Just how hot is it outside?

For whatever reason, the financially flailing newspaper, The Oregonian, has decided to give me a free subscription. I didn't ask for it, the paper just started showing up in my driveway one day. I have never received a bill. No one has called to ask, "Haven't you been enjoying it? Why don't you buy a year subscription!" There has been nothing of the sort, just the faithful daily delivery of the paper. At first I thought it belonged to my neighbor who does subscribe, but his driveway was empty, so I would toss it on to his driveway. After a couple weeks of this I happened to be outside as my neighbor was walking down from the mailboxes. I waited for him to be closer and told him that I had been getting his paper. He claimed that he had been getting the paper twice a day. One before he went to work, at 3:30am, and one before he got home from work. It took a couple different approaches to successfully explain that his "2^nd" paper of the day was from me tossing the paper over.

Since it was now my paper, it was completely at my disposal. I don't want to take the time to read the paper, and if I did, I wouldn't choose The Oregonian. But my co-workers feel differently. Often Bryan would buy a paper and leave it in the lunchroom for the rest of us to peruse. Instead of dumping the paper straight into the recycle bin, I take it to work and alternately give it to Bryan or Matt. They're appreciative of it and it keeps the recycle bin in my garage a little lighter. I often read the headlines as I carry the paper the few steps down the hall to their offices. Today I was amused by the weather box. The high for today is supposed to be 102° and they claim that is "very hot." Just in case you were wondering and couldn't make up your mind whether it was just very warm, hot, kinda hot, stinkin' hot, or very hot - The Oregonian is kind enough to make that call for you. Now you know, today is very hot.

You're asking what?

"What are you doing?" she asked. I was in a swim suit with cap and goggles on, in a pool going back and forth; I would have thought the answer was obvious. But considering the woman who asked was also in the pool wearing a swim suit and was generally going back and forth, I didn't think she was being literal. I wasn't clear what she meant so I stopped, pulled out my ear plug, pushed up my goggles, and muttered, "What was that?" She must have seen the blank confused look in my eyes and asked more specifically, "What stroke are you doing?"

"Oh! It's the breast stroke."

"How do you do it?"

"Oh, um, well, ahhh..." I couldn't answer. It was as if she asked me how to breathe or walk. I had to slowly swim a few strokes and think about what I was doing before I could answer her.

Swimming has become an activity that is second nature for me. It's my stress relief. My place to get away and put aside the cares and worries, and relax. All you can think of is stroke, stroke, stoke, BREATH. The light rippling and dancing across the bottom mesmerizes; the bubbles breaking to the top creates a deafening sound blocking out the world. My zen.

This zen was broken last night with an impromptu swim lesson, but that was okay, I was glad to help. I made a realization yesterday too. I was flipping out and my mind was racing with thoughts yesterday afternoon, as I was cleaning the kitchen my mind would pause for a moment and the thought popped in - "I've got to get to the gym and swim or I'm going to explode." After a few times of telling myself this I realized with horror, "I'm just like Dad!" When he gets wound up his only way to deal with stress is to get on his bike and go, for hours. How did I end up like my dad? Both of us needing to do solitary physical activity to deal with stress. Genetics or modeling? You be the judge.

18 years overdue

Facebook is a wonder. Through the wonders of Facebook I have been able to reconnect with high school friends, college friends and roommates, church buddies from 20something, teaching comrades, keep in touch with Israel travel mates, and voyeuristicly see what's going on in their lives. This past weekend it was no longer by proxy. I had a fabulous time visiting with high school buddies that I hadn't really seen in 18 years. It started with breakfast with Kate, Ani joined us for a little while. When Ani showed up she told me I looked exactly the same, that I didn't have any wrinkles, but then she asked one of the most hilarious questions - "Are you airbrushed?" Cracks me up!

The three of us reconvened for dinner along with a fourth, Lara, who I hadn't seen since1991. It was such an enjoyable evening. We reminisced over our silly teenage antics and embarrassing crushes and attempts to get their attention. I hadn't laughed so hard in a long time. They did ask me the hard question I was dreading, "Why did you leave for our senior year?" I transferred schools 2 or 3 days after our senior year started. After I left I didn't stay well connected, which has been a big regret. I had some great friends, I just didn't realize it at the time. It wasn't easy to explain my motivation, it required explaining my immaturity and being vulnerable, recognizing that I hadn't done right by my friends. Hard, very hard. It was an explanation 18 years over due. But they were gracious and understanding. Hopefully I can recognize the value of their friendship this time so that I don't waste the opportunity to have them in my life for the next 18 years.

Oh, wait! I remember you!

I had lunch today with a friend I hadn't seen for several years - three to be precise. We used to work together, sorta, and even though I didn't necessarily enjoy the work I'd look forward to it because he would make me laugh so hard I didn't care what we were doing, as long as I was being entertained. Today we started out serious, getting caught up on the last three years, but it wasn't long before the snide remarks, the witty retorts, and the silly puns started. The mischievous sparkle in his eyes hasn't changed. We had a good time, it was great to reconnect. As I was reflecting on it later, I realized there was a distinct difference than the guys I work with, than most of my other guy friends, but what... It came down to this: it felt really nice to be taken care of. Which sounds weird and has connotations of a type of relationship we do not have, but I couldn't think of another way to phrase it.

I had written a short "thank you"email to him for his time and for treating me to lunch. I mentioned I was still amused by the water incident.

Allow me to deviate for a moment and tell you about the water incident.

We were having lunch at a Thai place I had suggested because it was close to work and has this one dish that I really like. The place was unusually slow in business, maybe because it was almost 1pm. But as a result we were pretty much ignored. He finally did get the attention of one of the waiters (or was he a busboy?) to ask for water, the guy came over and filled up his water glass and his alone and left. Apparently I was being rationed water and since my glass was not empty yet I didn't deserve anymore. My friend is never at a loss for words or quipy retorts but as the waiter walked away I looked over at him and his mouth was literally agape, speechless and dumbfounded. So that's the water incident.

I immediately heard back from him wanting to be sure that I understood why he was upset; that he was not amused. He mentioned that a gentleman would always be upset by how I was treated. That was it! He was behaving in a gentlemanly manner. He was (is) a gentleman. I had forgotten what they look like, which is why I couldn't name it before. I'm starting to remember - 'Gentleman,' nice to see you again, it's been too long; there are far to few of you in the world. The feminist movement may have killed you off like big game hunters, but for me, I never feel more feminine then when I'm treated well by a gentleman.