It’s Gonna Be A Long Week

How do I know this so early in the game?

Because the month of June as already lasted a lifetime…at least, it feels that way.

A family reunion found me heading to the South Central Texas berg of my birth this past weekend.     I’ve only been back very infrequently and when I’ve travelled there, it’s usually a quick hit and I rarely ever see anybody I know.

Or people I once knew.

But this weekend, I saw many cousins, aunts and uncles and former classmates; some I haven’t seen in more than three decades.   Once we got past the  gray hair, crow’s-feet, and those Everlast speed bags we call double chins, we recognized each other.  

That said, I have decided that I must be something of an enigma to those who once knew me back in my hometown and even to some family members.  I haven’t lived the most conventional life and my career and personal choices are I’m sure, questionable to some. It could be because no one really knows me.  I’ve been away for 32 years and as I said I rarely go back there and if I don’t go back to my hometown, that also means I rarely go to family reunions.     So, yeah, I am the odd man out.

 Well, be that as it may, I might not be the best known among the rank and file of my phyla, but they ALL know what I do and have done career-wise.  Compliments regarding  “my success” were ripe for the picking.

They included:

FORMER CLASSMATE #1:  “Gee, I read your blog all the time.   You have such a cool, unique way of putting things.”

LK.  “Wow, thanks so much!!

RANDOM AUNT:   “When our son, (insert name here) lived in  Houston, he got such a kick out of  listening to you on the radio.”

LK:  How nice!  Thank you! I never knew (insert name here) was even in Houston!” 

COUSIN  R:   “My God, Laurie.  You’re still just as funny as you always were.  You should come to these things more often.  I swear that as a family, we don’t bite!”

LK:  Well, I do if I’m not properly ‘fermented’.  Where’s the bar?”

UNCOUTH ELDERLY UNCLE & ASSHOLE:     “A few years back, I was in Philadelphia on business and in my hotel room doing some paper work .  The TV was on, just for background noise and I heard the announcer fella mention your name.   I looked up and there you were on the Nancy Grace program talkin’ ’bout some dead colored gal in Houston.”

LK:  What did you think? (I asked while preparing my ego to be spoon fed)

UNCUOTH ELDERLY UNCLE & ASSHOLE:  “Well, I called Edna back home and told her to watch.  We both agreed you looked a little heavy.”

 

AND SCENE….

Ego deflated. 

I looked down at the carpet below me just in time to see a growing pool of humiliation encircling my feet.   This is gonna stain and it’s gonna be permanent;  impervious to even the most stringent applications of OxiClean.

What can I do when something like this happens?  Smile?   Stand there and nd my head in agreement and diffuse the situation further by making a joke about my IMAX screen of an ass?    

I said,  “Well, good seeing you and my best to Aunt Edna!”

I smiled, then walked away, all the while planning his untimely death.

Nah, actually, I shook it off.   Not everyone  can or should contribute to curbing my neediness.   Besides, I don’t need the validation like I used to.   I nipped the whole scenario in the bud by empowering myself.  I patted myself on the back for losing weight and being stronger than ever before.   Besides, that’s just one crusty old coot’s opinion.  

The timing was interesting though.

I had an interview last week for an exclusive in-house, full-time writing position for a very, very prominent Houston man in the medical community.   Yeah–I know—as any writer will tell you, this is an über choice gig that rarely EVER rears its lovely head.   I find out tomorrow night if I got it or not and if so, for how much I will be paid.  So, for the past week,I’ve been living on a steady diet of manifestation and creative visualization.

As you might imagine, I’m applying every ounce of psychic weaponry I possess because writing is my passion.  While I’ve always written throughout my career, this gig is different.    It includes serious book and publishing implications.

I want this job.  No, I REALLY want this job, kids.   Enough to go to church and break fire codes by lighting a devotional candle.     I need to secure this position for my personal and professional bucket list.

You see, NOT getting this job isn’t an option.  That’s it…that’s all there is.   So yeah, I’ve put a lot of pressure on myself to obtain this most recent life dream.   I have tunnel vision.  I can think of little else. 

A friend called me on my drive back to Houston and we discussed this possible career change and my attitude towards it and he asked my why I get like this; when I really, really want something I do it to the  point of developing severe agita, intestinal distress and insomnia.

I just smiled and continue on with my “get this job…get this job…if it is to be, it is up to me” mantra in my head.   I know what I’m doing.   Self-imposed pressure works.  I’m like an oyster that way.    Like the tasty mollusk, when a foreign substance slips inside my shell, irritation is the result.    My psyche goes into self protective mode and the irritant is smothered with determination, drive and ambition.  Then, my interior applies pressure and this undulation movement of  back and forth; side to side takes over.   It’s what we bivalves do.     Part of the natural order.

So, if an ugly old oyster can spit a beautiful pearl out of its ass, I can certainly sweat the small stuff  when required.

Lastly, as wonderfully driven as I am, I could still use a little luck, so wish me some….please?     My pressure valve is on and trust me, it’s turned on HIGH, but admittedly, I’m a little nervous.   Obviously, I’m not an oyster and I sure as HELL don’t want to get up from my interview chair tomorrow night and leave a little pile of inadvertant but icky ”determination pellets” in the seat.

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Life Is A Jogging Trail

I’ve been walking a lot these days, all part of my effort to create a Laurie who’s leaner and more lithe.    I put in two to three miles every day.  Where I walk depends on my schedule.  If I walk before work, I do my three miles at Memorial Park which is close to my office and both are on Houston’s near westside.   If I wait to walk later in the day, I put two miles in the track at Art Storey Park, which is closer to my home on the city’s southwest side.  

  

Interesting place.   It was built as a park that serves as flood detention.   It floods (on purpose) three to four times a year which the Army Corps of Engineers says alleviates a major flooding issue for thousands and thousands of residents who live along and near Brays Bayou, which parallels the park.

Now, for those of you not from East Texas or any of the Southern states, a bayou is a body of water typically found in flat, low-lying areas, and can refer either to an extremely slow-moving stream or a river with a  poorly defined shoreline, or to a marshy lake or wetland.  Houston is silly with bayous that meander throughout the city. 

And while the park might have been built for strictly mercenary means, it’s lovely.   It’s surrounded by a two mile paved jogging trail with manmade inclines for extra caloric burn, a very zen-like tai chi space, a picnic area near a duck pond, a cool playground, BBQ facilities, lovely flora  and in the center of it all, a retention pond (fully stocked and fishing is permitted) with a multi-fountain water  feature in the middle.

I go to Art Storey Park to walk and I love to do it without an iPod.  It’s built along the very busy Sam Houston Parkway, a tollway which completely encircles the city and the noise from the constant flow of traffic, regardless of hour, can be deafening.  But after 21 years in this city, I’ve learned to drown out the noise.  The drone of revved engines, honking horns and sirens are just a part of the everyday audible ambience.    Besides, when I walk on purpose, I’m driven so noise isn’t an issue and when I’m driven, I do some of my best thinking.  In fact, my mind is never sharper than when I walk.  

Behold...yet another "Mr. Kendrick"

In the process of all this ambling, I’ve resolved many issues (global and my own). I’ve given numerous award-winning speeches, told off adversaries, redecorated my living room, envisioned a first date….and the last one; went through the motions preparing an entire Thanksgiving dinner for 12 hungry, but finicky Kendricks AND….had mind-blowing imaginary sex with Mad Men hottie, actor, John Hamm.

I’ve also used the time to compose many blog posts and this is one of them.

It began innocently enough. 

 It was just the other day, as I completed my first quarter-mile, I began to notice things I’ve never seen before.  Usually, I walk with my head down.  When I’m accepting my Pulitzer or being interviewed for my literary prowess on 60 Minutes in my head, I keep my gaze downward.   It helps the focus.  Plus, passersby can’t see the goofy smile on my face–especially when I’m having a John Hamm moment……puuuuurrrrrrrrrr.

But yeah, I noticed a lot of things I hadn’t before.   Birds, for one.  I saw Cardinals, Blue Jays, all kinds of ducks, plus several graceful egrets–the bastard cousins of the swan and other birds I couldn’t identify, which only proved my ornithological ignorance.   

I also saw something us city kids hardly see anymore:  big snapping turtles, lizards, squirrels, a flying fish and what we here in Texas call Pill Bugs; those strange, armored looking black critters that curl up in a ball when threatened.  I haven’t seen one of those in forever.

And then after the thrill of all that fauna passed, I started people watching.   Every kind of ethnicity was represented, as was every body type.   The thin, the heavy, the short, the tall.  Some people wanted to optimize their workout by wearing sweats which at 94 degrees, even in late afternoon, made them running/walking sweat lodges.  There were the thin, pretty girls, who even while exercising are so very well put together.   They even look cute panting.   They don’t sweat either.  No, thin pretty women in Lycra midriff tops that expose well-carved abs and ass-hugging shorts “en-dampen”.   Women like me who cover our multitudes of corporeal sin with baggy shorts and even baggier T-shirts  that  some old boyfriend left behind…one that escaped being used to clean our toilets….we sweat. 

And then it hit me.  This is what it’s all about!!!

I walked up an incline with a Gulf breeze head wind.   It made the walk tougher.   I rounded a curve, headed in a different direction and started walking down hill with a tail wind.   That made the walk easier.  Having the contrast of the uphill battle made me gratefully appreciate the downhill ease.

And then I noticed everyone else around me.  We were all there, experiencing the jogging track at the same time, but with different goals in mind.  Some people ran, others walked.  Some got tired and stopped along the way.  Some chose walking or running partners; others chose to tackle the course alone.   Some chose running or walking in an opposite direction.   Some only ran the two miles;  others ran the circuit twice and got four miles in.

I have no idea why these very different people were at Art Storey Park that day.  Their motivations were their own.  But there was one thing we all had in common:  regardless of who we were, why we were there, how we ran, how long we walked or what we wore when we did it, we ALL started out the same:  fresh, eager and pristine.   Then, we all finished the course we chose to take, tired, sweaty and ultimately, happy the exercise was over.   

It was an accomplished mission that involved a very defined start….and the goal of finishing.   

And in between the two, it’s an incredible journey rife with uphills and downhills, effort and ease…all kinds of scenery that represent so many variations on every possible theme.  It’s a sojourn that we take on our terms, at our pace, at our discretion.

Now, tell me THAT’S NOT a metaphor for life and living.

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