Rainbows and Striped Socks

“Ann, the world isn’t all rainbows and striped socks...”

I furrowed my brow. Of course the world isn’t all rainbows and striped socks. 

I’ve suffered through tax season, and caucus raucous, been delayed at airports for days and gotten teary phone calls from parents diagnosed with cancer. 

I traded in my SUV for a hybrid when gas hit $5 a gallon and been glued to the TV as the severity and consequences of natural disasters and corporate scandals rocked the world. 

Just recently I read in dismay, the treatment of POW’s in Japan during WWII, especially one Louis Zamperini.

But I’ve also been the recipient of a much needed refund check, at the right time. The appreciation that someone else is willing to run for public office, because I’m sure not. 

A few of those delayed flights resulted in meeting some of my closest friends and one influential Southwest employee who was able to bring Lorna Doones back...  The “cancer card”, well just ask my dad who is now acutely aware and actively embracing “eating healthy” - a realization only the diagnosis of cancer could provide him. 

That hybrid not only saved me money in gas, but fit so much better in those tiny little Southern California parking spaces. Those natural disasters and corporate scandals helped put in check my annoyance with a little “May gray” and a few reminders as I entered the working world... about making a “good” living - as in quality not quantity. 

And Louis Zamperini??? I can’t tell you how many conversations just the mention of his name or the book about him, Unbroken, has facilitated. 

And I can promise you that today isn’t anything like liberation from a POW camp, or the checkup ensuring the cancer hasn’t returned...

Today is the day. The year is up. The imaginary locks at Target, and online shopping carts have been removed. It’s kind of like Black Friday... or should I say Neon Friday in my case... but maybe you should know something about Black Friday. My mother goes to bed early and sets an alarm... I furrow my brow and squint my eyes as she calls me from inside the chaos ridden stores. 

I will be purchasing conditioner, lotion, mascara and out of pure symbolism... a new pair of neon socks... But that’s because this weekend marks the beginning of a “job” where for a few hours in the early Sunday morning hours - my world really is all rainbows and striped socks, and always "something new"...

Swarms of colored jerseys supporting various causes cheer at the top of their lungs. Parents and children stand side by side and pat each other on the back, people dressed as crayons, super hero’s, Gumby, Elvis, Mickey and Minnie... And couples who have found running and training has helped them with “empty nest” syndrome, and groups of friends who have made t-shirts and trained together and can’t wait to cross this off their bucket lists. A rainbow of runners starts my day and the last finisher and the dedicated supporters stay until the end as we reach that pot of gold at the finish line... it never get's "old"... does that mean it's "new"?

The Rock n Roll Marathon was born in San Diego 15 years ago. The idea of music and running took off and now with almost 30 events this year they’ve so graciously allowed me and my striped socks and high fiving, dancing ways to join in the fun. As I sit here writing this I can promise you I still have too many clothes. I’ve given away multiple pairs of shoes and jackets and various other pieces but I still have too much. And I didn’t even get through all the awful lotions because sometimes I would just forgo lotion all together... I hated the smells that badly. This year was a great way to re-form an “old” habit. But now that I’ve gotten this far, it seems silly to jump back on the bandwagon, completely. 

I’ll actually be sewing on my flight to San Diego. I’ve taken two pairs of old Umbro shorts, cut them apart and will be making a skirt for the Rock n Roll race this weekend. I suppose I could have stopped by a store to see what I could buy, but what’s the fun in explaining that when people start asking :)

I’m having too much fun “creating” and “building” and of course the storytelling of the adventures... and conversations that take place during the adventure. Thanks to my ADHD brain, my mind is always running away from me so I’m sure I’ll have plenty more “projects”. 

This summer I’ll be embarking on not one but two week long bike trips... and I’m not even that big of a biker. Yesterday I fell off my bike at the top of a mountain thanks to my jello legs... As I sat there, pulling myself together it dawned on me... maybe I should try no swearing for a year... especially during biking weeks :) 

My goal this year is to try and keep an eye out for the rainbow even when the clouds are  thick, and pull up those striped socks and make my own if I have to. 


I guess maybe starting today... it will be a year of seeing something "new" everyday.

  

Home...

Even though food has always been "in" and by "food" I do include beverages...

I have really come to enjoy a few things even more this year. 

This, unassuming, dare I say it "blended" wine is quite amazing...

but more than the flavor, it will forever signify the night I finally went "home"...

And what a name... ha Menage a Trois. 

The breeze was subtle, the stars were twinkling (you can see them there), and my mind was reminiscing.

How many spring and even more summer nights I spent under the stars in Iowa. How many nights I insisted on camping in tents, on the trampoline, inside various forts made out of those huge Maytag appliance boxes, in lounge chairs, in the back of our van, on the roof of our van, on the roof of our house... they never let me camp there...

Almost inevitably I'd wake up wet with dew, eaten alive by mosquitos, to my mother shaking me awake because the tornado sirens were going off (i'm a deep sleeper) or to the feel of wet heavy cardboard boxes on top of me and the flow of water beneath me - since I insisted to sleep at the bottom of the hill... We later learned to use a tarp if we could rig one up, although it still didn't protect us from the dew. But it didn't matter. It was our own "place". Those forts were our castles, huts on stilts perched above the ocean, or dream homes, high rise apartment buildings, anything we'd seen or heard or read about. We'd even stay up late and make extravagant meals in our "other lives". Decorating the plate of pasta with leaves from celery, pretending to season like we'd seen the professionals do, with only a jar of parmesan and salt and pepper. And candles, a necessity... as we sat down to enjoy our fine dining experience before venturing back to our "homes" in the backyard. As a kid, I always imagined my life somewhere else. 

But the other night.... it dawned on me as I sat on my parents porch, eating a pasta dinner I made for them, that my "imagination" then... had become a reality - in some ways I suppose. 

Here I was plucking fresh basil from their plant, tossing in the olive oil and tomatoes and serving it to them. We talked about the "castles" I saw while I was in Scotland and showed them pictures from our ocean front view in Kona... 

But after they'd all gone to bed... I stayed out on the back patio and took it all in. 

The 'ex peer iences' I've had in my life have taken me all over the world. I've met and high-fived close to a half a million people at Rock N Roll Marathons. I've been inside Hendrick Motorsports garages and had my ear drums blown out at a NASCAR race. I've drank wine on a yacht in Italy and rolled my own cigar at the Plasencia family farm for Alec Bradley Cigars in Honduras... but that night, sitting on that porch, feeling that breeze, and taking in that moment... might go down as one of the best feelings in the world. I moved into the hammock in the backyard and had one of those moments when the magnitude of the world hits you as you gaze up at the stars...

Not only was it home, in the springtime, my family nearby and a great glass of wine in my hand, I was enjoying this place all to myself while the the rest of the world was asleep...  but the most fascinating realization I had was that...it wasn't "new".

 I'd been here before, countless times before. But it wasn't until then that I finally understood Thomas Wolfe's quote "you can't go home again". 

Home is never the same because, you're never the same.
So many nights I imagined "home" to be something else, somewhere else.
But that night... I was there. Fully there. I didn't want to be anywhere else.
I was home... perhaps for the first time.

n...eon

I take it back... 

I've avoided Target like the black plague since I decided to try and not buy anything new for a year.

For obvious, unnecessary, but hard to quell... $60 purchases. 

I even managed to have my doctor elongate my prescriptions so that I wouldn't have to walk in there every month to get my Thyroid medicine. Yes I have hypothyroidism. One of the worst the medical team had ever seen... but I won't bore you with that... back to Target.

I hadn't been in Target in 3 months...

I went in to pick up my prescription the other day and since June 1st is knocking at my door, I thought I'd just take a gander through the store - mainly the women's clothing section. For the first time in quite some time, I didn't just beeline my way to the pharmacy and then high tail it out of there for fear of breaking down... and I'm not quite sure if what I'm feeling is elation or fear or a mix of both. 

You see....
At a very young age I found a pair of Neon yellow/green pants at a thrift store with my mom. They were a size 12 - adult women's size 12. Now, although I have a hypothyroid problem, severe weight gain was not one of my symptoms. Size 12 was about 12 sizes too big when I was 10 and about 10 inches too long. That being said, they were the most splendid pair of pants I had ever laid eyes on. My mother didn't even say no. The expression on her face uttered disgust. 

She wanted frilly pink dresses and lacey fold over socks. My father wanted pleated plaid skirts, peter pan collars and after that a nice black and white outfit provided by the "nunnery"...

Appealing to her "skills" and her "talents" I utilized what I'd seen my father do countless times, almost always to positive outcomes...

 After a heartfelt, probably over dramatic and paired with my best puppy dog eyes I made my plea... and convincing her she could make these pants fit me... like only SHE could. (blink blink)

With one giant grin on my face and one giant roll from her eyes...we went home and got to work. After cutting almost half of the fabric away, and a few under her breath utterings, she had worked her magic. I think more than anything, her biggest concern with these pants was that if she did indeed make them fit me, I would indeed wear them... in public.

Mothers know best :)

Much to her chagrin...it sprouted an obsession with neon colors I just haven't been able to (or ever wanted to) break. Thrift stores around the country have been scoured in search of anything neon - especially umbros - and until recently it was only thrift stores where I could find these little jewels. American Apparel started carrying more neon a few years ago, but having found most of my neon wear at less than $5 - I had a hard time paying full price. 

Well... as luck would have it - the world has embraced Neon once again. 

As I slowly approached the women's section at Target my heart started fluttering as the brightness of what appeared to be neon was getting brighter and brighter. Sure enough, Target, has jumped in head first to the world of neon. 

even leggings! 

I had said there wasn't much I missed, not much I was ready to run out and buy. 

Well I was wrong. 

If only because it might be another 20 years before neon is back!

I will be making a trip to Target to purchase some very "necessary" neon clothing. 

Talk about money well spent :)

By the way. 

Neon is Eon with an N for nifty. 

And Eon... well I can only hope "neon" lives up to it's namesake - see definition below. 

e·on also ae·on  (n, n) n. 1. An indefinitely long period of time; an age.