Horoscope, and Jealousy or Just Left Out?

I was reading Elle magazine this morning over breakfast (egg, bacon and cheese sandwich on a biscuit) when I came across my horoscope. "Zip up your puffer and hit the powder" read the first line.

Oy. Thanks, Elle. I have a few more steps to finish before I zip up my puffer and hit the powder.  As you all may know, I tore my ACL winter skiing, had surgery and can't ski until at least the end of February. The rest of my family skis once a week, more during Winter Break. I normally like Elle and have been a subscriber for years. I wanted to scream and laugh and cry as I read this. I don't blame the magazine because they don't know. It was a good thing I was eating something amazingly delicious to wash away the pain.

I was talking to my physical therapist, Evan, last week. It told him my family was skiing and I was stuck at home or in the lodge. "It sounds like you are jealous," he said, switching between physical therapist and regular therapist. I suppose physical therapists need to be somewhat like regular therapists to motivate and inspire their patients, as well as to listen to their woes. Sometimes I have a lot of woes.

Am I jealous, feeling left out, or both? I don't know if jealous is the exact word. I don't subscribe to skiing magazines or watch skiing videos. I don't aspire to ski beyond easy blacks or blues. Jack says there are people who take "bike walks" which is a leisurely bike ride where you look at houses and coast along. Jack doesn't think it is really biking until your heart rate is at 80% max and you are constantly pedaling. To make an analogy to skiing, I am a "ski walker," happy to go at my own pace and take in the scenery as I go down. I stop and smell the snowflakes. I don't need to go full blast to get the adrenaline rush. I get enough adrenaline starting at the top of the hill. I don't need to feel afraid to have fun.

Yet, given the choice between hanging out in a coffee shop or skiing, I'd ski. Given the choice between biking and skiing, I'd ski. Before my accident, I used to find a friend and we'd ski during the week when the lift lines were super short. I was totally fine skiing without my family. So maybe I am a little jealous.

I also feel left out. My kids and husband come back from skiing and I get a report on the conditions, runs, and crowds. I wish I were up there with them, to a certain extent. They are running on the black diamonds, and I would be on the blues. I'd be holding them back, making them ski at Snoqualmie Central instead of Alpental. Or I would find a blue run at Alpental that I could manage without killing myself, and do it over and over again.

It doesn't matter if Evan and I ever will get the bottom of if I feel jealous or left out. He got to the point which was starting me on skiing exercises so I'll be ready one day to zip up my puffer and hit the powder.

Vegan Friend

Earlier this week, I was at a holiday party where my family ran into another family. This family is vegan--mom, dad and both daughters. They have been vegans since we have known them (about eleven years), so this is not a new thing.

I was sitting with the dad at the party, and somehow we started talking about food. I think we were talking about juicers and yogurt makers. Talking to a vegan about food is like being a mother of three and talking to a nun about sex. It is awkward and you have experiences that they can only imagine. Except different. Nuns and priests chose to be celibate, as vegans chose their lifestyle. The difference is that many vegans chose to be vegans after being omnivores as children.

I am not sure how the conversation came up, but I said something like "Food was different in the 70's," to which James replied, "What did you eat growing up?"

This felt like a taboo topic, but I followed his lead. What was I to stay? "I feel uncomfortable talking to you about food, but since you brought it up..." I've also heard it is rude to ask people why they eat what they eat. "Are you vegetarian because you don't like to kill animals or for health reasons?" is considered crass. Although I think there is a natural curiosity about life that get smothered because of politeness. I suppose the question about vegetarianism puts that person in an awkward spot of having to reply, "You like eating the dead carcasses of animals? Why?"

I talked about what I ate growing up. Canned corn. Canned peas. Canned green beans. Steak once a week, but cut very thin and cooked to the texture of shoe leather. Pork chops prepared the same way. Chicken and rice baked in Campbell's cream of mushroom soup. Cracklin' Oat Bran in my lunch instead of Doritos. Doritos. Ham sandwiches on white bread with mayo. Homemade pizza every Friday night.

When I got to the steak, I started to say "This wasn't a thick, juicy Delmonico cooked medium rare..." but I stopped. Yes, I like eating the dead carcasses of animals. Why? Because they are delicious.

James grew up in the midwest and ate traditional Jewish cuisine, including potato pancakes and cheese blintzes. He was his mother's helper in the kitchen and had to remove the skins from the chicken for her, which would be a seriously gross job for a kid. I agree that there are certain ways of preparing food that make one wonder why one eats meat. I never head to cut the head off a chicken that I was going to have for dinner, but my grandmother did. 

James also ate pork chops growing up. 

"I used to eat liverwurst sandwiches growing up," I said. "I used to like it but at times it was too rich."

"My mom used to make liver pate growing up," he said. "She would make it from goose or chicken liver. I liked it. We went on a vacation to Boston once and we each had a whole lobster," he said. "I loved it. It was delicious."

I didn't ask if he wanted to eat one again, but it was as if he were still fostering the memory, as someone might carry a torch for an ex-boyfriend or girlfriend. Was he carrying a torch for lobster?

"Have you ever eaten a raw oyster?" he asked. Hmm. I wasn't sure oysters were an appropriate topic, but again, what was I to say?

"Yes," I said. "I had my first raw oyster a few years ago when Jack had a recruiting dinner for work. After that, I loved them. We went to Vancouver Island on vacation a few years ago and we ate oysters every day for a week. I only eat three at a time as an appetizer. I've never had a full dozen as a meal."

"My dad used to eat a dozen oysters for dinner," he said. "I've never eaten a raw one, but I've had them cooked." James reminded me of the Boy. The Boy has tried to eat raw oysters a couple of times, but couldn't do it. Last night at dinner, we went to a restaurant that had fried oysters. He asked if we could try them, and he ate two!

So James -- is he like a "priest" but for food? Maybe he does like seafood and meat, but has such strong self-discipline not to eat it. I have a friend who is a recovering alcoholic. The cure for alcoholism is not drinking. Is it like that?

I felt like I was crossing some boundary talking to him about food, or rather him talking to me about food. I am friends with his wife, who is also vegan. Was it wrong for him to tell me how much he liked eating a lobster? Does he like lobster in the present tense or the past tense? Did he like it, or would he still like it? Does he talk to his wife about how he likes/liked lobster? Do some vegans take a meal off and pig out on surf and turf? If a vegan were to slip, what would they eat first? Butter? Eggs? Something without a face like a mussel or an oyster but are kind of gross if you really think about it?

What would James' wife consider cheating? First, let's assume the cheating person isn't me. What if James went to dinner with another woman "platonically," but he decided to eat a lobster with her? Would that be better or worse than a romantic dinner with another woman at a restaurant where he ate the vegan meal and she ate roast chicken? While I know kissing or other outwards signs of affection would clearly be bad, would violating a chosen family bond be worse?

Strength Training and 40 pounds

I went to physical therapy yesterday and Evan talked to me about getting back to skiing. I can walk, bike and run, so in the grand scheme of life, I am pretty functional and I should be glad. The only part I don't like is when Jack and the kids go skiing every weekend and I can't. I don't want to begrudge them skiing because it is a great sport and probably the best way to spend a day in the snow. It involves all kinds of happy and healthy endorphins, which are according to Wikipedia "a morphine-like substance originating from within the body." Fresh air, going fast, great views, learning new skills and improving existing ones? Who doesn't want that?

Evan said while it is is great that I am running, I need to continue to build strength. "People think they ski on both legs, but there are times when times when you are bearing all of your weight on one leg. Your left leg really needs to be strong if you want to ski."

Hmm. Given the choice between lifting weights and running, I will chose running. I don't consciously make this decision, but instead I go to the YMCA, run first and then think "I have to..." a) get back home, b) run an errand, c) take a nap, etc. before I go to the weight room.

"How strong?" I asked Evan.

"You should be able to lift 150% of your body weight with both legs up and bad* leg down, 100% of your weight on your bad leg," said Evan.

Dang, I thought. I thought about how much I weigh now and how much I weighed before the Boy was born.

"How about if I lose forty pounds?" I said. That means I will have to lift forty pounds less on the single leg lift and sixty pounds less on the double leg lift.

Evan nodded. "That is one way to do it. Every pound you lose takes three pounds of pressure off your knee." I can't figure out the math on that, but Evan has a degree in this so I trust him.

While Evan thinks running isn't helping my strength, it actually is. Hopefully, I am losing a little pudge, which then means I will have less weight to lift. Win-win.

* He didn't say 'bad.' He used a nicer, more neutral medical term.

Skiing!!!

I went skiing yesterday. It was awesome. It has been more than nine months since my surgery, and I figured, yeah, I am ready. I am ready to go. When I got there, I scoped out the Magic Carpet and saw five year olds out there. I can do this, I thought. No problem. Those kids are more flexible than I am, but I follow instructions better.  

I put on my boots. I was glad I had been lifting weights and doing strength exercises. I forgot how heavy ski boots are. Maybe my next pair will be lighter. I snapped my boots into the skis and slowly started. I stayed on flat ground, close to the Magic Carpet. I rode the magic carpet a few times. I was the oldest person on the carpet except for instructors and parents teaching their kids how to ski.

Evan, my physical therapist, suggested I might try snow boarding. I could, but I already know how to ski, and snow boarding would be a whole new skill set. Maybe next week.

The freakiest part was getting on the chair lift. The second freakiest part was getting off the chair lift. The Boy and his friend were there as I glided down the green run. The bad part about green runs is that there are lots of beginners and the snow is kind of crappy. This snow was soft, as it was warm near the bottom of the mountain. I heard it was icier on the higher runs.

Just kidding! I didn't ski yesterday. I am practicing my fiction skills. I did drive the Boy and one of his friends to the slopes yesterday. (Claire-Adele went to another ski area with her friend and the friend's dad.)

I got up early, picked up the Boy's friend, and drove to Snoqualmie. The roads had no restrictions, which was good. The morning before, it was snowing and chains were required. We have an all wheel drive to help get us over the pass, but there is always some Chevette out there that thinks it doesn't need chains. Or a 4WD pick-up with an empty bed spinning out of control. Thankfully, I didn't have to deal with that.

I got the Boy his season pass and then went to the cafeteria, along with the other parents who don't ski.

Ugh. It was depressing.

All of the parents who don't ski sit in the seats that look out the windows and on the mountain. The tables and chairs aren't very comfortable, especially when you have to sit there from ten until three. There is a bar upstairs. I thought about going up there to see if they had more comfortable seating (they probably do) but I wasn't sure I wanted be in a bar at ten in the morning on a Tuesday.

In the end, it wasn't that bad. The resort doesn't have wifi, but I brought several magazines and a few books. The boys had a good time.

While I was in the lodge, I started thinking about what an odd sport skiing is. I can see how it probably got invented in the Swiss Alps where people needed to get around, and sleds were probably not practical for every situation. Think about it: people strap long sticks to the bottom of their feet and slide down a mountain. Not only is it weird, but people pay gobs of money for the privilege of doing this.

I suppose I will remember one day why it was fun when I get back on the mountain. It is like I have forgotten, like it doesn't exist any more for me except in an abstract way. It is as if I moved to a new country when I was small, and all I have left are vague memories of what my homeland was like.

Adventures on the Couch

My thirteen year old son, the Boy, has recently been complaining he has no friends. He ran into a friend walking home from school and said he was going to call this guy when he got back from running an errand. When he came back from his post-school, pre-break orthodontist appointment, he glumly sat on the coach in my bedroom and started watching Dr. Who. This is not a auspicious start to Winter Break.

"Want to call Dan?" I asked, hoping the Boy wouldn't become a permanent fixture on my couch for the next two weeks.

"No," he said, earbuds plugged in.

"Want to call another friend?" I asked.

"I have no friends," he said. Grrrreat. Please god tell me something better will happen to make these next two weeks not complete miserable. Please find my son something better to do than sit on my couch in my bedroom. Please.

About twenty minutes later, his phone--which was plugged into the charger in my office--started to buzz. I assumed it was a text message, hopefully from a friend asking him to get together. Please be someone asking him to get together...

"Your phone is buzzing," I called and the Boy got off the couch and got his phone.

He promptly sat back on the couch and began a texting conversation that has lasted more than 48 hours. Apparently, he had to clear his social calendar so he would be available to text this new person, who does not have a name. His phone is now always in his pocket, and when I peek over at his phone, it is on the texting screen. I don't know how the phone stays charged.

Claire Adele told him is butt was going to get out of shape if he continued to sit like that, which is interesting because she sat on our living room couch for her entire 8th grade year and her butt, as she describes it, is a perfect bubble butt. I guess bubble butts are now desirable. I wish J Lo and company would have made a round tush popular when I was in high school.

Yesterday, we put up our Christmas tree. I told the Boy to put down the phone so he could participate in a family activity. I recommended he tell his Friend that he was going to be offline for an hour or so. He got out his phone, and texted the Friend.

The Boy helped my untangle the Christmas lights and put them up on the front railing of the house. As he was helping me,  I asked "What do you text about? All you do is sit on the couch. Do you text about your adventures of sitting on the couch?"

This is what I imagined his conversation to look like:

The Friend: What are you doing?
The Boy: Sitting on the couch.
The Boy: What are you doing?
The Friend: Sitting on the couch.
The Boy: Cool.
The Friend: Yeah. Cool.
The Boy: Here is a new emoji.
The Friend: Great! I love emojis!
The Boy: Still sitting on the couch.
The Friend: Me too!
The Boy: My couch is beige with a large indent from where my butt is.
The Friend: My couch is tan.

I told the Boy what I imagined his text conversation looked like, and he actually laughed. A real giggle. He knew it was all absurd, but still he laughed.

I can see how kids get into sexting. They exhaust all other topics in the universe suitable for texting, and then the only thing left is sending each other photos of body parts.

Last night, the Boy asked me if he could get a new chair for his room. Someplace comfortable where he could sit, presumably for hours where he can text his new Friend.

Ode to Melinda Gates and Age of Innocence

I am starting to write a novel about women of privilege. I have a friend, Lisa, who lives in a rarified and wealthy corner of the world. She started telling me all of these crazy stories about her world.

"You should write a book about this!" I said.

"No, Lauren," Lisa replied. "You are the writer. You should write about it."

Wow. I thought. She has a point. I could write about this. It would be so different than writing essay and memoir. I thought I'd give it a try. Writing a novel is harder than it looks, which is fine. In memoir, writers can stick to the truth more or less. The truth is typically more compelling and complex than a whitewashed version of events.

I met with a friend, Sereena, for lunch yesterday who comes from an opposite world. While she is super educated and intelligent, she had a bout of homelessness after she was struck with a disability and lost her job. She was not suffering from chronic homelessness caused by mental illness or an addiction, but rather she had a spell of bad luck. She has been in stable housing since I've known her. Sereena is a wonderful education advocate and I have a tremendous amount of respect for her.

Why am I writing about a world of privilege instead of the plight of those suffering from poverty or racism? I am hoping to figure out how my friend Lisa's crazy world relates to the rest of the world.

I am doing massive amounts of reading as research for my novel: Love in the Time of Cholera by Gabriel Garcia Marquez, The Great Gatsby, and The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn. I am reading Age of Innocence by Edith Wharton for the first time. The novel is about privileged New York society in the 1870's, when Wharton was young. I saw the movie with Daniel Day-Lewis years ago, and I hated it back then. I thought the movie was boring and nothing happened. Someone told Ian McKellen, the actor who played Gandalf in The Lord of the Rings movies, that he didn't understand the plot of these movies. He was reported to have said if you want to understand what is going on, read the books. The same holds true for Age of Innocence.

Edith Wharton grew up in a class where women--and most men--didn't have to work. Edith chose to have a literary life, and volunteered in Paris during the Great War.  Wharton wrote this book after World War I, after she had seen a great deal of suffering. I haven't yet figured out what inspired her to write it, but I hope to get there. I don't think she likes her main characters. I think she thinks they are vacuous and self-absorbed. Newland Archer reminds me of one of my high school boyfriends, and not in a good way. (Not Sean or Rob, in case either of you are reading this. My other high school boyfriend whose name will not be mentioned here.) Nevertheless, the book is interesting.

Many of the women in Lisa's world are both privileged and relatively powerless. Their wealth comes from their husbands. While they have everything they want, they lack purpose, even though they have enough financial freedom they could do whatever they want. Lisa is a stay-at-home mom and she loved her boys. She embraced motherhood more than other women I know who gave up careers for their kids.

My husband Jack will often ask me, "If you could do whatever you wanted to do, what would it be?" That is hard question to ask a mother like me when my kids are not yet settled and require my attention.

I wonder how the women in Lisa's 1% world would answer that question. Most of them play tennis. Some of them exert their power in mean and cruel ways over other women who have fewer means. I asked Lisa if any of these women do meaningful volunteer work, like serve on boards for arts, health or human services organizations. Do they write novels or music or are they trying to save the whales?

"No," was her short reply. She didn't even ponder. She almost yelled it.

In thinking about women who lead privileged lives, I started to think about Melinda Gates. I know some people in Seattle criticize the Gates for their undue influence in education. Let's remove that from this equation and look at what else Melinda Gates has done. Instead of frittering away her fortune, education and intelligence, she has put all three to good use. She advocates for improving health for pregnant woman and getting global access to birth control, and not just writing a check and hoping someone else will make it happen. She goes to the places where the work needs to be done, and she talks to people who are directly involved.

I remember reading a story in a magazine about Melinda's trip to New York City. She was in a posh hair salon, and the women working there didn't know who she was. The women who work there probably take care of the "Who's Who" in New York, but they didn't know Mrs. Gates was married to the richest man on the planet. This says a lot about Melinda's low-key approach. She'd probably rather hobnob with a midwife in New Delhi than strut down a red carpet.

I was googling Melinda and I saw her Twitter feed where she talks about access to healthcare for women all over the world. In her pictures on her Twitter feed, she isn't wearing visible make-up or jewelry. She looks downright frumpy but she is smiling and looks happy. I love it. Good for her! I am sure she has an amazing jewelry collection but that is not what is she using in her image to the world.

Sure, some people might think, I could do all sorts of cool stuff like that if I were as wealthy! But that is the point. Some people are wealthy (well, no one is as wealthy as Melinda and Bill) but they choose to spend their time, money and energy primarily on frivolous things like the characters in Age of Innocence whereas Melinda does not.

My friend often says she looks at people by how they carry their burdens. I would add to look at people how they carry their privilege, as well.

89.81%, or the End is Near!

Today, I practiced my one legged triple jumps. Before I can return to sports, my left leg (the injured and repaired one) has to be at 90% of my right leg (the uninjured one.)

Before I practiced my triple jumps, I warmed up with my agility exercises. I was super sweaty and my legs were hot. In physical therapy, Jason has me jump with my right leg first, then my left. I did the same today.

Sorry about my terrible linoleum. It needs to be replaced.

I jumped 108 inches with my right leg and 97 with my right. If my math is correct,

97 / 108 = 89.81%

Boo-yah! I am hoping I can round up and call that 90%. I know I'll have to repeat that in physical therapy under proper supervision, but yay! I am close!

Last time I was in physical therapy, I jumped 115 with my right leg and 84.5 with my left. If I compare my best jumps of both days, I am at 84%, which is still pretty good. Evan said super-star athletes might have 90% recovery by nine months out, and I am sure they have repeatable performances, not just jumping one morning in the kitchen. Super athletes probably have stronger uninjured legs to start with. My left leg has a low bar for comparison.

I also need to practice my single jumps, too, which are worse than my triple jumps for some reason. I think I am getting momentum on my triple jumps, which is boosting me along.

I also had to practice "sticking" my landing so I wouldn't wobble, double-step, or drop my other leg when I landed. Better technique here helped my performance.

I am excited! The end of my recovery is near!

The Black Dog and the Bubble

I mentioned in a previous post that I have a friend who was recently diagnosed with depression. I have other friends who have depression but I met them after they were diagnosed and already into treatment. For a variety of reasons, this friend can't take medication for her depression. She has to rely on psychotherapy and maintaining a healthy lifestyle to minimize her symptoms. She is discovering the before and after of her diagnosis. What used to be perceived as tiredness and lethargy she now recognizes as depression.

I have another friend with type I diabetes. This friend can prick her finger and get a quantitive read on her blood sugar levels. She then has to figure out what to do next to adjust so her blood levels return to normal. People with depression don't have something that concrete to tell them something is off or amiss. Plus, your mind thinks what it thinks, and it often thinks it is find, even when it is not.

I remember when I was consulting, there was an expression "You can't manage what you can't measure." There was a strong emphasis on trying to quantify things that might not necessarily be quantifiable. How can we quantify a mood like depression? I wish it were easy to measure so then it more easily be managed.

My son's elementary and middle school used to use the Mood Meter created at Yale to help kids label their emotions, but I am not sure how it can capture fuzzier emotions, like "I want to sit on the coach and watch YouTube videos for hours instead of going outside" or "I don't really have any feelings right now. Everything is gray."

I wish there was a depression simulator, where you could go into it for fifteen minutes or so and experience depression. Not that I really want to go there, but I want to know what it is like inside her head so I can be a better friend and support her. Depression are migraine headaches are the two illnesses I fear the most. I don't want to take a drug to give me the feeling of depression; I would fear the drug might be permanent, and that would suck. J. K. Rowling gives a great description of depression with the Dementors in the Harry Potter series.

And then I wonder how much of the Black Dog has visited me, and perhaps I have been unaware of it. I wonder if Jack has a mild case of it, too. Maybe both of us live on the bubble, and have managed to keep it at bay with exercise, socialization and getting good sleep. Maybe the Black Dog would have a more permanent part in our lives, but so far we have managed it.

When I was a kid, I used to ride my bike everyday after school except for days when I had extra-curricular activities, like Drill Team. I needed a full night's sleep to feel normal. Now I also need a fistful of vitamins to feel perky: cod liver oil, folic acid, and Vitamin D and B, plus magnesium to ward off Alzheimer's. Jack runs or rides his bike to work everyday. When he goes three or four days without exercise, he is grumpy and short-tempered.

"I need to go for a run," he said the other night after dinner. Yes you do, I thought. I no longer think of exercise as a luxury. My campaign manager for when I ran for School Board would occasionally ask for a few hours off to lift weighs.

"No problem," I told him. If he needed to exercise to feel normal, I needed him to exercise.

I was recently talking to a group of moms and it came up that almost all of them were on anti-depressants. I was one of the only ones in the group not to need them. (Yet.) After my ACL tear and surgery, I needed to exercise everyday for forty-five minutes to build strength in my legs. What should have been a perfect excuse to sit on my butt and feel sorry for myself ended up being not that bad. I was almost surprised that I wasn't more miserable that I was. Part of me I wanted to be miserable so I could figure out what to do next with my life. I couldn't possibly be happy or content when I was in such a sorry state.

But I kind of was content. I wasn't euphoric or ecstatic, but I wasn't as miserable or painfully bored as I thought I'd be. I somehow managed to keep off the bubble. I am a firm believer of listening to your body and mind "Pain is your body's way of staying 'Stop!'" is one of my favorite expressions as it applies to so much more that physical pain. Boredom serves a purpose: it forces me to find something new and meaningful to do. Misery tells me I need to change. I look at these feelings as a gift telling me to move, not something I need to dread.

I can say that but then I still have a healthy fear of the Black Dog approaching as I age. I don't want to live where I have to be so diligent to keep my sanity. My dad manages his type II diabetes with diet and exercise, and as long as that works for him, he isn't on medication. I plan to do the same to keep my mood in place.

What if I get injured again or become ill and can't exercise? My mom had a bad case of depression after my brother and I were both out of the house. This time also coincided with menopause. Is this something I have to look forward to? Will depression be an accessory that comes with the change of life? I pray not. I read somewhere the estrogen protects women's brains from mental illnesses like schizophrenia. Some women are sane until they hit menopause, and then they become certifiable. If this happens to me, I will hopefully gracefully submit to medication, therapy, and whatever else I might need to keep my mind.

Moon versus Mars

The National Geographic Channel has a new television series called Mars. Or maybe it is called MARS. Mars was a god of war--it makes sense that this television show would be titled in all caps, shouting. Like the plot of the wonderful book, The Martian by Andy Weir, entrepreneur Elon Musk wants to colonize Mars. The goal is to get to Mars by 2030 or 2033. I don't recall which.

It will take two to three years to get there, plus they will need to send a bunch of stuff there earlier so the planet-aunauts will have supplies there before they arrive. I can understand why they would need to send stuff early and why they would need to send so much stuff--it is a long, long trip. This would be the difference between going to stay at a hotel downtown for a weekend and moving to Europe. Unlike Mars, you can buy clothes and food in Europe. Mars does not yet have retail.

While I think traveling to Mars would be exceptionally cool, I wonder why don't they colonize the moon first? I am not trying to negative about Mars, but rather practical, if space travel is ever practical. The moon is so much closer. If nothing else, they could do practice runs to the moon before they take off for Mars. They could practice setting up their habitats, driving around, and figuring out food. Much of this practice has taken place on the International Space Station (ISS), except they have been self-contained on the ISS. They might get outside for a walk once in a while, but not like walking down the street from one moon house to another.

Imagine the moon colonized. It could be the like the station at the South Pole. You could have scientific research centers there, and the systems to support life, like food services, laundry, tech support and facilities management. One of my friends learned to drive a truck in the snow and got a job as a truck driver on Antarctica.

You could have the same thing on the moon, but you could also add a hotel for tourism. People could visit the moon, and fly there when they send up new batches of supplies like food, water and oxygen. The tourists could spend a few days there, and fly back when the send back empty supply containers. Would people want to go to the moon? As I get older, I think more about comfort than I do about adventure. How many people want to go to frigid Antarctica, and travel across choppy seas where the weather isn't compatible with human life? Not that many, but perhaps enough. The same could go for the moon.

Plus, my memory kind of sucks compared to what it used to be. I am sure there are fifteen steps to get on a space suit before going outside. I can barely remember my phone and poop bags for the dog when I leave the house for a walk. Will I remember to check my oxygen tanks levels, or would I say "Screw it--I don't want to die" and stay inside? What else would we do there besides go outside, look at rocks and have the experience humanity for millennia have dreamed about? Think about the ancient Greeks, dreaming of going to the moon while sitting on a beach, eating olives and figs. Would they really go if they knew it was so gray when they were used to the azure seas? Would there be wifi on the moon? Or would they put the tourists to work, making them move stuff around or help with experiments?

Perhaps the moon could become earth's garbage dump, or would it not have enough gravity to hold our trash down? Would old hamburger wrappers drift off and become space debris? What about sending food scraps there? Would that organic material compost? My guess is that it wouldn't unless it were given oxygen, water and heat. We could practice all of this stuff on the moon before going to Mars.

What would happen if we really colonized the moon or Mars? Would they have their own economy? What would they do for money or jobs, other than try to stay alive? What kind of society and laws would they have? Would new rules and norms develop?

What is the plus side of the project? Realizing dreams. I've had dreams at times that I am traveling to Saturn and Jupiter. The Boy would be a young man by the 2030's. I am sure it would be exceptionally cool to work on that project, and project that humans have been dreaming about since they first looked at the night sky and saw planets.

While my son works on the Mars project, maybe I'll go to Greece.

Phases of Womanhood: Maiden & Virgin, Nurture & Mother, Queen & Crone

I am in a writing class that discusses feminine archetypes through mythology taught by Mary Oak at North Seattle College. My friend Eleanor signed up for the class, and she recommended I join her, so I did.

This class nearly saved my life. It gave me a new lens through which to understand the past twenty-five years, and it made me think of my life in less depressing terms than I had been seeing it.

In the beginning of the class, the teacher talked about the three phases of womanhood:

• The Virgin
• The Mother
• The Crone

I found this to be mildly depressing at first. A few weeks into the class, the teacher expanded the three phases:

• The Maiden
• The Nurturer
• The Queen

My eureka moment came when I heard the word "queen." This is what I have been waiting for, my Queen phase. I am done with nurturing and ready to move on.

In mythology and in the feminine archetypes, the Maiden phase is when the woman in free and independent. She can make her own decisions about her life. I like "maiden" better than "virgin." When I think of "virgin," I think of girls who didn't leave their parents home until they were married. When I think of "maiden," I think of Carrie Bradshaw from Sex and the City. She wasn't married and didn't have kids, but she wasn't living with her parents and certainly wasn't a virgin.

Ironically, the Nurturer/Motherhood phase is when women are most vulnerable. Women are no longer independent as others rely on them. The singer Adele was interviewed in Vanity Fair, and she talked about her three-year-old son. She said something to the effect of she wished she had four hours where she could just do whatever she wants. I could relate back to when I had toddlers and was tied to that responsibility. Even when I worked, my weekends were my own usually. Even if I volunteered, it was something I chose to do--it wasn't chosen for me.

With kids, you don't decide when they are going to have a meltdown or need a diaper change or when they will be pure delight. They are independent beings with their own moods and will. In general, this sense of obligation is much stronger for women than men. I have never every heard a father say he wished he had four hours to himself. There might be some dads out there who have said that, but I haven't met them.

The Queen phase doesn't mean "queen" in the regal, bossy sense. Instead, this is where women regain their time, power, and independence. They have earned experience and wisdom.

As I start to look for a job, I don't think of my time as a parent as time out of the workforce. I think it of it as my time spent as a nurturer. Sometimes I'd get frustrated with myself for not looking for a job sooner, or when I'd get a set-back. Last year, I tore my ACL. I was nurturing myself and re-learning how to walk. My son fell ill a month ago, and part of my "job" was to nurture him back to health. I spent a lot of time taking him to doctor's appointments and making phone calls to understand what was happening. When I looked his illness through this lens, I felt less frustrated. I now see myself in a stage of life that will eventually fade as my kids gain independence, and a new phase will begin.

My daughter talks at times about not wanting kids. "They will ruin my career," she says. Looking back, I can see that. At other times, she talks about her future grandchildren. She wants to skip from maiden to queen and still have kids. I can't blame her. Isn't this what happens to men?

Since I've learned about these archetypes,  I have developed patience. To paraphrase Snow White, someday my queen phase will come. And I'll be ready.

Triple Jumps and Dreams of Skiing

The Boy has been checking the snow reports at Stevens, Mt. Baker, Snoqualmie, and Crystal every morning when he wakes up. He checks again after school. The snow is falling and he is excited. He outgrew his old skis and got new skis a few weeks ago, and he is ready to give them a run.

I can't ski yet. I just passed the nine month anniversary from my ACL repair surgery (yay!) but my surgeon said to wait a year to allow the allograft repair to fully integrate and heal (boo). I wasn't sure how I would feel about ski season coming back. I mostly tried to avoid thinking about it, and now it is here. Will I ride with them in the car for hours to sit in the lodge and play solitaire, read a book or drink hot chocolate? Might I be tempted to head to the rental place while Jack and the kids are high on the mountain and try the greens? Would I be able to resist? Would it make me more or less depressed?

I went to physical therapy yesterday and I asked what tests I needed to pass before they would allow me back on the mountains. Evan, Jason and I discussed this.

"These are tests that will allow you to decide when you are ready to ski," Evan said. "A year on the calendar doesn't mean anything if you are sitting on the couch the whole time."

"What do I need to do?" I asked.

Evan stood on one leg, his other leg perched behind him and he was in the shape of a tee. He flung the back leg forward and jumped on the standing leg about six feet forward.

"You're bad leg needs to be 90% of your good leg on this jump and the triple jump," he said.

I didn't think I could do one jump on my good leg, let alone my bad leg.

"Let's give it a try," Jason said cheerfully. He had more faith in me that I had in myself. We went to the open gym area and I practiced jumping. I had to stick the landing, not take a second step or wobble and put my other leg down.

For a single jump, I went about 26 inches on my bad leg and 39 inches on my good leg which means my bad leg is 66% of my good leg. Twenty-three percent more to go! I did better with the triple hops: 84.5 inches with my bad leg and 115 with my good leg. I was at 73%!

When I finished jumping, I did agility exercises, which I love. I feel like I am dancing when I do it, or that I could dance soon after. For me, getting back to "normal" also means feeling like I can move quickly without my brain stopping my body before I take a step, processing "Is this going to be safe? Will the left leg hold?" I feel like my brain has my left leg on parole, and it has to check in for approval before it does anything new.

Last night, I dreamt I was skiing. It wasn't a fantasy dream like I was flying or racing down runs that I couldn't do before, but a practical dream of my first time back on the slopes. What would it be like? My left leg wasn't agile or strong enough to keep everything in control. Would I be able to quickly stop or maneuver moguls? I could possibly avoid moguls and steep stretches, but sometimes there are tough passages that require extra dexterity that I don't have yet. I would probably not kill myself or re-injure my knee on a green, but would it be worth the risk? Sometimes the green runs are more dangerous than the blues because beginners are going down hill with little to no control.

Jack has a colleague who is a big skier who tore his ACL years ago. Each year before ski season starts, he takes a "Back to Skiing" exercise class to get back into shape before he goes downhill. Next year I plan to take the class.

Better yet, I wish there were a machine where I could safely practice skiing indoors. Treadmills are for running, stationary bikes are for biking, and rowing machines exist so landlocked people can pretend they are on the open water. I know "real" exercise is more fun than indoor exercise, but I'd love to try a skiing machine...

Reinvention, and Limbo-Land between Public Sector and Business

A good friend of mine is considering looking for a job after being out of the workforce for twelve years. She used to be a teacher and she loved to teach. She is deciding what her next move is.

"I love to teach. I like the classroom. I don't have the time or energy to reinvent myself," she said. "If I am going to go back to work, I want to go back to a place where I am comfortable, not where I need to figure it all out from scratch. Going back to work is going to be hard enough with getting used to a new schedule for me and the kids. I can't imagine that plus trying out a whole new endeavor."

There are times in life where we need and want to try something new, where we need to push ourselves out of our comfort zone and try something different and exciting. This can be thrilling.

At other times, it is best to stick with what we know, the old and familiar. Most often, we have the hybrid of a little bit of both the old and the new. For my friend, going back to work after kids by itself will be new since she never worked while she had a family. Teaching will be what is familiar.

I think about this and it makes me reflect on my experiences and getting back to work. Before kids, I worked in consulting firms. After kids, all of my volunteer work was with non-profits and the public schools. I've been in both worlds for a long time, and I am trying to decide which realm to re-enter: business or the public sector? It makes me think about the differences between the two. This isn't to say one is better than the other, but more to think about how they are vary. I have respect for the work in both areas.

Business is motivated by profit, whether for shareholders, partners or the owners. Public sector work is motivated by a mission: Keep the streets safe. Educate children. Put out fires.

Businesses value efficiency and effectiveness. The public sector (when working well) needs to consider multiple perspectives when implementing a plan, and that takes time. In building a new library, city council might need to talk to seniors, parents with kids, people with disabilities like loss of vision. How will this new library meet the needs of the diverse members of a community?

A business can pick and choose what products they want to sell, and eliminate those that aren't working. If a product or service doesn't have a market, companies drop them. The public sector has a responsibility to meet the needs of a variety of constituents. Firemen can't say "It isn't cost effective to put out fires in rural areas." Public schools can't say "It isn't efficient to educate kids who don't speak English or who have disabilities." Or, "Our graduation rates are abysmal. Let's drop 12th grade." Failure isn't an option.

Businesses typically have one leader who makes decisions. Public sector decisions are made by consensus building and compromise. From a school board to congress, both groups need to convince other members of the governing board of their ideas. In a company, an employee might have to convince their boss.*

Businesses sometimes value system approaches on things like budgeting, project management, and communication. Public sector organizations often rely on subject matter experts to run the organization, even though those people might not have expertise in running an organization. Police run police departments. Firemen run fire departments. In my work with schools, I served on numerous committees with teachers. Teachers are subject matter experts on teaching, but few knew how to manage a project. For the most part, this is fine. Teachers don't really need to know about project management, budgeting, or communication planning. It becomes a problem when systemic changes need to be made. I saw the district was challenged because the administration, most of whom were former teachers, didn't have strong enough skills to get the job done.

I can see positive sides to both, and both can learn from each other. Likewise, I don't think it is realistic to think the government can be run like a business because it isn't. It would be like asking an elephant to swim like a fish. If you want to haul logs up a hill, call an elephant. If you want dinner, call a fish.

It would be nice, however, to find the sweet spot between the business realm and the public sector.

* This doesn't include change management which would apply similarly to both business and the public sector.