What Makes Victory Sweet...

I remember sitting in the living room one Sunday when my Dad danced his way from the basement giggling like a six-year-old. He did a little twirl, then made his way up the second flight of stairs in a similar manner with the same "hehehehe" echoing down to us. My cousin, who had been downstairs with him, came up moments before and announced that the Giants were going to the Superbowl. My dad giggled and danced his way back down the stairs and returned to the TV as if he'd never ventured away from it.

That was 1991. We laughed at him a lot for this display of excitement, but 17 years later I still remember it.

What I can't recall is his reaction when the game was over and they emerged victorious from their showdown with the Bills. At the ripe age of 9 it wasn't something I considered observing or committing to memory.

The Giants - excuse me, the New York Football Giants - have always been Dad's team. Mom noted in my 6th grade autobiography that I would watch the games with him when I was little, cheering with him when they won and trying to console him when they lost - which was a lot.

I was at my sister's house when the Giants beat the Packers two weeks ago. We called home immediately and the first thing I did when he picked up was excitedly exclaim "Superbowl!" "I actually watched this week," he said. "I didn't watch the last one because if they'd lost I would have thrown the remote through the TV."

I suppose you could say that a good portion of that incredible passion I exhibit for things comes from my father.

Rooting for them tonight had nothing to do with being a football fan, being loyal to my New York roots or my preference to cheer on the underdog in events of this nature. No, tonight's alignment with the team was for one reason and one reason alone: I knew a victory would make my dad happy.

My excitement about the Super Bowl appearance surprised people who hadn't pegged me for a football fan. When I explained that the Giants were my Dad's team and I had to cheer them on it all made sense. "Now that's love," I was told.

Never before has a football game been so tough for me to watch. It may not have been exciting in the eyes of many, but the suspense in everything coming down to the very end was almost too much to bear. There were moments our group was sure they could hear my dad shouting all the way from North Carolina.

The first thing we did after the game was call home. Even in his happiness two weeks prior he was sure the Giants had no chance; he'd never seen a team like this season's Patriots and there was just no way. Still, he stuck by them. And this time he was not disappointed.

"Go Big Blue!" "My defense won. I love it!" "You guys have been watching them since you were in diapers and now you get to see them win." My mind clearly saw his version of the cheshire cat grin I inherited and I could tell he was slightly out of breath. He probably didn't do a giggling tour of the house, but I'm sure his celebration was active in some sense. I don't know the last time I heard him that excited.

Yes, the Giants have always been my dad's team. In the minds of his children I'm sure they always will be. And when we cheer them on as we did tonight I don't think it's about supporting the team anywhere near as much as it's about him. When we celebrated in our respective states tonight we made sure to find each other. It was a little thing, but it's the sort that sticks with you. I hope we're always like that.

Captured At:2259

Snapshots From the Abyss

Going into it, I knew this week was going to be long. Every day it felt a little tougher and carried different frustrations with it. Perhaps the most difficult for me was the realization that I was paying absolutely no attention to a single person who was speaking during these crazy marathon meeting sessions.

On the afternoon of day 2 I began sketching out of boredom. One random blob looked a little like hair. Next thing I knew it had a face and a body and was holding a stick. And I asked myself "what would be something absolutely ridiculous for him to toss that stick for?" At the conclusion of day 2 I looked at it and commented on how the boy's impossible task felt a lot like the meeting.

When the 'N' appeared on his shirt I decided his name was "Nate". The finished product came on Day 3.

With Nate grinning away at his silly little Lizard I began another sketch - not nearly as good, in my opinion - that I now realize was an attempt to create something peaceful in a room that, for me, was anything but. I'd actually had a date with a coworker in the middle of its progress to go outside and scream. That felt fantastic!

Day 4, and there was a slight spring in my step as we walked back to the car. "You know, that totally made up for the rest of the week," I said. He laughed. I also told him that despite going through what the past few days have been, I still consider myself privileged to work at one of the coolest places in the world. Every time we launch, as I stand there awestruck, nearly blinded and feeling the sound of the sky tearing in two, there is nowhere else on Earth I would rather be.

I may be tired, disorganized, completely unmotivated and behind, but a view like this somehow makes everything right with the world.

Godspeed, Atlantis.

Captured At:2051

I See Two Eyes...

I think everybody has moments in life where they feel like they've hit a brick wall. The loud "Smack!" that echoes into the heavens is almost as unpleasant a sensation as the impact itself. Walls....walls are tough. If we're lucky, eventually we find a way over, under or around them and move on.

It's a lot like a chant we used to do in elementary school music class about going on a bear hunt. At every turn there was some new obstacle to get past. We'd come to a gate: "can't go over it, can't go under it, can't go around it, let's go through it". We'd pretend to open the gate as we made creaking noises, then pretend to close it doing much the same. We'd cross bridges and "plop plop plop" our way through the mud. Finally we'd meet the bear in a cave, and I think every single time we'd run like hell.

The present source of frustration is that I seem to repeatedly stumble across the same obstacle. Well, that's what it looks like. For all I know it's an obstacle in a different location that looks exactly like the previous one. I find the whole situation rather irritating. I'm a smart girl; you'd think something would have clicked by now. I refuse to believe it's as much of a lost cause as I'm currently letting myself accept.

Perhaps getting held up is best. I don't even know what sort of terrible monster I'm tracking anymore. I hope he's not hungry...

While the end destination of the cave may mean certain death, I have to believe there's some decent scenery somewhere along the way. Why can't I just wander into an enchanted forest and steal a sunset until the crescent moon smiles overhead? If the beast mauls me at that point, I'll not care. In those final moments I would have found my peace.

Still, I have never known wishing to change what is. That wall - those trials I keep failing - that's what's real. And I will open and close that stupid gate a million times if that's what it takes to finally break through. It seems the only choice. I won't always want to do it, but I will.

But that doesn't mean that when I finally come face to face with the creature in the cave I won't still run like hell.

Captured At: 125

One of the things I am often amazed by is how difficult it can be to cultivate the motivation to do what I know is good for me. We are all beings of mind, body and spirit. For this reason taking care of oneself has many forms, most of which I know I am guilty of neglecting. My Valentine's day included a severely overdue visit to the dentist. This, if nothing else, should serve as proof that I'm trying to change.

Last night I made a trip to the beach I have been saying I need to take for well over a week. Unlike most of the others this wasn't a "sit on the railing" or "stand at the top of the stairs" visit. For the first time in years the blanket that resides in my trunk met the sand. I set it by the water and lay on my back looking into a crisp sky with fewer clouds than than the beach had people. Between periods of gazing into the black I wrote what I believed to be the last beach post from my struggling laptop. The words were never moved to their intended digital home. I suspect they may never make it.

The deserted coastline offered me a much needed escape from my mind. The doubts, questions and frustrations of the month seemed to evaporate in the moonlight. I don't allow myself to absorb anywhere near enough of it anymore. Yet another thing to change.

With such a late ending to yesterday I was amazed to find myself awake shortly after 730a. The sunlight flooding onto my sleeping form clearly had a message that this was not a day to be wasted. I made the early church service for the first time in ages, I attempted my first run since November, I played with the birds on the beach while acquiring my first reddish tint of the season, and I laughed when the cloud miles above my head became the only one on that stretch of coastline to shed raindrops.

But perhaps the most important thing I did was pause in the middle of my walk to sit on the sand, remove the headphones and earnestly seek out the guidance my previous attempts had been too weak to receive. I guess sometimes it takes a while to reach that point where there's nothing to see except the brutal truth, and only by facing that truth head on can things begin to improve. Until that moment there's no way to be sure what the heart of the problem actually is.

My entire day changed after that. I can't explain how, but I could feel it. As the evening evolved I could see it. The potential for a whole shift in my world was laid out before me. Now that I recognize the open door only one important question remains: Do I have the faith and courage to walk through?

Captured At:2321

Just Some Pictures to Share

February 14, 2008:

Taken from one of the usual spots. I was pleased with the soft quality to the water, especially compared to the boldness of the sky.

February 15, 2008:

A coworker and I were talking in the parking lot when the payload canister drove by on its way to the pad. I immediately grabbed my camera and sprinted across the track to snap a few pictures as it disappeared down the road. I really liked the feel of this one.

On the way home I stopped at one of those places I've been eyeing for years as one that might be good to capture the sunset from. The bridge shook a lot as the cars sped by, but the view was every bit as lovely as I had imagined.

It's been a good few days to play with the camera. I think I'm making progress.

Captured At:1248

Drops of Joy

The day looked unpromising from just about any angle. Outside the clouds were expected to build and bathe the earth, inside a mid-term review list called out from the computer screen. Perhaps the greatest downside to being somewhat intelligent is that anything can be rationalized to feed the procrastination habit. "You have all afternoon to study," it said. "And since you didn't get your lazy butt up this morning to run, you should go for a walk while it's still dry."

When I wire myself to the iPod and head out like that the human component of the world disappears. Or perhaps it's more accurate to say that I feel I've disappeared and they can't notice my passage. I would be proven wrong by lap number two. I have yet to find a graceful way to make the point that despite the part of me that wants to be around, the rest of me just needs to do its own thing most of the time.

Two thirds of the way through that lap I was hit by the first drops from above. By the beginning of the third lap they were falling hard enough that cars were vacating the park. I reminded myself that compared to what I expect from Florida, the present shower was little more than inconvenient. The longer I walked, the more determined I was to keep going. I was so wet by the time I started the fourth lap that the rain made little difference. I could also tell it was dying down.

I'm not sure when the point comes that we suddenly grow out of being able to rejoice in a simple rain shower, but we need that cleansing every bit as much as the earth and trees. Sometimes even more so. Now that's not to say I yell "woohoo!" and run out the door every time I hear a storm, but the ability to enjoy the rain when it comes is important. It's every bit as wonderful a gift as the sunlight.

Five miles and a rainstorm later, my walk was complete. Anyone who has spent time in wet clothing knows it wasn't the most comfortable endeavour in the world, but clothes, skin and hair dry with time. I also suspect my sneakers will never smell the same again, but hey, I needed new shoes anyway. The point is that I wasn't deterred by something that easily could have ruined my day if I had chosen to let it.

Also worth noting is that sometimes those things that cause temporary discomfort are the best things for us. I can't say I like that truth very much (and I foresee many opportunities in my future to have that lesson reinforced), but I know I was far happier during my adventure than I had been in the week leading up to it.

As for the group I turned away from, I suspect I'm now the anti-social girl who walks on fences and isn't deterred by rain. But according to a number of the people who have drifted through my life it's doing those very things that makes me so wonderful to know. Anyone who can spend an hour laughing at the very rainstorm that's drenching them has to have some good in there somewhere, right? It may be mixed in with a hint of madness, but I have to believe it's there.

Captured At:1719

And Every Sunset That We'll Miss...

While driving to work this morning "The Way You Look Tonight" came through my iPod. Immediately I thought of my father and sister dancing to Sinatra's version at the wedding. The song had been my suggestion and I warned her at the time that Dad would probably serenade her as they twirled their way around the center of the room.

Choosing music for that event had been a challenge, perhaps because I've never known her as one to soundtrack her life. Enter another respect in which the two of us could not be more different. With me, music is essential. A few of the right notes help my mind relive more things than I'm sometimes convinced it could capture on its own. I can have back times that would be lost to me otherwise. It's a rather powerful thing.

Sometimes music also makes me dream things that I figure will never find any basis in reality. For reasons unknown I flashed back to my old apartment. I remembered an evening I pulled up the peer-to-peer program of the week to find the newest Train songs. At that point I knew nothing about the tracks; I just searched for "Train" and clicked on the titles that struck me enough to trigger a download.

One of those tunes I could not pass up was called "When I Look to the Sky". I figured a song with a title like that it just couldn't be bad, and I was right. The first listen struck very deep, similar to the way "Drops of Jupiter" had years before. I recognized in it something powerful that I couldn't explain but had always understood and dreamed about even though I didn't believe it to be real. Basking in the notion was enough.

At that time I was confused and frustrated trying to understand a relationship. As I looped the song through my speakers that first night I remember suddenly thinking that he wasn't worth driving myself mad. He would never be right even if I wanted him to be. Why not? Because he didn't fit the song. It seemed a bizarre set of dots to connect (and still does), but there was a huge gulf between what he evoked and what the music did.

What I've since come to realize is that there's a level somewhere within me that must be reached before I can feel real satisfaction. It's buried pretty far under there. Sometimes even I can't get to it.

The trip home was quieter. I couldn't remember the last time a sunset captivated me so completely that I stole glances at every stoplight. The whole world was glowing orange-pink and the colors only became bolder as the sun disappeared. In the wave of fiery clouds I caught a glimpse of that unreachable level and felt something soft and warm flood my heart. It was a lot like the song.

Perhaps one of the key messages from both songs is that the memories always remain when life changes. It's important to treasure those golden moments with people who touched us during our life. Sometimes it's the only way they get to remain with us.

Captured At:2113

Failure to Heed the Warning

Although I wouldn't categorize myself as much of a goal setter there are definitely a number of things I know I strive for. Peaceful coexistence with everyone around me is one of them. I don't need every person in the world to be my best friend and the fact is they won't be. I know I'm difficult. Still, if we can accomplish in a civil manner what must be done, I consider it a victory.

In my life right now I have only one person with whom I must expend tremendous effort to achieve this. And, to be quite honest, I think I'm failing.

Last night, for the first time I know of, I had a dream within a dream. I woke up from one dream, told somebody else about it, then woke up again to realize even the conversation had been a dream. It was easily one of the most bizarre things I have ever encountered in my nocturnal adventures.

Last night, for the first time I know of, my dreams portrayed violence at my own hands. I was debating with somebody who I knew was being smug and trying to incite me. The final blow was when I said "You do realize that's my sister you're talking about (what she had to do with it I'll never know) and the other party shot me a knowing look that told me the criticism was enjoyable for that very reason. Next thing I know I've knocked this person onto the ground and am just pounding away on them, right fist then left fist then right fist again. That's when I "woke up".

The recipient of my beating: the one person I struggle to peacefully coexist with.

Now I don't consider myself a violent person. I haven't taken a serious swing at somebody since my brother and I were kids, but what older sister hasn't? What I did in slumber was disturbing enough that even still in a dream I was telling somebody else about what I'd seen and how much it upset me. "I don't know why I would dream something like that," I told him. "I feel really bad about it. I don't want to hurt anybody."

After a brief stop at my cubicle this morning I walked directly back to the lab where our team was scheduled to review system flowcharts. All seemed okay until I started asking questions and challenging the answers I received. The clash of Type A personalities grew more heated as the hours ticked past. I was told afterwards that others in the lab were recommending tourniquets and bandages for the team's next meeting. I had failed at peacefully coexisting with this person yet again.

It wasn't until much later that I realized my dream had manifested itself in reality. My intentions were all peaceful at the start, but by the end my "nemesis" was subject to incessant bludgeoning because they would not concede.

This troubles me on two fronts. First, I don't like that everything with this person feels like it has to be a fight. Second, does this mean my dreams are back to forecasting things to come? If so, where do the few recent ones I remember fall on that scale?

Recent years have taught me that if a dream sticks in more than a "wow that was weird" sort of way, there's more to it and I will probably see it mirrored somehow in the waking world. Today I failed to pay attention to what my own horror at my subconscious actions suggested. As a result, I was knocked on my tail when I realized what had happened.

Could I have changed how events played out? Perhaps not. But at the very least maybe I could have recognized what I was choosing to do and altered the choice. I know there's a switch hidden somewhere inside. I really need to find it.

Captured At:2039