Connecting the Dots

From as far back as I can remember, I've always had a different way of getting the job done.  Didn't really matter what the task at hand was, nor was I really trying to do it differently from everyone else, but I couldn't help it...  The earliest memory of this 'do it yourself' attitude, probably goes back to when I first started kindergarten.  

We were introduced to those "connect the dots" assignments; you know, the ones where the dots are numbered and you follow each one with your crayon or pencil until you reach the end and reveal some kind of animal, vehicle or other basic shape? Yeah, well, apparently I even did that... eh, differently. 

The teacher (bless her heart) stood over my right shoulder and studied my methodology.  I held my pencil steadily in my right hand, without moving an inch.  Then with my left hand, I guided the paper from dot to dot... So I was still completing the picture, just not the way everyone else was.  

"No, no sweetie, move your right hand to connect the dots, not the paper..." 

What's the problem lady? As long as I get it done, why do you care how I did it? Jeeesh!

And so began my plight with formalized education. See, I realized that I do NOT possess that brain cell that is the most adept to short cuts, or common sense...  In fact when I see these types of people who bust out crazy one handed, multi-tasking trickery, I stop and stare as if they are a magician. If left to my own devices, I oftentimes take a more creative, outside the box approach.  But if you put a book in front of me and say, 'study the history of the universe,' I will...

Which leads me to the much dreaded/feared U.S. constitution exam in the eleventh grade.  It was legendary and 'impossible.'  Or so everyone thought.  But I, the weirdo, locked myself in the basement of my house with flash cards, highlighters and way too much candy, and didn't come out for almost four days.  I went to school, took a deep breath, and was the last person to finish the exam. 

By the next class, everyone protested that test.  It wasn't fair.  It was too hard. They all failed miserably...  Then the teacher said, "Well I know for a fact it was possible to pass this test, if you all had studied the material. Because there is one student in this class who not only passed, but she got an A."  He looked at me and I immediately slid down into my chair.  When he held up my exam to class and then walked over to my chair, he set it down in front of me with the most subtle grin I'd ever seen; "Well done. Very well done." 

Oh God, it's going to be a mutiny.  You should have seen the way those kids looked at me; like, 'thanks a lot bitch.' 

My score completely blew their collective protests right out of the water.  There was one other girl in the class who passed and she looked at me like we were the most awesome geeks ever!!  She actually was kinda nerdy though, so I knew she was loving every second of this academic torture.  

I had ruined it for the rest of the class.  But you know what? I'm glad.  It kind of made me feel like a super hero or something.  Because the memory of being "corrected" that day in kindergarten for the way I had completed the assignment always bothered me.  I remember feeling so confused and embarrassed.  I didn't understand why I had to be called out for the way I was connecting the dots.  Especially since the end result was still the same... 

And if my way was harder, why not let me figure it out on my own?  Oh gosh, I can't help but laugh at the image of my pint sized self, moving the paper around and not my right hand... Awww... Bless my heart.  

Those two scholastic memories are obviously the ones that made a huge impact on me.  I learned from a very early age that I might have a different way of doing things... not exactly wrong... just different. And that one day, doing things my way, would pay off in the long run.  

I think there are probably a million ways to connect the dots in life.  It may not be the most obvious or standard approach.  But it's not only okay to be different, it may just be the very thing that separates you from the rest of the class.  And that's not such a bad thing after all.  

I suppose I just need to remind myself every now and then of that girl who has managed to get by just fine by connecting the dots in her very own, unique way.  Who knows what that picture will be? Maybe, when I connect that last dot, what I will see, is just me... 

Or an A+... yeah, that would be okay too. 

Today:

Teacher's Pet

1 1/2 oz Blended Whiskey

1/2 oz Dry Vermouth

1 Tsp. Sweet Vermouth

2 dashes of Bitters

Stir on the Rocks

Garnish with a cherry and orange

Pick Me! Pick Me!

Remember those games we used to play in school at recess?  We would line up across the lawn in a long row and wait anxiously to be called.  We were at the mercy of the person choosing the teams and I never much cared for this routine.  How lame do you have to feel just standing there, waiting to be chosen? Pick Me, Pick Me, Pick Me... Those are the words I would chant under my breath while standing at attention.

I was the name usually chosen midway.  Especially if it was Dodgeball.  The team captains always sized me up and chose the bigger, tougher kids first.  I was just girly enough to be called into question...  Every. Damn. Day.  You're gonna make me just stand there at the mercy of the other team?? Really?? Didn't I prove my athletic abilities at lunch yesterday?? 

Regardless, I would stand and wait for my name to be called just like everyone else.  The worst part was getting into the bottom three.  I'm pretty sure this only happened a few times, when the team captain was my ex boyfriend from third grade.  Catch up everyone, we were in fifth grade now, and he is on some kind of power trip.

So I'd wait...

Day after Day, the process would start all over again; and in one way or another would continue throughout the course of my life. High School dances, Equestrian competitions, college crew races and post grad job hunting all left me with that similar feeling of hoping to be the chosen one.  Pick Me, Pick Me, Pick Me.     


Perhaps that is why so many people fresh out of college are in such a rush to nail down a spouse, a home, a career and a family; the feeling of standing in line, hoping to hear your name called is simply exhausting after so many years.  So you declare yourself team captain and decide that there is no more waiting around.  Hmmmm... I wonder...

As for me, I've rather grown accustomed to repeating the words 'Pick Me' silently to myself over and over again.  As I watch the Emmys, the Academy Awards and various Special Bonus Features on my favorite films or television series, all I can think of is how badly I want to be chosen to play with them.

The actors, screenwriters, producers and directors all run around the set, playing tricks on each other and are having a blast.  They are living the life I have dreamt of since as long as I can remember.  And I just want for them to call my name more than anything.

Pick Me!!!!!! Pick Me!!!!!!!! Pick MEEEE!!!!! 

I want so badly to join their team.  It is what motivates me to keep writing each day.  It is my way of sending a message in a bottle every morning, hoping that one day my name will be called to come out and play.   To write, direct, act, produce... please, one day... pick me!!


Today:

Hollywood Martini

2 oz Vodka
1/2 oz Black Raspberry Liqueur 
Splash of Pineapple Juice
Shake and Strain into a martini glass

Someday...

My favorite Actress

Grace Kelly

Rear Window

My favorite film. 

Driven

They're baaaaaack... back to school that is.  It's official: the school year has begun.  Time to reroute trips to the grocery store to avoid school zones and schedule every errand around peak school bus and minivan carpooling hours.  Crosswalks, slow zones and never ending bus routes may drive you to insanity, or in the very least, remind you of the days when it was you, walking to and from the bus stop.

As for me, I was spared from riding the big yellow school bus.  My means of transportation evolved in three stages: K- 8th my mom drove me, 9th grade I rode with my brother who was a senior, and from my sophomore year of high school, through my senior year of college, I drove myself.

Those mornings driving to school with my mom were some of the best memories I have from my childhood.  My mom has a way of making even the most mundane task extra special.  If we had an extra ten minutes to spare, we would go through a drive-thru and get breakfast.  Those mornings are intertwined with my entire academic experience.  It made me a happier kid and it undoubtedly showed.  Showing up on time with a hot breakfast was a pretty great way to go to school. I was the envy of all the kids in my grade because it was no secret that I in fact, had the coolest mom in school. They were the good old days.

Then... came high school.

Halfway through my freshman year of high school I was called into the principal's office.  When I sat down in the chair opposite to him, I could tell I was in big trouble but I wasn't exactly sure why.  "You've been late 17 times so far this year.  You're suspended."  Suspended?? But I don't have a driver's license yet!! It's my brother!! He is suffering from an acute case of Senior-itis!

I had to explain to the principal that I was at the mercy of my older brother who was rapidly approaching graduation.  Every morning, I would carpool with him and would wait patiently as he color coordinated his shoe laces to match his jacket and hat.  As an owner of a clothing store and yes, also a high school senior, my brother was quite particular about his fashion statement... every single day. 

And to his logic, as long as we were already running late, we might as well go through the drive-thru and get breakfast. What's another fifteen minutes?? Late, was late.

I never did get suspended.  I actually think the principal was even a little sympathetic to my case.  He let me go with a warning and a detention slip.

After that first year of high school, I finally drove myself to school for the rest of my academic career. And although I was driven to succeed and to be on time, I never forgot those mornings where I was not behind the wheel.

They were the best mornings ever.  Perhaps it was a relief in some way, to be at the mercy of whoever it was behind the wheel; sitting in the passenger seat, without a care in the world, along for the ride.

When I was in the driver's seat, I realized something both exciting and a little sad: those carefree days as a passenger were behind me. My course, destination, ETA and means to get wherever I want to be was and is entirely up to me; the driver.  It was a realization that changed the way I looked at the road ahead.

And... I've been rather driven ever since.

In retrospect, I kind of wish I hadn't been in such a hurry to take the wheel.  But isn't that typical?  When we are young and dependent, we long for the day when we can take the wheel.  And when we grow up, we look back and think; Wow, I had it pretty good.  

Perhaps that is why our parents and teachers always warned us kids to not be in such a rush to grow up; because once you are, you'll never again have the luxury of letting others drive you everywhere you want or need to go.  

If you want to get to where you're going as a grown-up... you'd better be punctual, have a good sense of direction and above all else: be driven.  

Because if you can't get to where you're going, you won't have anyone else to blame.  For once you're in the driver's seat, it's entirely up to you to take the wheel and hopefully arrive safe and sound.

I just hope all these kids today know how good they've got it! Life is a journey, so you'd better enjoy the ride whether you are in the passenger seat or behind the wheel.  Slow down... It goes by so fast!    

Today:

Tijuana Taxi 

2 oz Gold Tequila
1 oz Blue Curacao
1 oz Tropical Schnapps

On the rocks in a highball glass
Splash of Sprite!

 

Don't Rock the Boat

All Summer long I have been completely mesmerized by the sailboats that zig across the bay in the most swift and elegant fashion. When their sails are full and gleam bright white in the sunshine, it is utterly perfect.  The contrast of color against the deep blue water is like something out of a Hemingway novel.  

The sailors who charter these boats are like characters from the novel as well; adorned with classic nautical shoes, striped shirts and crisp pants.  They would often sit at the bar and keep to themselves.  I would always give them their space to sit on their own in what was presumably a state of quiet reflection before heading back to sea.  

I thought of how carefree and easy the whole picture appeared and I imagined that one day, I too would set sail.  In my next life, I will be a great sailor and set out on the high seas... exploring alongside giant grey whales and bottle nose dolphins... 

Hey...WAKE UP.  That ship has sailed! 

You see, there is a reason for the expression "Don't rock the boat." You would think it had something to do with capsizing, but after a few days out on the boat, I have arrived at another conclusion. My theory is that the saying is the result of sea sickness.  Even as I slouch here in bed, awake and typing, all I can feel are the rocking waves.  Up and down. Up and Down.  Did I mention that I am on dry land???

When I close my eyes it is much more intense... The rocking sensation hasn't let up for two days now and I am longing for the moment when I can lay down in bed and not feel like the ship is sinking!  

I bet those sailors weren't in a quiet state of reflection after all!! They were probably trying to concentrate on not falling off the barstool amidst the ceaseless imaginary rocking motion of rolling waves.  

Ugh, I can hardly stand the feeling much longer.  If there is some trick or magic cure to make this feeling go away, I haven't found it yet.  

Perhaps this is why we become so fascinated with one another as human beings.  We all have strengths and weaknesses.  I can't imagine how amazing it must feel to step aboard a great ship and not lose my lunch the next day.  I romanticize the experience because it is one that I am quite sure I won't ever be able to physically endure for prolonged periods of time.  Maybe; maybe not.  I wonder... Could I ever change my nautical ways?

Perhaps people can change if they really set their mind to the task.  I suppose if whatever they are attempting to change for matters enough, it is almost certainly possible.  But honestly, I don't know how much people can actually change.  I would like to think it is possible, but I'm just not sure.  Is it mind over matter? In this case, the obstacle is a physical sickness, which seems to be out of my control. So even if I wanted to change this; could I? 

Nope, I just don't know how much people can change.   

Maybe one day I will attempt to set sail.  But if I ever try, please do me a favor and don't rock the boat.  Trust me, it will be rocking enough all on its own. 

Today:

Classic Sailor's Drink

Rum and Coke

1 oz Sailor Jerry

2 parts Coca Cola

On the rocks in a highball glass

Lime wedge to garnish is optional. 

   

  

The Sky is Falling

There was no mistaking it.  Stepping outside into the morning air, I paused, wigged my toes in the dewy grass and looked up toward the sky.  It's starting.  Although I suspect that we still have a little bit of time before it happens, my advice is to make the very most of these next few weeks.

Hmmm... Can I be sure? And no sooner had I questioned myself, the stillness stirred ever so subtly with the gentle nudge of the breeze.  And I could just feel it.  I walked around with my dogs for about twenty minutes.  And I could tell by the way they pointed their noses into the breeze that they could sense it too.  

Reminders are everywhere.  In fact, you can't go anywhere these days without noticing bright orange banners advertising huge discounts.  Everything is half-off at the end.

Superstores are stocked and ready.  Get everything you need here! It's almost time... 

I have mixed feelings.  To be honest, I didn't see it coming this quickly.  I have so much yet to do.  I am not really ready.  But ready or not, the fact remains; it is going to end.  I can see the fear in their eyes: small children cower under the giant banner stretched across the entire expanse of every major grocery store and outlet.  They scatter throughout the aisles; as if they are racing the clock like a bunch of panic-stricken civilians under siege yelling, "The sky is falling, the sky is falling!!"

I can't blame them.  In fact, I shudder every time I pass beneath that heinous banner as well.  As if I need to be reminded of that time in my life.  They are practically forcing it down your throat.  The words are crimson and outlined in black.  The entire banner is painted that cautious shade of school-bus yellow. A small child is pulled unwillingly down that dreaded aisle.  She looks back to me; our eyes meet.  And although I cannot spare her from what I know is just a a few short weeks away, I can offer her a little wink and a knowing glance that says, Honey, I've been there.  You'll be okay.  

I look back up at the banner and whisper the words to myself as if it were a quiet threat: "Back To School." And when I gaze back to offer a brave smile and thumbs up to that little girl, I realize it's too late.  She must have checked out. 

The wet grass pulls me from that dark place in my mind.  Ahh, we still have time.  It may sound contradictory, but I can assure you that Fall is my absolute favorite time of year.  I love it.  I love the way the air feels and smells.  I love wearing fuzzy boots and scarves.  I am addicted to pumpkins, caramel apples and lovely amber earth tones.  It is an enchanted season for sure. And I am always excited when it is here.  

But, the time leading up to this lovely season, is treated as if the clock is ticking and the sky is falling!  And I would venture to guess that many people can certainly understand that anxious feeling that happens every August; when the sandals, tanks and beach towels are on sale for pennies on the dollar.  

Though my favorite season is just around the corner, I do not feel entirely ready for it.  I had hoped to have saved more money by now and as a side-note; my legs are as white as a ghost.  The summers up here in Traverse City are perfect, and that is no exaggeration.  Lazy floats down the river, sunsets at almost ten o'clock at night, northern lights, sand dunes, ice cream cones and festival after festival after festival: yes, the summers are perfect up here. 

I suppose there is no stopping that annoying race against time.  But if you can't beat it, just try to enjoy the time you have.  The time is yours. And that time, is now. 

Today:

PHD Cocktail 

(Piled Higher and Deeper)

3/4 oz Vodka

3/4 oz Gin

1/2 oz Triple Sec

1/2 oz Rose's Lime Juice