Leaving for Iceland

Raleigh Airport -- Unlike the start of my trip to Australia, the start of my trip to Iceland started off without a hitch. That is, until I was standing at the gate, waiting to board, people watching and day dreaming. Did they call my name? I knew they were boarding passengers but they usually board sections and my section hadn't been called. So I returned to my reverie. OK, that definitely was my name over the loud speaker. The gate keeper to access the plane looked at me in total non-amusement and said, "What are you waiting for?". I thought to myself, "A bigger plane." I sheepishly, moved quickly down the runway. I hate being the last one to board!!

It's my entire friend's fault. When she dropped me off at the airport, she said to me, "Have a wonderful time, no, have a bizarre time." And then proceeded to laugh at herself. I agreed with the notion, yet not an hour later I was cursing her. My brain was fuzzy, I nearly missed my flight out of Raleigh which was beginning to feel like Kansas and I like Dorothy. I have the red shoes, but the heel kick is not returning me to OZ.

I arrived at JFK, where I had a 6 hour layover. I caught the AirTrain to Terminal 7 thinking that I could get my boarding pass, go through security and hang out in the departure lounge. But that would have been way to easy on a girl with a bizarre curse hanging over her head. Icelandic Air does not have early check-in. Apparently I needed to go to Terminal 4 which is the main terminal that has bars, food, and off course duty free shopping. Harrumph.

This would not be so bad if it wasn't for dealing with the AirTrain. The AirTrain relies on powers of deduction which I don't have. Bewildered I stand once again at the train station. I wonder if the approaching train goes to Terminal 4. I overheared that it goes to such and such station. OK, not mine. But how did they know? I am panicked. What am I missing? Once again I looked over the information map. Nope, that still didn't help. I wished for my GPS. I have travelled the London Underground, I have used the Toronto subway, I have navigated the world and yet the AirTrain is beyond me. Another AirTrain squealed up and I prayed (and I am not religious) for a hint from the God of Trains. Scarily, the voice of the God boomed around me and said that it was going to Terminal 1. Well that helps. Not. This mere mortal needs more information. How about a map with twinkling lights showing the train's trail? Treat me like a child, please, please.

I look around in embarrassment, feeling as though I am the only one that is just not getting it. I notice other frustrated passengers. First they get on the train, ask other passengers if the train is going to the destination that they want, and then they get off the train; always with an embarrassed laugh as though they are at fault. Finally, I just decide to jump on the metallic beast and leave destiny to the God. I stand at the front of the beast, hand gripping the rail, as it lurches forward. Where I go, I don't know. I am an expert traveler, but at that moment I am a novice. Somehow, the God of Trains has heard my plea and the beast reaches my destination.

And much, much later, after a Cosmopolitan or two I am on my way to a destination that was never on my "kick the bucket" list -- Iceland.

Nightclubbing & Flirting

I haven't been out dancing in a nightclub in, ummmmm, 20 odd years. A group of friends decided to try the new nightclub in Raleigh, Solas. We decided to have dinner there. Now I love food and consider myself a bit of a food snob. So when I ordered "foie gras" I knew what I was doing. And phooey to those of you who think that it should be banned. Move on and order something else.

Apparently the kitchen didn't know what they were doing. Or, maybe they did. When my trendy large dish arrived I could barely see the trendy sized foie gras. Now I get nouveau cuisine. But this was over the top. Almost as overtop as Solas charging $13 for a glass of ordinary red wine. Now don't give me, these are New York prices. $13 for a glass of wine is not NY price. This is Raleigh trying to be NY by thinking that way. NY charges that price if the bottle is expensive; not cheap. I digress. I need to get back and rant about my foie gras.

Imagine 2 pieces of toast, a little smaller than the old shaped iPods. On one end of each cold piece of toast were two incy, wincy little pieces of foie gras. My friends took one look and started to laugh. If I was that foie gras I would have turned from brown to red. I tried to spread the foie gras but it kind of bounced a little, bringing more laughter to the table. Hmmmmm. In my experience, foie gras is supposed to spread like soft butter. In this experience, it jerked like overcooked tofu. I took a bite and too my surprise all that was left was the other half of a dry piece of toast. My friends now had tears rolling down their faces because my expression was, well, it must have been funny. In two bites, I had eaten all the unspreadable foie gras and what was left were the end pieces of toast. It was then that I noticed some white stuff underneath the toast. I took a tentative bite and could not believe it. It tasted like potatoes but I wasn’t sure. I took another bite. OK, I figured it was mashed potatoes, but it was lumpy!! UGG. I think it reasonable to say that I will be eating elsewhere in the future. The dancing made up for it though.

In addition to checking out Solas for the dancing, my therapist had given me some homework. Now don’t get all wigged out that I casually mention that I have a therapist. I have this philosophy that if you don’t share information about yourself then others will have this notion of you that is not true. So I am free with lots of information about myself. However, there are some subjects that I will never blog about – personal relationships for example. Not because of me, but out of respect of the other person. So my therapist’s homework for me was to flirt. Now don’t get me wrong I can flirt when I feel safe. It is when I stop feeling safe that I can’t flirt and I get defensive. This happens at work, it even happens when I go out. I get cold and panicked. I don’t know how to act so I put up lots of barriers and boundaries. I get all logical and non-flirty.

So I decided to flirt on this particular night. To see whether of not I could do it. Keep the warm, natural me going. I was doing it fine with my dance partner who was gay. We were flirting really well because I felt safe with him. So I looked around the room wondering who I could practice on. After a while a couple of guys caught my attention. I kept dancing and keeping an eye on them. Yip they looked like good candidates for my homework. I nervously walked up to them and asked them if there was a bet going on. They said yes. What it was about I have no clue. I forget things when I get nervous. I felt that I was doing well flirting with the two guys. I was patting myself on the back, until the guy who I not paying as much attention to, mentioned that his friend was married. Huh!!? Crap, I had forgotten to ask that question. Hell, I hadn’t even flirted that long to get to that question. I mean, at what point does one ask that question? This single stuff is complicated.

I turned to the supposedly married man and asked him if he was married. He said that he had an open marriage. I gulped hard. I felt the flirting motor shutdown fast. Homework was over. “What do you mean by ‘open’”? I asked casually, getting ready to bolt. He explained that he couldn’t come back to my place but I could go back to his. This was too much for me. Then he said that he was kidding. I said it was not funny, which I knew was not flirting. He said I did not know his sense humor. Well duh, I had just met him and this topic was a bit too much too soon. Then I remembered that I felt way better on the dance floor with my gay friend. He knew how to flirt without being stupid. So I said “Bye bye.”

And my flirting motor started up again as my body gyrated with my new friend.

A "Birfday" Wish

A few weeks ago I asked my very good friend Cindy what she would like for her birthday. She rendered me speechless when she requested that I write her a poem. I can't tell you what that meant to me. I could have written about how inspirational she is, how beautiful she is (both inside and out), how funny and smart she is, how she is so many things to so many people. But I think of her and I think of wine. We both love to indulge and both have the same belief that life is meant to be lived. That means we drink even if we have to workout the next day!!! Maybe our running group should be named "Cab on the Run" or something like that. And so I came up with this "Ode to Wine".

An Ode to Red Wine

Inky, red passion swirls before her eyes
Her complex companion numbs her from background laughter
In this world there are no lies
She is heady as the chocolate, leather notes linger in her nose
Her eyes droop as the silky liquid passes over her lips
Spicy edge lingers long on her tongue
It's a complete, less manipulated courtship
Not changed into something it was not meant to be
Flirting with perfection imparts a groan from her throat


Happy 40th, Cindy.

Ripley

Ripley is the purest of friends
there are no lies between us
Her love is total but she gets pissed off at me;
the little furrow of the brow,
forgiven I get the little grin

Liquid brown eyes talk to me so loudly;
Her nose twitches with pleasure
at a world I can't smell
Her ears perk up at special words
She knows how to spell "treat"

Her eyes so pure, so much purer than mine
She gazes around in delight
For life, for me, for everything
She is always near me; being, doing or dreaming
Sometimes asking

I have followed Her golden tail
swishing as She explores
rotted crabs, the swirling waves:
when she rushes to introduce Herself to birds and squirrels
and then looks confused when they don't stop to say "Hi"

Yes, I believe in a "being" heaven
I have been preparing for a long time
when She will no longer share my bed
when She will no longer roll over
to expose that white, soft belly for rubbing

I will never say goodbye
and that's all there is to it.

Friendship -- Not a Casual Investment

A friend is someone who takes your hand and leads you back to yourself. To me, being a true friend means that I bring a gamut of things to the relationship: giving, laughter, amazement, challenges, disappointment, sadness, hurt. As I am not perfect I expect friends to tell me when I do fuck up, and believe me they have. And I learn. We are all learning about ourselves and each other and sharing that learning. But on the whole I believe I bring friends laughter and joy.

Can true friends tell friends that they are pissed with each other? I bloody well hope so.

I believe that the closer the friendship, the more you can reveal. I could not get pissed off or celebrate with a person that is an acquaintance or a casual friend. Why expend the energy? But a close friend I can get pissed off at, cry with, share joy with, because the barriers are lowered. I can be vulnerable with a close friend because I know that when I get pissed off they won't judge me, or dump me, or abandon me. And if they do, it is short lived because they get to see the deeper me. They see the kaleidoscope of wonders (dark and light). I know that I can cry and they will be there. I can feel joy and a friend can share that with me. Yes friends have the potential to hurt more, because they get to see more. That is the trade-off.

Would I get pissed off at a casual friend? Would I be vulnerable with a casual friend? Absolutely not! They will just experience the fun, bubbly me at distant intervals. With a casual friend I would never get pissed off with or share many feelings with because the investment and expectations are not there. And yes, I do have expectations or rather guidelines for friends otherwise I would have no boundaries. Casual friends will never see the wonderful dimensions that I have to offer. And I will never the experience the wonders of them.

I spent a large part of my life living the philosophy that others are responsible for their feelings and what they think. That is so easy when I don't want to think about others. It takes energy and empathy to think about others. I am responsible in part for my actions on others. I cannot go around being angry or sad or happy at people and then saying "Well I am just being me, it is their responsibility how they take it." I managed to stay married way past the due date because I had been taught that I was responsible for my feelings and thoughts. No matter what the case, I always ended up rationalizing that I was the one who was responsible for my feelings. My ex-husband was therefore free from responsibility. He could act like he wanted but it was up to me to change how I felt because "Goddamn it I was responsible for how I felt". To a degree I agree about being self-responsible, but I also ended up hiding my feelings.

Now I realize that I have three choices if I don't like the way something is said or some behavior is incongruent with how I think.... 1. Decide that this behavior does not mesh with the way I think and it is critical to my well being and leave. 2. Decide that it is my thinking and deal with it on my own. 3. Have a mature conversation with the other person and see whether or not a compromise can be met. These steps are so much better than being passive-aggressive (which comes out as cold and distant and silent punishment).

A friendship to me is an investment. As with any investment you take the highs with the lows.

Tim is Right

A while ago I wrote a blog about whether or not male and females could be friends without men at some point thinking about the females in a sexual way. I disagreed vehemently. I have since changed my mind. And Tim, yes you are correct. With every word, people are subconsciously determining whether or not they want to be that person's friend and at some level whether or not they could "sleep" with the other person. Whether or not this is at a conscious level is another thing.

Being at a conscious level depends in part on the boundaries. If for example, the woman is married, the sexual thinking may not reach consciousness. If the woman becomes single, the man may or may not explore that boundary. If the man is married, he may or may not admit the sexual part. But it may be there in harmless, fun flirting.

Recently, I have become more aware of the breaking down of boundaries. I apparently was clueless or wanted to be clueless. When a person, married or not, asked me to do something, like go diving, I just figured it was to go diving. DOH!!! How naive of me. Sadly, I now have to take into consideration ulterior motives. I had more fun the other way. I could just be me. Now, I feel as though I have to be on guard all the time -- I feel as though I am in a Monty Python movie -- "On guard you are in terrible peril. But no, it's my duty to to sample as much peril as I can. Oh, let me just have a little peril."

I Can't Vote, But I Can Think

The Republicans have done it again!!! They have managed to set up a situation that is turning the attention of people away from the real issues to trivia. For the longest time the media were enamored with Obama. He could do no wrong. The media were even fascinated by his ears, for goodness sake. I recall a comparative reading on each of the candidate's ears. Even Obama's ears won the race back then.

What are the Republican's fighting back with? A woman who has a contentious background. Lots of angles to fill the 24hr hungry medias. Immediately, the media was all over how attractive she was, then it was about her teenage daughter having a baby, then it was her baby with Downs Syndrome, then it was ..... And Obama slips quietly into the "those with the lesser ears" group.

Is Biden getting this much attention? The Republican strategy appears to be working. It is as though Palin is running for Presidency. Let's watch the pretty, shiny ball over here, while we sneak in stuff over here.

McCain-Palin represent all things that women and I have fought and are still fighting so hard for. To date, she and her party are against sex education, birth control, the pro-choice platform, environmental protection, alternative energy development, freedom of speech (as mayor she wanted to ban books and attempted to fire the librarian who stood against her), gun control, the separation of church and state, and polar bears.

And when I heard that her and her church were praying for gays so that they would become "ungay" I lost respect for any intelligence I thought that she might have had. Does she read? Once again, religion renders people stupid in my humble opinion....

And then I had the misfortune of overhearing a conversation in the women's locker at work. Two ladies were talking about Palin and admiring her. One older lady said that she was going to vote for Palin because, "I am so impressed that Palin manages to run in the mornings with the schedule that she has. She deserves my vote." HUH!!! That's how people decide to vote? I was disheartened.

I am a resident of the U.S.A., which means that I am taxed but I can't vote. This sucks, because I want to cast my ONE vote. People who can vote need to make their vote count. Not on whether the candidate has the better ears or can manage a run before work. THINK dammit, THINK.

My Cherry is Popped!!!

It started out as a joke. As I was sitting at the bar in Vivaces with my girlfriend, I was telling her that I have never had drinks bought for me by men. By this I mean I have never walked into a bar on my own or with girlfriends and had a man buy me a drink. She looked at me as though I was an alien. She took that as a challenge and decided that I was going to have drinks bought for me that night. And before long, I had a drink before me. But not quite the way that I had envisioned.

My friend has been conversing with someone that she knew. Let's call him Will. My friend and Will are old acquaintances. With a twinkle in her eye she turned to Will and said, "Would you believe that she has never had a drink bought for her." What does a girl do with that? Laugh, be embarrassed? "I know, can you believe it?" I retorted, sarcastically. That's the best I could do on such short notice. Will bought me a drink. What a heart!! My friend then said gleefully, "Consider, your cherry now popped!!" Ummm, I supposed it was..... I thought it would be better!!

Later that night, still up for the challenge I did manage to have our drinks bought for us. Actually, it was not intentional as it happened by accident. Did it feel better? No. Maybe I will be buying my own drinks from now on!!! Or maybe I will be gracious and let men buy them for me. There is nothing wrong with being gracious.

As One

My feet in the clips, my hands on the bars, my body pushes up, my legs pump, and there I am, standing up on my bike. I am pedaling furiously up a hill. I tense up and then remind myself to relax my gnarled grip, my hiked shoulders, my tight arse, my heavy hamstrings and calves. Once I do that I urge the bike forward with me. We work as one. I feel the sweat between my breasts, I feel the heat from the road on my body, my arms glisten with the light from the setting sun. I reach the crest of the hill and then I sit down, knowing that this part is the best; the adrenalin rush of the downhill. And like being on a horse, my bike and I gallop. I lean forward and with butt on the smooth leather saddle we fly. The hot air in a rush dries my exposed teeth as a grin spreads itself on my face. Deep in my soul I felt alive cycling on that day's sunset.

The Hidden World

Do you believe in fairies, elves? Laugh if you want. I believe. I have had been around them all my life. Strange things I have seen, incredible things I have experienced. I believe. It's not that I believe that little people come and dance in the moonlight, it's more of a sense that there are other powers, other forces around. My philosophy is, you don't have to see everything you believe in because many great experiences happen with closed eyes.

Many cultures have these tiny, magical creatures steeped deep within their culture. Given this I am so excited about my upcoming trip to Iceland.

Iceland has its elves (hidden people) who are said to be very protective of their habitations. Those who attempt to disturb them are in for trouble. One story is told of the construction of a new harbor at Akureyri in 1962. Repeated attempts to blast away rocks continually failed. Equipment malfunctioned and workers were regularly being injured or falling ill. Then a man named Olafur Baldursson claimed that the reason for the trouble was that the site of the blast was the home of some "little people." He told the city authorities that he would work out a deal with the little people. When he came back and reported that the little folks were satisfied, the work proceeded with no problems.

Icelanders - citizens of one of the most literate nations in the world - take their elves quite seriously. Even today, Iceland's most well-known "elf-spotter," Erla Stefansdottur, has helped Reykjavik's planning department and tourist authorities create maps that chart the haunts of hidden folk. The public roads authority quite often routes roads around hallowed boulders and other spots believed to be inhabited by the elves.

I believe that everyone can feel the little people. You just have to be neutral and listen, control your mind, don't think, just feel, be patient and try. And I believe that everyone in the world has his or her own house elf. I know that I have little people inhabiting my house. Always have. I never talk to them directly, I just acknowledge them through my feelings.

And I won't be coming back from Iceland with an "I am Elfish" t'shirt!!! Don't want to piss off the little people. They are powerful and deserve the fullest respect.

Stories

I write poetry or verse and I write short stories. I express myself through words. I write for me. I find that it helps me ride between worlds. What I find fascinating is that we are thrown into this exisitence and I happen to wonder why and how. Some of this wonderment of mine happens to come out in my poetry as dark. I am grateful to those people who have read my writing and can express their feelings about my poems to me. They can have conversations with me about the words, or the emotions they evoked or didn't evoke. I don't expect awards, I don't expect people to like them.

What I didn't expect was friends not to acknowledge them or to fluff them off as too personal to talk about. Don’t be afraid of the words. They cannot hurt you or me. Writing can only make someone pause and influence ways of viewing things, if you are open. At worst you will go back to the safe world you already know. But I do believe, change is the only true meaning of existence.

What are you Wearing Under Those Shorts?

I love the unexpected. I have joined a weekly cycling group. Being the second time that I have ridden with them, I have grown accustomed to the lead riders riding up behind you and giving advice. I hang onto their every nugget of information while I desperately try to pedal and at the same appear engaged in what they are saying. It isn't easy to converse while cycling when you're building up cardio. Mostly I grunt in acknowledgement or ask a quick question which will then launch these cycling encyclopedias into long explanations. This technique allows me the breathing room I need to get to the top of the hill without totally blowing out or wheezing like a 20yr old smoker.

At one point in the ride, I heard someone behind me say something like, "Are you wearing underwear?" Now I know they were not talking to me because, DUH, I am wearing cycling shorts, so it must be a conversation that I have bumped into. I ignore it. After all, I am dealing with far more important issues, like the upcoming red light and will I need to unclip or can I coast until it turns green and then hoof it. Then I heard the question again, "Are you wearing underwear?" I turned to my left and the lead rider is looking at me. I responded with a brilliant, "Huh?" He says, "I noticed that you have a line in your bikers shorts that tell me that you are wearing underwear. Am I right?" Well, as he put it that way, I answered, "Yes, I am wearing thongs. I don't usually, but I was running late and just threw on my bikers shorts. Forgot to take the thongs off." He proceeded to tell me that it was not a good idea to wear underwear because of breathability and chaffing issues. I laughed at him, and jokingly said, "Wow, you lead riders do notice the little things don't you." We laughed, and he said that it was his job to make cycling the best experience, and if that included talking about underwear, so be it. And then he said that I may need to use Vitamin A & E lotion later on that evening if any issues developed due to wearing my underwear. I am happy to announce that it wasn't necessary. But, I will not be wearing underwear under cycling shorts again because it was a tad uncomfortable!!!

I Dress for Me

I have had the privilege of meeting some truly amazing people who have had profound impacts on my life. One of these people was a wonderful woman in France. When I arrived in France, to live there for two years, I was very shy and withdrawn. This was reflected in the way I dressed and held myself. I wore the uniform of America -- jeans, sneakers, and sweatshirts. I remember being awed by the way the French women looked. They always looked elegant, or cool, or edgy, or whatever look they were going for. They were always going for a look, and it was never the American look!

I didn't think that I could do any other look. I didn't know how. I didn't want to do it. I was comfortable and anyway, why should I. I was who I was, wasn't I? Goddamit, I was happy with the way I looked, wasn't I? I was shy and therefore comfortable being invisible, wasn't I?

For me it went deeper than that. I was having marital problems and other problems and the mixture resulted in a person that was less-than-me. I didn't like my body and I didn't like myself. I didn't find myself sexy, so once again I didn't like myself. I thought the marital issues were "all about me" so once again it was all my fault. Basically, the self-loathing on the inside was reflected on the outside. I was hiding all the stuff that I knew I could be. It was being overlooked by me and by others. Yet, juxtaposed against this self-loathing was a knowledge of other -- of a passionate, life-seeking, loving, curious person dying to break out. Symbolically, I was hiding under the uniform.

Then in stepped my french friend who saw this struggle. One day she looked at me and said, "Is there a woman in there, under those sweatshirts?" At which point I thought deeply. I had hidden the woman in me in some chasm. I had forgotten that there was a passionate woman and had forgotten how to cross the chasm in order to bring her out. So my lovely, kindhearted, stunning french friend said, "We are going to bring the woman on the inside, to the outside." And so we did. We started with the clothes. And the journey has contined bringing the other parts of me to the surface.

To this day I dress for me and as a salute to my french ami. I am more comfortable with my body and with being a woman. I dress because I feel edgy, or I feel sexy, or because I feel businessy, or because I feel comfy. Whatever the reason, I do it for me, not for what I believe it will get me.