standing downwind of the dog

I always thought of myself as a "pretty good" person, good as in mostly nice to people, pretty much doing the rightest thing at the time. But, who's to really say? We all think we're good, and usually that's judged by the things we do, rather than the things we don't do. But does avoiding "doing" cancel out the good that we actually accomplish? Meaning, if there's something you should be doing because it's right or good or helpful or decent, and you avoid it or ignore it or act lazy or make another sandwich and take a nap in your bathrobe, does that take away from your good quotient?



I recently had a minor fit of anger at another person's competitive nature, stalker-like sensibilities and thinly-veiled jealous streak so often aimed in my direction. I try to hope those things don't bother me, but they do, I am...human, and I also have a mean gene I try to suppress most of the time. I expressed a desire to somehow strike back, to virtually shove something back in Other Person's face. My fiancee quietly mentioned that he had recently adopted a "do no harm" philosophy and suggested I perhaps try something similar.



Hmm.



He does have a way of shutting me up. Sometimes. This new "do no harm" thing reminded me of a plan I had a few years back...trying always to do the next "rightest" thing. I guess I forgot about it somewhere along the way.



So I found myself in one of those situations where the right thing to do is the hard thing, which is keep my mouth shut, smile and redirect my energy. Every time I take Grace the dog outside for her PT (that's personal time -- she'd really doesn't like going in the yard; would prefer more privacy) I am reminded of how not in control I am. No matter where I stand, it seems the wind always blows past her towards me, making for a full-fledged sensory experience. Conversely, when we're lucky enough to have the time and the mind to make a choice, that's something for which to be thankful.

October, 2007

Somewhere along Route 58, the tomato fell away from my windshield and I didn't even notice it. After a couple of Guinesses while doing our "budget" the night before, my boyfriend decided it would be funny to throw partially-ripe tomatoes at my car in our driveway. It was funny, actually. Emphasis on was. Not so much fun in the morning when I had to spend precious seconds getting the sticky seedy flesh off my car. The only chunk I left was beyond my windshield wiper's reach and far too gross to touch. I was pleased to see my new-job-can't-be-late panic driving helped clean my car. I work at a school in a very wealthy community, and shudder every afternoon when I head outside to start my five-year-old VW Golf. While the car appears ok, it has the unfortunate and unfixable defect of spewing smoke out its exhaust every time I start the engine. Each afternoon I plan my exit from the parking lot very carefully. I ensure the least amount of people are nearby, then turn the key in the ignition and drive as fast as possible without making myself conspicuous, to the first speed bump on the long driveway. After successfully making it over each speed bump without something falling off my car, such as the muffler, I race to the next one, until I reach safe anonymity: the main road. All I need to add to my image is driving a car that looks like it's been booed off stage.

stuck in a dress

Dress shopping is never easy. I'm sure, even for those girls out there who are size 4. Well, maybe they have it a little easier. Part of the frustration and the build-up to exhaustion is the constant undressing and redressing. Bringing in two sizes of the same dress. Trudging from store to store, sometimes even purchasing garments that will only be returned...later that day. The only thing that makes the experience worse, for me, is being alone. Since purchases like dresses are made by me rarely these days, I try to secure a shopping partner ahead of time. Someone to give me honesty and encouragement. A trustworthy soul far more reliable than fair-weather salespeople. A friend who says "Don't give up."

A friend who can pry me out of a dress.

Now, I've been stuck in mud (lost my shoes) stuck on a hill (16 years old driving a stick shift) stuck in myriad awkward social situations (I'm a magnet for those), even stuck in a sports bra (from which I sliced myself free).

But being stuck in a dress is different story.

You would think one would learn this life lesson: if the dress is difficult to put on, beware when attempting to remove it. Many dresses today go over the head, but have a convenient side zipper. The physics escapes me (actually, I've never had any physics to lose) but somehow that side zipper helps with the on and off process.

As I attempted to remove an ill-fitting dress last weekend, the sick sensation that I was trapped slowly came over me. After several tries, I had managed to position the dress partially up over my head, and to make a long story short (too late) my arms were stuck. Up. Both of them. I stood in the pleasantly-lit dressing room, my face pressed up against the top of my left arm as well as the Retro Patterned Silk Shift I had the gall to think I could not only wear to an event, but remove from my body without scissors. I stood quietly, pondering my life. I had a limited budget, very little time, and no shopping friend from whom to humbly seek aid. The smell of new fabric and fear filled my senses.

I won't leave you hanging any longer. I am not still wearing that dress right now. It only took a few more pulls and the sound of one stitch giving ever so slightly.

But hey, that loose stitch just might save the next shopper from spontaneous dress entrapment, and a whole lot of uninvited introspection.