Author: bifocalsandbarbells

“You should go dancing.”

I freeze. My brain works hard to process what Tara just said. I’m sure that my face looked somewhere between how it looks when I  “what the fuuuu…?!” and how it looks when I’m trying to complete some very complex task with success (like answering my desk phone on my headset in less than 3 tries)

“GO…!?”

“I’m dancing HERE! Did the classic dance move of ‘overbite’ not make that clear?”

Ever seen those toddlers that can’t help but bounce to music? I’m a 48 yr old version of that toddler. I’m often having dance parties for one. At work, while making my oats, while driving. Am I good at it? No. Does it stop me? Also, no.

I am so thankful for the people who can make music. There’s a finite number of notes, beats, words, and ideas. Since the beginning of time, talented people have taken those resources and continued to churn out compositions to be appreciated by others. From Grog in the cave to Lizzo, artists have taken their abilities and created ways to influence others.

I’ve got some pretty shitty musical tastes, but that doesn’t mean that music is any less important to me. I’m also very thankful for exposure to other music.

I think “invoke” is the right work music’s power. It’s weird how the simple stimulation of the sense of hearing can have such emotional impact. I’ve recovered from many a pity party thanks to Matisyahu. Missy Elliot and Sir Mix a Lot get credit for working through countless leg days that I really wasn’t eager to start. And I won’t even start about the transformative powers of some Bill Withers or a little of Hooker’s Boom Boom Boom.

In general, country music makes me want to stab myself in the ears. There’s enough real world struggle and strife to experience without having to hear some modern, twangy Greek tragedy about how Billy’s life is coming unraveled.  Three minute diddy about loss and poor coping? No thanks.

Buuuuut,… as I thankfully learned in a class 100 years ago, when it comes to art the division isn’t good and bad. It’s what speaks to me; versus what doesn’t speak to me.

I know that how much I hate some music, is EXACTLY how people may feel about my selections.

 You can almost hear eyes rolling when I get to choose the music at Crossfit. “What’s she going to pick? Will we be subjected to coarse language? Or will it be Beiber again? Does she know she’s not 12? Or urban?”

I do. But I don’t care. That music makes me feel the way I want to feel for that task. When I need to feel another way, I’ll listen to something else. Like now. That’s the beauty of music. As for now, gotta go. Me and Cardi B got some housework to do.

Purpose is found at the intersection of “what you can do,” “what you like to do,” and “what is needed.”

I have a fake job. It’s my passion for more reasons than I can list, but it still is much more difficult to quantify than many other jobs. At the end of Daniel’s day, he knows that he fixed x number of tractors, and that his tasks resulted in yadda yadda results. In a parallel universe, someone else is able to gauge their success by knowing the number of widgets they assembled. Neither is the case in my purpose. In addition to the nebulous nature of tracking what I do, there’s the confidentiality of it all. I can’t, shouldn’t, and won’t talk about my purpose, but that doesn’t make it any less powerful.

Despite those elements that make my purpose secretive, I am still able to address why it is a purpose for me. I am lucky in that my job is needed. I am also lucky that my job requires words. I can do words (not that this sentence would indicate as such, but I can). I like to do the things required in my job. It’s needed, I can do it, and it’s what I like. Purpose.

Does this mean that I roll through situations seamlessly? Hellz to the no. If you’ve spent any time with me, you’ve certainly seen a tantrum, a moment I’ve needed to fix my face, or a moment when I’ve worked hard to appear disinterested. My hope is that those instances are the world’s way of giving me reason to check in about my commitment to purpose.

You ever take a second to look at a tiny, inconsequential portion of a painting or photograph? Just pick a teeny spot. Look only at that spot. “That’s dumb,” you say? Yes, yes it is.  “Why would I look at just a little spot? That little spot doesn’t show me the whole scene.” Yes. Any tasks of purpose are going to have spots that are less than what the big picture represents.

The resolve and discipline that makes you stop focusing on those small areas is another way to determine if you’re fulfilling purpose. When you have the bump in the road, but it only makes you want to push harder to operate, you know you’re on the right track. Being grounded in purpose helps with sustaining yourself through difficulties. (Don’t think I’m smart for that comment. I literally stole it from a meme. I AM however, smart enough to steal from memes.)

So purpose continues. Stronger.

My purposes are what they are. Yours will, and should be, different.

The world needs a lot of things. Humans are blessed with varying gifts. Thank goodness for that. if only me people existed things like “why are the highways not built?! I sent an email. I had a meeting. And then another meeting about the meeting. I don’t understand” would happen. Or we’d all starve to death because we didn’t have the widget maker or the farmers. All the talents are needed. The thing that you’re good at, that the world needs, and that pleases you to do, is no less or more important than my thing. All the things matter. All the things are needed.

So, in whatever your purpose is, go do great things.

There we were. Daniel and me, just talking about Plato. You know, Philosophy Fridays. (Okay, …it really just came up because that book I read.)I asked him if he knew about the allegory of the cave. He did not. I read some information to him about it. In doing so I said “So-Crates.” He corrected my pronunciation.

“You know I was kidding saying it that way, right?”

 “I do now.”

I had a moment of disbelief and questioned all my parenting, “Did I not make you watch ‘Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure’!?” He shrugged. “Strange things are afoot at the Circle K?!” Nothing. I told him we’d need to remedy that , then we went back to the allegory of the cave.

I’m not a philosopher so I’m sure I’ll jack up the explanation, but it’s something along the lines of this: there’s some people imprisoned. They don’t see real life, all they see are the shadows of puppets. One breaks loose. Sees actual reality. Understands he was wrong when he thought the shadows were real, and tries to get the others to leave.  But they choose to remain imprisoned, with the manufactured reality.

Plato died nearly 2,400 years ago. Sooooo,….it’s highly unlikely that the shadows he was talking about were actually social media, but Danny and I concur; it’s got the potential to be the exact same situation.

There’s expectations about how people are supposed to social media. You can brag, but not too much. If you complain or vaguebook  you’re maybe attention seeking. If you post something that hits a nerve with too many someones, you can find yourself in a weird situation even as a grown ass adult. There can be pressures to post about jobs. You can find yourself in trouble for posting too much about your job. There’s so many unspoken rules, but what it all boils down to is that your social media presence can very easily become your manufactured reality.

I’m a social media fan. I call it Friend News. I’m able to see things I wouldn’t otherwise see like coworkers babies laughing uncontrollably, or all the first days of school. I also get to keep posing young Dirty’s very excited “first day of school” song and dance, or other things that spark my interest. There’s not a need for any of us to stop. But like with all things, just please don’t mistake appearance for reality. Don’t feel pressured that you didn’t have the pinterest grade chalk sign in the first day of school or if your kids look like a-holes in their pictures. That’s real life in all it’s flaw-some glory. Enjoy it, and don’t get too caught up in making a really interesting shadow.

I m rereading a book from maybe 15 years ago. I remembered really liking it, remembered really taking the bait on the themes, and when recently there was some random thing that somebody said that made me think of the book, I wanted to see if it still rang true. I was hoping it wasn’t going to be like that time I wanted to see if Conan the Barbarian was as amazing as I thought it was in the 80’s. No disrespect Arnold and the voice of Vader, it seemed far more lame on the re-watch.

The Way of the Peaceful Warrior definitely has more cheese factor than I recall, but the messaging is still powerful to me. The lead character is looking for a mental peace. Something like happiness, but more like contentment. The book talks about how life is struggle, but that when you recognize your role in the happenings you’re freed up to find that peace of acceptance.

I think we all want to be that kind of satisfied. We look for ways to feel good about what we do. We crave a soothed soul ready to embrace whatever comes it’s way. I’d even bet that “Karen” wants to talk to the manager because she believes that flexing that angry muscle of hers will bring some balance to her world.

“Karens” don’t get their sustainable happiness that way. I don’t think any of us find it with all the short cuts that life gives us to try to get in on it. I personally blame microwaves for our need for instant gratification (funny/not funny). I’ve learned that I can make food in mere minutes, I should be able to short cut to happiness.  It’s not sold on Prime or found in substance. It’s also nobody’s responsibility but our own. When things click, you and your peeps are content together, but he/she/family/coworkers aren’t the reason for your feelings. There’s danger in thinking that he/she/coworkers/family are. This opens a shitty door of when you’re unhappy blaming others. Cool story bro, but it takes away from our personal accountability. The only thing I really can control is how I respond to things. No way do I want that power taken away by something beyond my sphere of influence.

Does this mean I’ll stop having multiple tantrums a day? Heck no! There’s also a theme in the book that talks about how it’s okay to have all the yuck that comes along with life. “Let it flow, and let it go.” I’m pretty sure the author didn’t intend that to mean that I can rage for a minute about such injustices as “why can’t I muscle up?” but that’s how I intend to modify the information to fit my life.  Confirmation bias is not a phase.  Also, “progress, not perfection” am I right?

The book is a good read. A nice reminder for me about nurturing spirits and trying to live bigger than the ourselves. +<^y�_

I’m a piss poor navigator. Ask Amber. No matter how many times I’ve been to her house, she has to navigate me out of her neighborhood. Or ask any of the poor souls who’ve asked me for directions and are probably still lost. “You’re going to want to turn where I saw that really cool dog that time…”

But despite my pitiful skills, we’ve there is a navigational beacon that works on even me. I know where Mt, Shasta is. Always. She’s forever been the “never” to my “never eat shredded wheat.” I’m aware when she needs to be in my windshield versus when she needs to be in my rear view mirror. I know how different the mountain looks from different locations. Look at it when you drop into the valley in Anderson on I-5. Look at it again when you’re headed north from Corning. It doesn’t even look like the same mountain. It’s a number of different kinds of gorgeous.

Three years ago today, with a great deal of support, I was able to climb to the very top of it. All 14,180 feet of her. 

The experience was surreal. To be told that it was a task that was in my wheelhouse, I disbelieved. The mountain that I see every day seemed far too daunting to tackle. My mountaineering education included watching Everest documentaries and seeing the annual KRCR news accounts of rescues and recoveries from the climbers of our mountain every summer. 

We decided to do it. I only told a couple people. Only so the kids would know their parents hadn’t run away and Amber so she’d also know that I hadn’t run away. From work.

I didn’t tell my mom. She’d be sure we’d die. 

Aside from Amber, I didn’t tell friends. I wasn’t sure I’d be able to accomplish it.

A guide was hired. Many around here are studly enough to climb without one. But I, like my mom, also kinda thought we would die. 

Our “training” consisted of CrossFit and a singular, 45 minute climb 7 days before the summit trip. 

There was a packing list. Of the numerous things required for the trip, the only thing I owned was sunglasses. Luckily, almost all the needed supplies could be rented.

Pulling up to the guide office was already daunting. Our climbing partners had a freakish level of fitness. They owned gear. They’d traveled from great distances to appreciate the mountain that we take for granted; Corpus Christie, Miami, DC, etc. 

We set out. We hiked roughly 100 hours (obvious exaggeration) with a 50 pound pack (I wish this was an exaggeration) to base camp at Lake Helen. Did I mention I’d NEVER carried a pack other than in school? We set up and learned how to use our ice axes to stop our selves in a slide. While we worked on that, the CHP helicopter “stopped by” for a pick up. Leg injury, if I recall accurately. “Comforting.” 

Bed time was early. We were scheduled to head out at 2 am. Before trying to drift off to slumber, I pointed out to our the small grouping of lights that I believed to be Cottonwood. “I’m pretty sure I can see the boys not using a coaster from here.”  

Sleep didn’t come easily. Throughout the night there was only the sounds of wind and the sound of rocks cascading down the mountain’s face. 

Climbing started long before sunlight. It was difficult to make sense of where I was, or how much progress was being made. Sure, the endeavor takes a degree of physicality, but mostly it was like a marathon. Just keep stepping. So of course, I complained just as much as I do in a marathon. My attention span is not wired for such activity. Nevertheless, just keep stepping. 

I can’t remember how many cliff bars I ate. But, I can remember the peace I felt at the top. They were right. I CAN do it. Hmmm! 

The sky is different. You can almost see the earth curve away. The wind is fierce. There is surprisingly large number of people on the top. It takes nothing away from each person’s victory/celebration/meditation. There are more languages than I can identify. There’s a book to sign. I didn’t. I wanted to be still and bask in the peace. And to take a picture of the Indiana Jones action figure that was carried all the way to the top. “Who was that guy in your group who was wearing the hat?” “Dad, that was my Indiana Jones doll.” In defense of my dad, who expects a 45 yr old to yard a toy to the top of a mountain. And,…it’s a pretty realistic Harrison Ford. 

The trip down had it’s own adventures. 

1) it was light… we could see how f’ing steep it was. So,…there’s that. Our rope full of climbers, at least 400 pounds of it, fell. All buck fifty guide Kenny had assured us that he’d be able to stop us all if we fell. Seeing his beaming smile poking out of his unruly beard made me wonder if he was happy he got to prove that he could, indeed, save our asses. 

2) Glacading is a fancy word for sliding at light speed on your ass down the face of a glacier. Fun for some. Sheer terror for others. I don’t need to tell you which camp I was in, you were probably able to hear me scream from the valley. 

I’ve spent a fair amount of time the last three years telling people they should climb our mountain. There are expert’s who can help you accomplish it. As it sit here and type, I can see the mountain in all it’s majesty. I am thankful that there’s such a prominent reminder of how good accomplishment can feel. 

No. No, no, no, NO! Just,…no.

I LOVED Top Gun. Loved it. I fell in love with loud jets, power, catch phrases, fake coughs while saying “bullshit,” Kenny Logins (that part’s not true). So much goodness!

“Negative Ghost Rider, the pattern is full.” “I’ll hit the brakes, he’ll fly right by.” “Goose, you big stud, take me to bed or lose me forever.” “I feel the need. The need for speed!” Timeless greatness.

I remember being in tights and legwarmers doing some sort of group fitness and how much harder I felt compelled to work when “Highway to the Danger Zone” blared over the boom box in the Evergreen Elementary multipurpose room. To this day, I “du-du-dun dun…” in my head when I see geese or ducks flying in formation.

I tracked the published coast to coast trips of Lockheed Martin’s SR-71 (flying blackbird), back in the days pre-google. I stood outside my parent’s home and stared up at the sky hoping to see it. Or maybe even hear a sonic boom.  I know there weren’t any SR-71’s in Top Gun, but that’s how much I enjoyed all that the movie gave. I even held on to a screw for many years that I believed was from a Blackbird. (I’d found it on the ground at an air show. I was young and wanted to believe. Bwah ha!)

I am that weirdo who will run outside the house this very day if I hear jets. When there’s jets at the air show, I will go there the days before just to stare at them and to feel some of their power. I squeal or shriek with joy when I hear them.

I am fairly certain my love of the nitro dragsters is the result of Top Gun. Feeling the force of those engines thump off my chest as I stand as close as legally allowed is about as close to jets as I will ever come.  

Yup. I loved that movie.

I expected a re-boot. It’s too good of a concept to not. I will watch it. In the loudest format possible. BUT,…really?! Love me some Tom Cruise too, but for fuck’s sake man! Let someone else take this one. You’ve already aged freakishly better than the rest of the cast. I’m betting you’ve got more money than you can spend in several lifetimes. Why? WHY?! If you have inside information that says that he’ll be a supporting character instead of this still being the Maverick show, please let me know. If you think I’m over-reacting,…no need to advise me. I already know, but have decided it’s a worthy tantrum (Bwah ha.)

It’s great to have a child in your home taking a critical thinking class. Sure, he’ll be an adult in three weeks. And sure, I’ve probably enjoyed helping him too much. And sure, there’s been  seven million essays he’s needed to write. Aside from all the “sures” though. It’s been a very positive experience.

Our brains are ridiculous. We’re always thinking (even in those instances when our actions make it hard to believe we were thinking). But we don’t give a lot of thought to how we think.  Critical thinking skills are underrated. They are necessary for so much, especially situations where there’s more than one way to tackle a situation, and no guarantee for how each potential solution will pan out. You know, situations like peopling and child welfare.

Sharpening that critical thinking saw is so important because as decisions play themselves out, you REALLY need to know how you came to the conclusions that you did. There’s more than a fair amount of difference between human-ing and things like mechanic-ing. You have an interaction, as it unfolds, you are presented with decision trees in real time. Like a “choose your own adventure” book but without that added awesomeness that if you don’t like the selection you made, you just turn back a couple pages and make the other choice. Many, MANY times, I’ve found that being able to describe for others how I made the decisions I did is equally important to the decision itself

Mechanic-ing, making, and the like are by no means simple, but they makes sense. And you know if what you’ve tried actually works. It may no longer be the case, but for a long while the Caterpillar manuals had a quote “Engine cranks, but will not fire. See page 17.” This became a family quote for us. I even wrote it in to a set of wedding vows for a wedding I officiated. It articulates that there is a specific problem with defined solutions. Best thing is, you know instantly whether or not page 17 was helpful.

I envy those with the gifts in those areas. That is certainly not my lot. This one time, I wanted to re-paint the boys bunk beds. I wanted to make sure that I didn’t get any paint on Brian’s truck. I covered it with drop cloth. He appreciated the gesture, but asked why I hadn’t just pulled the truck out of the garage before painting. Because my degrees are not in common sense, that’s why (eye roll emoji!)

So, when it’s time to tune something up, fix something, build something….it’s crickets in my land. Came home from work the other day to see Dan elbow deep in some truck project. He was addressing the whole “you can roll down more than one window at a time, but they only roll up one at a time.” And, “make sure you turn on the driving light switch before you try to turn on the radio.”

I asked if there was anything I could do to help. I haven’t heard young Daniel laugh that hard in a while. I guess it wasn’t the kind of project that needed someone to, say, turn on the blinker while someone else looked to see if it was working. I’m really good at that job. BUT, someone need some words? Or maybe a funny story? Mom gets called from the bench.

It was great to sit with Dirty and learn how he thinks about things for his essays. He’s got lots of words too. As we worked on one he said, “I’m pretty good at bullshit, but you’re even better.” Thanks (?)

As I clean the hay out of my purse (not a metaphor) I’ve happened upon opportunity to reflect on the whole junior livestock thing.

Have you ever been to the fair or a junior livestock auction and wondered what it’s all about? It’s about kids busting their butts to see something through to completion. It’s about the circle of life and understanding where your food comes from and what responsibilty we have to the creatures whose purpose is to sustain us. It’s about a community that strongly believes in nurturing these values in our future generations.

The Adams family started with the junior livestock program as early as allowed. Daniel was 9 when he took his first lamb to fair. It was wild to see a 9 yr old do all the work necessary without complaint. His first lambs were named Dan and Lois, after the breeders.

To be able to grow and show an animal, you must spend a lot of time with them. Months of twice daily interaction. Walks, sheering, washing, etc. As it got closer, I worried how he’d handle saying goodbye. The children walk their animals to the pen where they will be picked up and transported to where they will be butchered. He walked his lamb there, then walked back with an empty halter. I braced for tears. There weren’t any, so I guess my eyes decided to take that on. “Mrs. Adams are you okay?” said the well intentioned teen girl. Out loud I said yes, but in my head I hoped the child would stop trying to comfort adult me.

We powered through, and were eager to keep on with projects. Daniel remained in the sheep group. He was the only boy. The leader would often call to the children, “Girls,…and Daniel…”

As soon as Dirty was old enough, he took lambs too. Even though they are brothers (with all the strife that entails) they worked well-ish together. I smile when I see the pictures from those times. Especially the ones where they had to walk their sheep before it was fully light outside.  

Over time, we learned that Daniel did better when we stayed out of his way. We learned that Dirty really wanted nothing to do with sheep, and so he merged into taking steers. And even though this meant a LOT more work for him, he continued to rise to the responsibility. His work season around the project now lasted about 8 months (sorry for that much bovine sharing a fence with your beautiful backyard Ms. Powers). He did great every year. It’s quite something special to see a young’n who’s personal weight was never more than 170 during his years of the projects use good old herd animal psy ops to control a 1,300 pound animal. The care he gave his steers rivaled some of the best spas in town, I’m certain.

But like all things, family fair time has  come to an end . Gone are the days of nagging about buyers letters. No more angst about animal departure. No more worries about the sale. No more animals to get to know. No more buyers baskets to be made. I’ve ironed my last pair of white wranglers.

The projects taught Daniel and Dirty so much. They also taught me a great deal about the capacity of my boys to take on very tough tasks. I’m very proud of all that they accomplished and so incredibly thankful we live in a place that has such an opportunity.  And while I’m bummed the fair time is officially over, I’m excited for whatever is next. Plus, I really eat like a trash panda on fair weeks. Time for that to be DONE. (Literally, 2 nights I ate 1/4 pound of fudge for dinner. Who does that?!)

Thanks for reading, and if you know of folks involved in, or who’ve bought from, a junior livestock auction, please extend my most sincere thanks!

“The only things you HAVE to do are eat and shit,” my dad (date unknown)

If you want to be “that guy” and retort “technically, you also need water…” or whatever, move along. This post isn’t for you. But know that in doing so, you’ll have benefited from the message behind his sage words. The power and freedom of choice.

I don’t know why my dad said what he did. I may have even misheard it since that’s a special skill of mine. Maybe he was going for a #DadJoke before #DadJokes were a thing. I’m also not entirely sure if my dad meant the statement to have the lasting impact that it did, but man! What a paradigm shifter!

“I have to work this specific job so I can pay this specific mortgage.” Sure, it’s totally true. But what’s also true is I COULD chose to not have a mortgage. I COULD chose to not have a home at all. The only things I really HAVE to do are eat and (you know).

When you think about a time you felt trapped in whatever, or you saw someone who felt trapped, you know what that struggle is like. You don’t make your best decisions. You feel chronically beat down. You can’t even imagine a better circumstance or if you can, you may be paralyzed by the fear of making a change. Give yourself the gift of knowing that there’s really only a couple things you HAVE to do.

An example is employment (please don’t misunderstand…I am not at all complaining about my job). Jobs are hard. That’s why we’re paid to do them. And, jobs can absolutely feel like a “have to” circumstance. I don’t have any intention to seek a different job, but it’s important to me to know that I could get one if I wanted. We all could. What this knowledge does for me is reminds me that I’m choosing my circumstance every day. I could choose different circumstances. I’d like to think that I could maybe even go back to waiting tables if I chose. Sure, the service would be a LOT slower as I tried to social work every customer, but maybe I could still do it. I’ll likely never try to flex that muscle, but knowing there are choices is often enough.