done sitting in front of the fan, so I sweat through the day doing what I can. I certainly can't ride my bike in this heat.

I'm going to ride in the morning. But that's my prime writing time, I argue with myself. But if I don't, I won't be primed to ride 40 miles at the Clear Lake Konocti Challenge in October.

I get up twenty minutes earlier. Throw on old clothes. Feed the dog. Feed the fish. Drink my Boost. Get my water. All I need now are my shoes and helmet. As I reach towards my bike shoes on the closet floor, I notice Dancing Dog. She's so excited anticipating that I'll take her on my bike ride, she pirouettes. Again. And again. And again.

 "Do you want to go on ride?" She pirouettes even faster; then races down the hallway towards the closet that stores her front pack.

"Stop dancing so I can put you in your pack." Then we're off for a morning ride. Dancing Dog takes it all in. She's observing what's going on, smelling the fresh air, and holding her head boldly while the wind blows on her face. She's simply taking in the moment.

I'm still grumbling. I'd rather ride in the late afternoon. I'm missing my writing time. Then I restate the truth. I'm delaying my writing time. I will write after my eight-mile ride.

With the writing dilemma settled, I focus on my ride and am in the moment, just like Dancing Dog.

"Dancing Dog, do you see the kitty?... Hi kitty cat," I sing-song as if both animals will answer. I'm now aware of the birds' songs in the quiet neighborhood. I observe a breeze, just enough to keep me comfortable.

Ahh, this is why I like bike riding. I'm in the fresh air enjoying God's nature and beauty. Oh yeah, and getting some exercise too.

Before I know it, we're heading home. Releasing Dancing Dog from the front pack, she reluctantly jumps out. I view emails as I cool down. Then I write. And Dancing Dog? She's lying next to me, living in the moment, yet anticipating our next adventure.

Feeling Inadequate? Watch Children

by Dr. Marian Fritzemeier, Ed.

Parker's First Attempt at Caber Toss

D. ©2014

Author, Speaker, Educator

            Do you ever feel inadequate? Some days everything seems difficult. Simple things like opening a sealed bag or putting on my necklace are challenging because my coordination is poor.  Other times I can't find the right word or can't even express a sentence when my brain is off.  Yes, me, Chatty Cathy. I read a book that has many thought provoking statements. Hatch! Brainstorming Secrets of a Theme Park Designer by C. Mc Nair Wilson. He did in fact work for Disney as an Imagineer.  

            "If you feel in adequate, watch children. They are highly unskilled at pretty much everything they try. But they try everything. They don't listen to maturity's hot air about being responsible, careful, or correct. Instead they fill their lives with hot dreams and imagination and fly to the stars...They roll down grassy slopes, basking in the moon-glow and starlight of endless possibilities." (p. 68)

            What a great description of childhood. It is one reason I love being around them. After I was unable to work at Merced College, I missed watching children every day as they came and went from the Child Development Center. So I began volunteering in my grandson Parker's preschool class a year and a half ago. What a delight to be with him and his friends. They are constantly trying something new.

            On Saturday my husband participated as an athlete in the Modesto Highland Games. One event is the caber. My daughter calls it, "Man in skirt with telephone pole." Six to twelve year olds could sign up to learn. Parker is not quite six, so they let him "practice" two times after the older kids were done.

            He'd never turned a caber before. He may have seen it on a video. His Papa hadn't yet done that event. But he wanted to try. And try he did. He was able to turn it on the first toss. He was so proud of himself. I was proud of him too. Not so much that he turned it, but because he was willing to try even in front of a large group.

            If they offered adults to try and turn the caber, I'm guessing there would be few volunteers. Why? McNair summaries the answer best, "...we do not live our dreams because we're too busy living out our fears." (p. 66) Parker was not even remotely afraid. He didn't wonder what others would think. He didn't hold back in case he couldn't do it. He didn't doubt himself. He just went for it. What's the "caber" in your life you'd like to try? Maybe you can try it today.

(Village Books, 2012)