Why She is Late

What do we all know about women? We run late. We're late in the morning, we're late in the afternoon, and we're late at night. 

Why? 

Here's my explanation. I guarantee it's not true for all women, but I guarantee it's true for some. 

Reason #1: She doesn't want to admit to herself it really takes her that long to get ready, so she only allows as much time as she wished it took her. 

Reason #2: The outfit that looked perfectly fine last time she wore it is horrendous today, and for reasons she can't explain. Choosing another outfit could make her want to give up and crawl back under the covers. 

Reason #3: Every day, she is faced with new dilemmas: a dull razor, a face that needs a lot more work than usual, unruly hair, or throwing a lunch together last-minute instead of making it in peace the night before. Thus, the time between stepping out of bed and stepping out the door is different every day. 

Reason #4: She has an amazing view of the mountains out her back door and lingers there too long. 

Reason #5: Once she is already out and about for the day and has to be somewhere, odds are she's enjoying where she is currently and doesn't want to leave. She may be talking to someone and is fully aware she should've left five minutes ago but couldn't or didn't, therefore she is now late. 

What else do we all know about women? They're always worth the wait.

The Blob Revisited

Almost exactly one year after writing about my Blob, a Blob member informed me last night that reading it had warped his mind. He refused to elaborate. This got me thinking about my dear ol' Blob and how it has evolved into more of a Holidays-and-Special Occasions-only Blob, hence yesterday's Memorial Day Cookout. The handy thing about holidays and special occasions is they are just that, occasional.

Let's face it: co-ed is complicated, especially when it's on an all-the-time basis. But I must admit, some things are more fun with men around. Cookouts, for example, and wallyball, and camping (who's going to scare the bears away?) and when doing hard things, like unbolting the satellite dish from your balcony in the dark.

I don't advocate segregation. Nope. I'm all for integration, just on the right terms. My Blob has done a great job of this (and is much of the reason we are no longer a blob). In the past year, many of them have started seriously dating or are married or engaged. The interesting part is that very few of them found someone inside the Blob. They looked outside and voila, there he was.

Our get-togethers now are full of fun and great conversations, and I can be at ease because I'm not hyperventilating over what I wonder might be happening behind the scenes. "He talked to me all night last weekend too...is he interested?!?" or "Why isn't he interested? Can't he tell I'm dropping hints, and can't he see that we get along famously?" See? Complicated. But from what I can tell, the occasional times we all come together are lower pressure and 100% enjoyable. And who knows -- maybe under those terms a little romance will actually have room to blossom and breathe.

I still can't support the Blob as I knew it before, but I can't deny how much joy a healthy, mixed group of friends can bring to life. I suppose Solomon was right when he suggested there is a time for everything.

Dogs and DTRs

Two dogs accompanied my weekend. One big, one little, both perfectly charming. House/dog-sitting for a friend was risky business when I'm a selective dog-lover. But these two came with rave reviews, and they exceeded expectations. Except for one thing: they wanted too much love and cuddles. I'd never heard of such a problem.

Hero

Dolce

Night one: I felt like a million bucks. Everywhere I went, they went, and they wanted to snuggle. I'll take it!
Night two: ...Okay, my clean clothes are now dirty...haven't you loved enough? Alright fine, come here.
Night three: It was time for "the talk", especially with the larger than life German Shepherd, Hero. "Hero, I've really enjoyed meeting you. You're great. Fantastic, even. But...I think we're moving kinda fast. I need space and time to think through all this and I'm feeling a little, well, suffocated. See, I'm new to this whole thing and it's taking longer than I expected to be ready for it. Am I making any sense?"

He still didn't get it, but his persistence won me over. Dolce, or Little D, was an easy sell. He fit nicely in my lap and never thought our noses needed to touch. Oh, and he was cute as a button. I'm officially one step closer to saying I like dogs. For you dog-lovers out there, I understand. And I'm trying -- I really am. I'm confident that one day, with the right dog, I'll fall hard. Until then, I'm learning dogspeak for, "It's not you, it's me."

Routine Change

My dad is a man of routine. Any time of day, I could tell you his exact location, what he was doing and maybe even what he was eating. After trying hard to live a more spontaneous life, I've lately begun to see the beauty of routine. Life around me changes so fast, everything familiar is now a friend of sorts. 

The squirrel pattering his way across my roof just a few minutes after my alarm wakes me, the man on his smoke break waving at me as I drive past him on my way to work, that table against the wall where Kristin and I drink coffee together every Thursday morning, and my first peek out the window to see how beautiful Pikes Peak looks today. The content of today, its conversations, its highs and lows, will all be different than they were yesterday. These little things I used to think were boring and predictable and I tried so hard to avoid are now things I notice and savor every day. The same is true of the sunrise and the way the sunlight and shadows look on the mountains just before the sun goes down. They are faithful. 

When I try to explain to myself why we human beings like routine, the best answer I can conjure is that it reminds us every day of our humanity. From the first day of life, we needed a constant, but we also needed change. We can't avoid routine. The clock moves by the minute, the birds sing, we wash our faces and brush our teeth...or at least I hope so. We can't avoid change. The traffic patterns are different, our energy is greater or less than yesterday, and the phone rings with news. Life needs both. 

Is it possible that God designed the world just so, including our routines and changes, to help us better understand Him? The only things we know for certain, the routines, are that He is here with us now, He was there before we were, and He will be there at the end. Everything else changes. We're promised good and bad, difficult and easy, but the details remain a mystery. We're given just enough constant to endure the changes. That's all we need. 

Home and Away

Goodness me. I forgot about the blog for three weeks. April was a big month. I turned 26, decided on some important things, bought a classic black business suit and had it tailored (felt so grown-up), and took my first shot at watercolors. I just returned from a work trip to Washington DC, and the project that made me cry and inspired my last post turned out to be nothing at all. It went even more smoothly than last year, and I'm convinced prayer had everything to do with it. I was on my knees about that whole thing, and not a single person was lost in my records. It was a miracle.

DC taught me...

...how I really feel about home. We left Sunday morning, and by Sunday night I missed Colorado. Where are the mountains?! The sky?? A smile on the street? Help!!!

...that I'm accustomed to friendly downtown Colorado Springs, where it's only a little creepy to make eye contact on the street. In the big city, it's risking your life... or other important things.

...it's possible to feel like a month fit inside a week, and to be mentally present for the entire thing. I don't think I thought of anything but work for five days straight.

...I can fit a lot of good food in my belly.

...Newt Gingrich is just a normal guy.

...a joyful heart is good medicine.

...an early morning walk is brilliant, except when high heels are the shoe of choice today, tomorrow, the next day, and the next, for 12 hours minimum.

I couldn't be happier to come home to Colorado, to a day that beckons everyone outside and delivers blissful adventure with every step. It's the sort of place that gives room for thought and makes it very hard not to think of the majesty and grandeur of God. Maybe one day I'll get over my Colorado-love, but not today or tomorrow.

My 9 to 5 weep.

Yesterday was my first on-the-job cry. It was bound to happen one of these days. Also noteworthy, my office wall is glass. This means I can run, but I can't hide. I quickly realized it's possible to care deeply about something without knowing it. And then when something threatens to ruin the whole kit and kaboodle -- my work baby -- I'm suddenly aware that I would work as long as it took to make it right.

Who knew I cared about data? It's not the data, really. It's the people the data represents. You see, their names will become faces and bodies in just a couple weeks, and my job is to 1.) know that they're coming to our event, and 2.) prepare in advance everything they will need for the week. So when our trial-phase online database decided to move over to real-phase and omit some very important information, I got queasy. Real queasy.

I don't think about this often enough, but what I do here (and everywhere, really) has a consequence. It reflects onto something. In this case, it reflects on my company. There are no actions without reactions. Months ago, I was debating whether or not to enter all the information in two different places, just for safe-keeping. I decided not to, and now I'm wishing I had. We humans have very little foresight. I don't know what will happen after I click "Publish Post" or what will happen at 5:30 this evening, or on my 26th birthday. But whatever I do will have a consequence. That little nauseous feeling in my stomach reminds me that my actions affect others, just like our software company's actions affected me.

Today I'm considering what and who I represent and what my life means because of it. And for now, I need to avert crisis and recover what's been lost. Adios.

The Cousins

The cousins flew out from Los Angeles last weekend for a Colorado Getaway. This whole side of my family is a magnet for unusual circumstances. What would be highly unusual for most people is normal for them. KD fell through the library ceiling at school, Marcy and I crashed our bikes every ride because we were talking, and Susannah totaled the family friends' golf cart. Spending time with them is one big, delightful mess.

It was no surprise when the first story I heard after picking them up from the airport was that Aunt T's butcher knife had been confiscated at Security. Because she put it in her carry-on to bring as a gift to her sister.

On our way home after 11:00 p.m., the natural thing to do was stop by the Air Force Academy to visit cousin Ty who has to be back in his dorm by midnight. We pulled up to the guard house, rolled the windows down and stared (smiling) at the guard, who stared (not smiling) back at us. After a pause, Aunt T said, "We're here to see a cadet." Guard said, I need to see your military ID. I said, "How about a Colorado driver license?" He said, "I need to see your military ID." I don't have one of those. "Okay, I need you to pull over and get out of your vehicle after I check your trunk. The driver (that was me) will need to come inside." Great. After signing some papers, we took Ty out for ice cream and back to his dorm in 20 minutes flat.

Saturday morning, we were back at the Air Force Academy for a parade.

Need I say more? 

On their way to my house Sunday night, they were interrogated at King Soopers after they took the next day's pastries, just delivered by Starbucks. They were on their way to the register when they were stopped by an employee, "Ma'am? Ma'am!! May I ask why you're taking tomorrow's pastries??" They bought coffee instead.

This was my life in college, when their house was where I spent most of my time. Always weird, always fantastic, always an adventure. I wish you could know them.