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OneWord: Chance, Mist, Trade, Account, Average, Pouch

Chance: Every blessed chance that falls from the brilliant morning rose-colored sky to the worn toes of my chucks, I grasp. And if it’s a little further from me, I take a step. I lurch. I dive. I run. I toss my muscles forward like I did when I got my first chance to look into her eyes – when a glimpse became . . . That it was those eyes I wanted to look into when I awoke from a nap on our black leather couches on a stifling hot summer afternoon.

Mist: The mist was dense and low on the cool West Bay water. Yogi stood with his front paws on the end of the wet sand, and leaned down each time a wave swept in. It gave me a chuckle on this early fall morning because he was always about two seconds too late to actually drink the water.

Trade: “I will trade you a Ken Griffy Jr. rookie card for that Tim Hardaway rookie card. Deal?” That’s what I said to Todd, my best friend as a boy. We made the trade and I promptly dropped the card I received between the deck boards of his parents’ house. He offered to undo the trade, but that didn’t seem fair to me. I was out a card. Kinda bummed, but that’s life. Sometimes you drop things down a hole. Other times things fall in your lap.

Account: To account for each moment that has passed without one of us intently focused on the air filling our lungs and fueling our hearts would be a simple matter of counting to seven on any two of our four hands. It wouldn’t matter because we are, and will forever be, together.

Average: See blog entry on September 15th, 2011 titled, “Applebottom, Alberta.”

Pouch: The pale green cotton liner of the frayed like a bottomless nest hemp coin pouch I purchased from a street vendor in Barcelona, Spain while studying abroad during my Junior year at Iowa State (finally) gave way to the weight of my nickles and dimes while I was standing in line at Good Harbor Coffee. The change fell from my waist height to the brown tile floor and rolled in various directions, redirected by the dips and edges formed by the grout and tile. I knew I was on borrowed time with this purse, but found it terribly inconvenient that it had to give way at that moment in time – in a crowded coffee shop – in the morning before I purchased my coffee – on the tile floor.

Link to OneWord.com, which prompts me with each of the words and provides one minute to write about that word. Sometimes I run long.

16 September, 2011
Applebottom, Alberta

The average annual snowfall for a small village just north of a long forgotten two-track in western Canada is just over 346 inches. This past summer, the road crew for the village went to the trouble of installing fans 20 feet in diameter along its three-block long main street. The intended effect of the fans was to blow the snow up and away from the village’s main city blocks and onto the rooftops and back alleys. That way, for the six-month-long winter, the residents of the village could walk or snowmobile their way to and from the local market, pharmacy or saloon. However, the fans quickly became overwhelmed by the snow, created two heaping mounds of snow – one covering each of the two rows of buildings – and froze in place. The result, as was discovered by the local stunt helicopter pilot on his bi-weekly trip south for emergency medical provisions for the village’s residents, was the transformation of its main street into a gluteal-like cleft between two enormous pale cheek-like heaps of snow. The pilot snapped a blurry photograph with his iPhone and sent it to his ex-girlfriend Lola, the head anchor for the not-so-local TV 17 & 4 studio. The village main street was featured on that evening’s news and shared throughout Canada for the rest of the week. What many Canadians had long believed to be a fleck of pepper from the national cartographer’s pastrami sandwich was now dubbed “Applebottom, Alberta.”

Written from 11:23 pm to 11:43 pm on Thursday, September 15, 2011 at home in Traverse City, Michigan.

15 September, 2011
The Road Not Taken

Robert Frost’s poem, “The Road Not Taken” hung on the wall of the house in which I grew up. Here it is, so that I can remember it as one of the influential details of my life.

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergroth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

15 September, 2011
Moroccan Mint Tea

One of the stops on Lindsey and my honeymoon was Morocco. It was an interesting cultural experience. One of the few highlights of our day trip to Morocco was our meal, and particularly, for me, the mint tea that we were served afterwards. It was strong and sweet. Our guide explained to us that mint tea was a popular and common part of Moroccan culture. It is consumed in large quantities for health benefits such as rejuvenation and clarity.

Naturally, I’ve been eager to adopt the “Moroccan way” into my own daily routine. Today I purchased one ounce of Marrakesh Mint tea from the spice market down the street from my office. I’m on my second mug (I don’t have a proper Moroccan tea cup). It is a nice change from my standard coffee guzzling, however, the local stuff isn’t quite as good as what we had in Morocco. This is likely because I’m using pre-mixed tea (green and mint) and not green tea with fresh mint leaves. I’ll try that another day.

Here is a proverb regarding Moroccan mint tea, which is traditionally steeped three times:

The first glass is as bitter as life,
The second glass is as strong as love,
The third glass is as gentle as death.

Here’s to life, love and even death! (Raises mug of tea carefully above desk as a gesture of toasting the world.)

14 September, 2011
Dreams

Today I am inspired by Walt Disney – “All our dreams can come true, if we have the courage to pursue them”. I am praying that Chris and I have the courage to pursue our dream of having a beautiful home where we can raise Yogi for now, and someday a family. I have always been one to plan for the future….It is intimidating and daunting to think about the future, but I hope that we can take a leap of faith, and go for it!

12 September, 2011
Ten Years Ago

Ten years ago today, I was standing in a pizza place in downtown Ann Arbor, Michigan grabbing a bite to eat before French class. I overheard on the radio that planes had flown into the WTC towers. French class was cancelled and I went home to 1518 Golden Street to watch the events unfold with my college roommates, one of whom had friends and/or family in New York City.

11 September, 2011
First Tee

Chris teed off from the blue tees on the first hole of the TCGCC. He plucked his tee from the soft turf, stepped down the grass that his two iron brushed up, and then slid his club back into his PING carry bag. His shot was still in the air while he completed this tasks, but it had felt solid and left on the right trajectory and line. His Titleist ProV1x would be in the fairway and he would have a good shot to the green. Just as he was about to shoulder his bag, he heard a crack behind and to his right. It sounded as if a full grown hardwood tree had been snapped in an instant.

6 September, 2011