Awkward Greetings

In the office last week, some guy came in and nearly broke every bone in my hand with his overly aggressive hand shake. It was crazy. After The Squeeze, he proceeded with a 30 minute monologue about something I couldn't quite follow.

I always feel impossibly awkward about interrupting someone. It's rude not to listen. And Gropius really does love talking to and meeting new people. But when I don't know the purpose of the visit and it's sooo unapparent what I can do to help, it's awkward.

Another awkward greeting situation: someone approaches you, calling you by name when you have no idea who the person is. This has occurred a number of times, usually followed by a friend or co-worker approaching. Then I must introduce the person to them and it's pretty hard to play off the identification failure gracefully.

This weekend at the Farmer's Market, I ran into someone who had been an utter and complete turd to me in the past. I forgive and move on, but it doesn't mean I want to run into a turd-from-the-past at the Farmer's Market. After he made a big deal about calling me over, with as much politeness and enthusiasm as I could muster I exchanged a greeting. Then...silence. Literally there was no small talk that would come to the brain. It was a strange sort of face off.

What are your awkward greeting scenarios?

How totally appealing...I'm ready for you.

Driving back to Bradentucky today from a morning at the Sarasota Farmer's Market and a little Eco-Fest at Laurel Park, I was loving the fresh exposure to the environmentally friendly, politically inclined and conscious populace.

I quickly broke right out of that frame of mind after citing an old pick up bearing a bumper sticker with "I'll Take You to XTC."

Mmm hmmm. I can hardly wait! Tell me where to sign up. The good 'ole boys inside were preparing for a well planned trip to Hooters, telling from the passionate left turn off of US 41. I'm sure the waitstaff there will be fast and fresh to the standing offer as well. Sigh.

How far would you go for something you believe in?

Sometimes I get too caught up in the minutia of daily happenings to remember that I'm here for a reason. Just like you and every other person on this earth. Are we doing something that moves us? Is there some injustice you feel strongly about? Are you sitting on your arse festering about it when it's brought to your attention on the nightly news? And forget about it the rest of the time?

I get it, that's enough questions for tonight, Gropius.

But really, think about it. How far would you go for something you believe in? I think it's easy to give that question a lot of lip service and let potential barriers and skepticism prevent personal action. When you feel outraged or inspired, do you only go far enough to say, "that's so sad" or "that's terrible" or "I wish I was doing that" and then move on to the next distraction?

I need to reevaluate and consider this in a new, more serious way. Time's a wastin'. I'm not getting any younger. And I need to get into high gear and be a little more choosy about where I spend my energy.

The Division of Labor at Home

I really am a lucky girl. Husband does more than his share of meal prep, helps with dishes & cleaning and will sometimes start the washing machine. Now, if I can just stop the boys from tracking the entire yard in after I've vacuumed.

The challenging part is our individual timelines. When I'm ready to clean, he claims I'm on a rampage or a cleaning stampede of sorts. But why screw around with it? Get it done...help or get out of the way. Right? And HOW LONG should one wait until the house is literally worth of a reality show?

Still, the "domestically disabled" shirt I bought on our honeymoon laid the proper groundwork. He's pretty damn cooperative and a good housework partner. What's it like in your humble abode?

To Hell in A (Sweet) Hand Basket

Central Florida in June. It's hot as hell. In the sweet and sweltering town of Mt. Dora, it was a little difficult to sit more than an hour in the lakeside shade...even in comfortable wooden chairs with a full view of fledgling moorhens picking insects out of the grass. Still, we had a grand 'ole time. It's so worth a weekend trip.

Now I'm not a prissy girl, but I love beautiful things that weave nature-inspired patterns into light, magical rooms. I've never seen one quite like this--the site of my sis-in-law's baby shower. There was so much joy and excitement around the occasion, and every girl was wishing she had seen the likes of this space for her one and only Sweet 16 or wedding shower. The attire of the hostesses in our tea room was even planned to the finest detail. They wore ballet slippers and flowing, lacy sort of dresses in soft colors (not that oldie moldie Elizabethan clothing that would make you want to puke or expect paintings with heads on platters in the background.)

In fact, the locale choice was so supreme that if I had to be locked in a room for the rest of my life (I'm not asking for this, Great Spirit), this one would be my choice.

On a different note, I have a bit of sad news for those who aspire to make the Mt. Dora trip. I'll tell you, my previous fave (the historic Lakeside Inn) is in the midst of a slow demise. We waited over an hour past the 3 pm check in for our room to be ready, and after hearing it would be another sixty minutes, we asked for a different room. Evidently the place is for sale and the shrewd management team is cutting down on housekeeping with the slow economy. My gift to them for the unapologetic wait: some nice exposure on Gropius. We heard that this B & B is the bomb. We're staying there next time.

Despite the LakeSLIDE Inn, the trip was magnificent, restful and really special. How often do you see your favorite people carrying a child? I can't wait for Gropius to have a new neice!

The 3 "Anti" Facebook Reasons

Just when I had almost declared this evening non-blogworthy, I came across this. It's a response I just received from a friend who has been missing on Facebook for a while. "Gave up on Facebook?" was my question. Answer:

1. I never figured it out.
2. I think it’s adolescent in many ways.
3. I think it has great potential for identity theft and viruses…

Other than that, I LOVE IT…

It just seemed so mocking and sarcastic, I had to share it. Personally, it seems like the bad attitude all relates to his reason #1.

Remember the weight loss challenge? I'm surrounded by enemies.

Like Mexican food, ice cream and the occasional margarita. Sweet Jesus, I could eat potatoes or any potato derivative for breakfast, lunch and dinner every day. What kind of a vegetarian am I?

Seriously, it's been depressing. I just want to get to my college graduation weight from 11 years ago (GASP), and presumably, it shouldn't be that hard. But after a stressful day, I want to come home, eat dinner and veg... Granted, all of these activities usually take place after more work and a little fiddling around on Facebook, a few blogs and e-mail.

I've come to the conclusion that being married makes you lazy as hell when it comes to taking care of yourself. We can sit down with a bag of chips or a bowl of cream when there is literally not an ounce of hunger on the brain.

Who won the weight loss challenge? A single mother of 3 of course! Well deserved, Nicole, well deserved. You're the most disciplined person I know. (I mean that!) And you took home $20 each from 8 of us other losers for a grand total of $160. You should celebrate with donuts.

The Writer's Bench

Guided by a 3-day scruff, ponytailed man of 36 who had never heard of a blog and doesn't own a television, we made our way through the mangrove tunnels. We came to an opening and pulled our kayaks onto a small strip of beach that wears only several variety of grasses, low lying salt-tolerant vegetation and The Writer's Bench.

In the softening light of evening, what could be more appealing for women fond of the word? A wooden seat for three--only accessible by boat--overlooking the bathwater shallows chocked with hermit crabs, sea urchins and petite starfish.

Oddly, some of us stood around it and one might have propped her feet on its side, but no one sat down. We observed, seeing ourselves outside of the picture of quietude, pining for more time--for a space where creativity does not yield to cell phones, insistent children, mothers who want to inform our wardrobes, and thoughts of small checks in exchange for our soul-words.

The reality of visiting that place frequently enough to satiate the need for calm, neutralizing solitude is slimmer than the single vessels we paddled. But the thought of The Writer's Bench, sitting there in all weather and circumstance, creates a light in the mind we can go without hesitation, guides or bug spray to summon the right sentence for paper or screen.

It's the Small Stuff

You can't always estimate the power of dedicating two minutes of your day to give another person the reassurance that someone cares.

Talking with Rams yesterday, I heard that many of the professionals who go to his gym have lost their jobs. They come in at the same time--what used to be after work--to use the machines and feel the normalizing effect of the old schedule, sweat and physical activity. They're little more than strangers to him, but he makes a conscious effort to stay a bit longer and chat with them to keep building that human connection.

It's pretty demoralizing to have lost your job, after years of hard work and experience, without the ability to scoop up another one. If you have a family, double that feeling of loss and fear.

That deliberate act of reaching out in conversation is comforting, don't you think? It's good to have the awareness that angels of simple kindness are walking amongst us.

Inappropriate Kiosk Behavior

Have you ever been assaulted by someone in a shopping mall kiosk trying to sell you cream, cheap jewelry, cell phones, newspaper subscriptions, Dead Sea something, etc.?

I found a recent tactic displayed by a hair care product company very invasive...if you can even call it a tactic. Walking along, minding my own business (and trying desperately to appear interested in something far, far away), I was aggressively approached by a non-smiling woman who said in a very forceful tone, "What HAIR CARE products do you use?"

It was a little personal for me. And very annoying. In retrospect, here are the top 5 answers I wish I had on the tip of my tongue:

• Rid Lice/ Rid Flea
• I'll trade you an answer for the assurance you won't say anything else to me, including "but--"
• What kinds of FEMININE products do you use?
• Look. What do you want from me? I'm just going to lay it out for you. "No."
• I have a raging case of herpes. Is that okay?

What do you do in these situations? In a way, I feel bad for them. Business sucks everywhere. But I just don't like this kind of approach.

Random College Memory

What sparked this note of remembrance in my brain? No idea. But I was just thinking of my Economics professor. The room held around 150 people and was the sort of lecture class where you expected to go in, listen to the prof and be sort of anonymous. No chance of the old geezer recognizing you, even if he had the roster in hand.

We were all curious when he made us hold up a sign with our name on it and get our picture taken the second week of class. The third week of class, things were cleared up for us when he started calling on people to answer bizarre questions. Several tried to pretend they weren't present, but that's when he pulled out the good 'ole photographic memory trick.

"Sexton, I know you're here. I'm looking right at you. And don't even try to look at Susie for the answer."

Smart guy. But what a freak. Now why did this pop in out of nowhere from the recesses of 12 years ago?

The IKEA shopping cart killer

Yesterday I arrived on site at IKEA at 12:31 p.m. and did the following...

• walked throughout the labyrinth of high quality, low price furniture and furnishings gawking at the spectacle of it all (along with 3.8 million others);
• ate a meat free lunch of vegetable medley and mac and cheese, located in the line between heaps of Swedish meatballs and egg/ shrimp sandwiches; and
• continued the window shopping marathon downstairs with an even paced diligence

...all so I could time my shopping cart collision with a certain lady at precisely 2:16 p.m. Well, obviously. That was the unbelievable look of sheer hatred bestowed upon me by this chick as I accidentally tapped her ankles with the back of my cart. My sincere apology didn't seem to sway her too much from her original assessment of my evil plot to kill her. Jeeez. It's a jungle in there, sweetheart. Next time I'll be a little more calculating.

Charlotte

Crowders Mountain, 30 mins outside of Charlotte and 3 hours before the plane departed...yikes.

With every trip back to NC, the decision is made: I'm moving back. And so with this trip. Don't worry (or do?), I'm totally not going anywhere. It's all talk...at least until the housing market here allows us to have a greater than 2% chance of selling.

There was no way on God's green earth we were going to make the trip from Charlotte to South Mountains on Friday. A sick child and rain like the rapture were our impediments. But everything was just fine; it just doesn't matter what you're doing when you're with the right company. Right?

We took a "Tour de Childhood Gropius" down the two streets holding addresses of my houses from 1 year to 16 years, and we visited the landmarks that most Charlotteans consider trite and certainly nothing much to speak of. It was comforting to get the confirmation that my random and scattered dreams containing images of those childhood places were pretty much accurate. Even the sign at Park Road Shopping Center hadn't been changed in 30 years. Good move. Now it's retro.

A tiny dogwood tree my mother planted 27 or so years ago is now a gorgeous specimen, producing shade enough for a large family's picnic. How cool.

My patient tour guide: a great Sarasota friend who ended up in Charlotte with a young sweet family. Isn't it strange to see your high school friends as parents? In Little Olive, I saw a younger version of the 33 year old creative I love and adore. She's a great mother. We had a blast. So grateful for the few in life you can always count on to share your joy, sorrows, laughs, memories and outright craziness. I haven't felt so refreshed in a while.

I love not camping

Uncommon Blonde, this made me think of you.

I, on the other hand, do enjoy camping, and I thank you for the opportunity! We're excited for an outdoor adventure with the alligators and elements. We appreciate you thinking of us with the camping/canoeing certificate. Promise to take photos.

Carolina On My Mind

You don't always appreciate the beauty in common places that surrounded you during the wonder years. And even the parts that were only part of a normal day come back to haunt you with a little sadness and nostalgia, just because that's the world you were first exposed to, and it's part of you. Like 24 hour a day Southern accents, brick houses and driveways that didn't end 6 inches from the street.

Charlotte, NC is a pretty town with all of its magnificent tree lined streets. The quiet place in your mind reserved for your finest inner photo album wakes up as you drive down Queens Road, with the canopies of oaks stretching across it forming an ancient tent of the ages.

Instead of envisioning what the land might have looked like before a developer bulldozed through, the streets, the houses, dogwood trees and azaleas actually fit together and you can't imagine the suburban or downtown landscape any other way.

It's ironic that a wild child, brilliant writer, Slupee Queen, and adventure-lover I met in Sarasota when I moved from Charlotte some 17 years ago now lives in Charlotte with her husband and little girl. I'm looking forward to hanging out with them this week and driving around the town, up to South Mountains State Park for one hell of a hike, and relaxing in some childhood memories. Served up on Thursday morning, with a Delta flight out of our local "international" airport.

Where did you grow up?