Are You Lucky?

There is a homeless man who has recently been hanging out at an intersection I pass frequently, and I have to say he makes me smile every time I see him. Instead of looking down and out, this man is having a good time. Usually he is on the street corner dancing. But dancing puts it mildly - he is grooving. The song in his head is obviously slow and sexy.

Last week I was driving in the same area and saw a car stopped ahead by a road construction worker holding a sign. The car moved on, and as I approached I saw that the man was not a real worker; it was the dancing man. From somewhere he had gotten a yellow construction vest with the reflective stripes, and what I had thought was a big sign that he held up to stop traffic was actually an inflatable guitar. I wonder how many cars he stopped that day, and how long it took for them to notice something was amiss.

Although the man makes me smile, of course I can’t help but feel bad for him. I wonder where he sleeps at night, if he finds food. He reminds me to be grateful for all I have.

Recently I was asked if I consider myself “lucky.” I paused for a moment and then answered yes. There have been many moments in my life when I have been suddenly overwhelmed by the emotion of all I have, and of how lucky I have been to have seen the things I’ve seen, to travel and to get an education, to have friends and family and a home and a car. We are so lucky to live in a country where we can take for granted the things people in other countries would consider extreme luxuries.

What do you take for granted?

My October Project

A few years ago I began a little project that I have continued annually ever since – my October Project. I want to share this idea with you in case you’d like to create your own version.

The year I began I called it “My 38^th October.” (It was actually my 39th October but I couldn't bear to write that number yet!)  I took photos every day and then chose one from each day in October to put into a book and document that one month. I uploaded them into a book and labeled each with “Day 1,” Day 2,” and on, with a description in the caption describing what was happening. I tried to get creative with the photos and capture moments I might not always think about. This helped me appreciate each day and see each day differently. I took photos at the grocery and at my hair appointment, photos of dinner cooking on the stove, of the TV we were watching one night, election rallies, and more. Looking back, it is an excellent way of seeing the progression of our lives – just by looking at one month, one chunk of a year.

So far this month, Day One was George sitting on the very top of my freshly folded basket of laundry, Day Two was "Top of the Stove Cookies" in the pan melting on the stove, and Day Three was taken at work with my silly coworkers. Sometime this month I want to get a photo of my crocheting project that is taking over the floor in our TV room, and also a few pics of us outside enjoying the cooler weather on the weekends. Although I don't plan ahead too much, I want to make sure the month shows a good overview of our current life.

Inevitably, there are a couple of days when I am ready to go to bed and realize I didn't take a photo that day. Aargh! That's when I have to get really creative. What is interesting? My toothbrush? No. A photo of our TV room with the TV tuned to our favorite show? Maybe. Our sleeping son with his stuffed kitty tucked under his arm in his dimly lit crib? Even better.

Documenting one moment every day makes me look at the month and make sure it is truly memorable. It makes me get out and do the things that I've been putting off.

October is my favorite month. I like paying it tribute with this project. Is December your favorite? Maybe you should make your own “My Thirtieth December” or take your least favorite month and make it more fun by adding this project to it.

Our Park List

Another morning at Floyd Lamb Park, and our walk around the ponds, through the trees, gave us many interesting sights:

-         A large group of boys in matching shirts were on a day-long hiking trip throughout the park, after eating breakfast made on huge grills in the parking lot

-         Fishing families were clustered around the ponds, in the shade in makeshift morning camps

-         A jogging woman hurried past speaking in Chinese on her cell phone

-         A line of horseback riders crossed the desert in the distance

-         A lone turtle floated in one pond, the tip of his nose the only part above the water

-         An Asian man surveyed his student who practiced Tai Chi in the shade. He walked around him slowly, leaning over now and then to inspect his stance.

-         A kid on a bike with his jogging mom passed by us two times, their speed around the park much greater than ours

-         A man meets us, dragged by his two leashed golden retrievers

-         A young couple eats breakfast at a picnic table

-         A grandma holds her granddaughter on her lap, watching the geese on the water before them

-         Two kids begin feeding ducks only to be instantly mobbed by hungry ducks and geese

-         A grandpa shows his grandson how to put a worm on a hook

-         One of the boys from the hiking group sits alone under a tree, upset by something another kid said, and a dad approaches and tries to make him feel better

-         A guy reads a newspaper while lying on his back in the grass

Then, from our blanket:

-         A very distant traffic hum

-         Flapping birds’ wings

-         Bugs buzzing

-         Distant kids’ voices

-         A tricycle rolling on gravel, and laughter

-         Rattling keys, as Jude has found my purse

-         The shifting of George on the blanket as he finds a better sleeping position

No need to look at my watch. That is the best kind of day.

Fishin'

Our local Walmart has an aisle of fishing poles. That sentence may not seem odd at first glance, but don’t forget…I live in Las Vegas. The desert. Brown, dry dirt. Drought and scorching sun. But strangely enough, I see fishermen every weekend only five miles from my house at Floyd Lamb Park.

I bet many people live only blocks away from Floyd Lamb and have no idea it’s there. If you look toward it from the nearby street it just looks like a cluster of trees, like those that are planted throughout Vegas to simulate a non-desert environment. But if you pay the $5 entrance fee and see it up close, those trees are huge and natural, part of Tule Springs, literally an oasis in the desert where you can stroll around lakes, take a free bird watching tour, attend a twice-monthly farmers market, and yes, go fishing.

Someday we can get Jude a fishing license when he is old enough, and I’ll be forced to brush off my fishing skills from years ago. I learned to fish on my Uncle Bill’s pond, casting off from the wooden deck he constructed himself. I never did take the fish off the hook, though, leaving that sad and painful part to my uncle or whoever was nearby (putting the worm on the hook wasn’t as bad for some reason). So my husband will have to help in that area when we teach Jude.

I also fished at my Uncle W.C’s pond just up the hill from my house. When the Great Aunts and Uncles visited, my cousin and I would fish there (and I would get upset when her fish was larger), and Uncle W.C. cleaned the fish on the patio beside the house. Then Aunt Mary fried them up for dinner. To this day the taste of catfish brings back such good memories. Does anyone know how to clean a fish nowadays?

While I don’t feel the need to know how to gut a fish, I am glad that fishing was a part of my childhood. My Uncle Bill still fishes from that same dock, and my husband often has fishing contests with him when we visit – one point per fish.  It’s good to get outside and sit and connect with nature. And I’m so glad to witness people fishing so near my house. They soften the desert a bit.

Sweet Tea

When we visited relatives in North Carolina a few weeks ago, I jumped at the opportunity to order Sweet Tea at every meal. What a treat, to have it on the menu everywhere we went! Oh, you poor souls who live in the parts of the country without sweet tea.

As a kid, the huge old mayonnaise jar in Grandma’s refrigerator was always full of tea. We just called it "tea" back then – it was always sweet – why wouldn’t it be? Then I learned it was a Southern thing. We were in Indiana, not exactly the South, but that sugar-filled water with a slight hint of tea flavor obviously traveled up to us over time.

A sweaty glass of iced tea reminds me of weekends at home with my Mom, when she would pour herself a large glass and then set it on her table to begin work on her latest painting. That glass of iced tea meant she needed sustenance, to focus on her creation. Even now, I like to get a glass of something special to take with me when I work on a project. It shows commitment – I plan to at focus on my project at least as long as it takes me to sip my big glass of tea.

My husband turns on the radio when he begins a big project. My cousin used to put on a special hat. Do you have any habits or rituals that help you get motivated? If not, maybe starting one will help!

Out West

When I was about eight or ten years old, my Mom and I took a trip out West with her brother and cousin. The four of us packed into cousin Ed’s car and drove to see relatives in Texas, through New Mexico to White Sands National Park, and on to Colorado to visit cousins LeRoy and Majel in their house in the mountains.

It was a great trip. Most photos show me smiling in shorts, red tube socks, and a new cowboy hat bought along the way. (And yes, those are Mork & Mindy suspenders in the photo above.) We stopped at all sorts of interesting places, like a train museum, a battleship, and American Indian sites, and I got to buy a pretty Indian doll and a pink gingham bonnet like Laura Ingalls wore. We were Out West, and immersed in it.

Visiting LeRoy and Majel was a highlight, and I knew their place was special when we drove up a small highway into the mountains through thick pines and turned into their driveway, which was framed by a large wooden arch with their last name spelled out in horseshoes. Wow, a real ranch, I thought. Real horses and cowboys.

And LeRoy was just like his name sounds – a cowboy-boot-wearing “good ol’ boy” with a super-slow drawl who smiled constantly and got a twinkle in his eye every time he made a joke. And he let me ride a horse! I put on my cowboy hat and he helped me climb on for a photo. He and Majel took us to Golden for Buffalo Bill Days, the Coors Brewing Company (where I got water while the adults got free beer samples), Pike’s Peak, the Royal Gorge, and at night Majel made yummy homemade dinners and we sat afterward on their porch and wondered what it would be like to live there with the horses and the mountains.

Years later LeRoy brought his family to see me when I was performing in Branson, Missouri, and they showed up as a surprise in the audience. And when I got settled in Vegas, I started including him on my Christmas card list after Majel passed away. The first time I did so, he was so happy that he called me. Even though I hadn’t heard his voice in nearly ten years, I recognized him immediately, his slow, sing-song “Hello, Shannon, this is cousin LeRoy” carrying his smile to me over the miles.

LeRoy passed away recently, and this weekend was his memorial, back in Indiana with family and friends who reminisced about his gentle ways. I’m glad he was part of my life, too.

Travel Plans for 2020

One day, I’m going to the Opening Ceremony of the Olympics – it’s on my Life List, along with walking the Thames path, seeing the Tour de France, and publishing a book or two. I’ll probably embarrass my husband and son terribly because I know I’ll cry during the whole thing. Surely the “all the nations coming together” vibe gets many people choked up?

I’ve always been a sucker for grand events like the Olympics, ever since I was a Spanish interpreter at the Pan American Games in Indianapolis the summer of my sophomore year of high school. Don’t be impressed by my mentioning of “Spanish Interpreter” – they invited high school Spanish students from all over the state to come give whatever assistance they could, and mine was minimal.

But it was a great experience. We students got together for a whole week prior to the games, to brush up on our Spanish skills, learn about the events and procedures, and learn the lyrics to “La Bamba.” And during my week of volunteering, I met so many interesting people – became pen pals with a judo player from Venezuela, played checkers with guys from the Virgin Islands and Cuba, and was once driven quickly across the Athlete’s Village to interpret for a female athlete from Chile.

And before the games began, Mom and I went to the Opening Ceremony at the 500 Speedway. It was just like the ceremonies on TV, just smaller scale, and I remember exciting moments of jets flying overhead and gymnasts performing stunts on platforms at the tops of the bleachers. We sat in the “card section” and added to the spectacle by holding our yellow cards up at just the right time, to create a scene on the stadium where we sat. We never did know what kind of picture we all made together, but it was fun being a part of it all! Unfortunately I don’t have any photos to share from the ceremony, because my film was erased when I went through Security at the Athlete’s Village the next day.

A few years before that, I experienced my first Olympic excitement when our high school band traveled to  perform at the Los Angeles Olympics. I was too young to go, but as part of the junior high band we learned the music with the older students. To this day, I can still play the main theme of that year’s Olympics on my flute, but my fingers still stumble when going from that high G to F to E. (I can also still sing all the lyrics to "La Bamba.")

So, when will I go to the Olympics? And more fun, where will I go? South Korea would be fascinating in 2018, but Jude would still be a little young for a trip like that. Maybe Istanbul, Tokyo, or Madrid in 2020? Olympic Committee, tell me, where will we travel to?