And so it begins....

That long spell of nothing between Mac races that makes me question my "station" in life... Its the post-mac depression that sinks in every August, filling me with "what does it all mean" and thoughts of taking a backpack and running away to some island (not Mackinac, something warmer!) and just living. A new life, a new start, a new scene, just new.... brighter, better, warmer, more meaningful... as if that was out there and I just haven't made the right turn yet.

Its a funny thing when you realize you need substance. You need your days to mean something and your daily efforts to effect someone in a positive way... and I only feel that about 8 days a year, and that's just not enough. Some people can put the same peg in the same hole 10 hours a day for 40 years, but I am not built that way. And not to belittle that peg in the hole, its a part of the bigger picture and that person is making something, but I find that I need to be closer to the forefront of the effect.... to connect with those effected.

Cause and Effect.... its a miraculous thing to watch a child start to notice the partnership... and I guess I need that out of my every day life. Maybe that's why I love sailing, and learning how the wind effects the boat... and the realization that sometimes you just can't control what direction you're going and how fast you will get there. And that's what the race proves to us every July... Its a nice slap in the face to mankind, those that think they have harnessed all that Mother Nature has to offer up... then suddenly Lake Michigan turns on you and shears your mast clean off your deck..... just to remind you who the boss really is. The arrogance of man.... but I digress, that's another rant for another day.

So now... as I'm working on a Saturday getting ready for a million of my closest friends to converge on the lakefront in Chicago and inhibit my every move home.... I'm reflective of the faces of all those sailors, and all the hours on the water... and all that gratitude for uttering the simple phrase of "welcome to the island, Sailor". The smile from ear to ear, and the pure joy of the rum drink after 80 hours on the water.... that's why I do what I do... for those faces, and those sailors, and that commitment to the water and the spirit and competition....

.....and the occasional rum drink on a tiny little island in Michigan. 364 days and counting.... is it July again yet?

Why "long pants with pockets" really ARE a necessity!

For those of you not around at the time, or don't remember, when I was a little kid and just out of the Onsie stage of clothing and could put a sentence together, it seemed VERY important to me to have"long pants with pockets". Always referred to the same exact way, and long pants without pockets just didn't fly.... it was a necessity and a very serious requirement in my life. I am not sure if I really went into detail as to why.... at 4 years old, did I need pockets?

Well.... this morning... I found out why one needs pockets.

So... life in the city with a "dog run" for a building of 200+ units... comes out to roughly 50 or so dogs (if the last mandatory dog owners meeting was a proper showing). In the dog run are baggies and a garbage can for the dog waste, for those of us that pick it up, which I do.

This morning, NOT wearing long pants with pockets, I take Vegas out and she does her business and I pick it up as usual..... keys and key card in hand, dog leash, and baggie of dog poop... I walk over to the designated garbage can, and throw it in.... I throw it ALL in.... everything in my hand. Keys, key card for back door, and baggie... all goes into the giant receptacle of dog crap marinading in the morning sun in the tiny dog run. It gets emptied about every 3 or 4 days, and today is probably day 3.....

I considered just taking Vegas to work with me, and not having to think about what I just did, but the Jeep keys are lost in a steamy can of crap...... so I'm forced to deal.

The large fence between our parking lot and the free world prohibits me from acquiring a stick that I might dig them out with, and not having any keys or way to get back into my apartment limits my "tool" quest. So... shrugging my shoulders and holding my breath.... I am forced to reach in and retrieve my keys and key card... manually. I least I could still maintain a visual on them.... so the digging was limited.

I'm not sure I am ready to fully talk about the experience, and I will be running my keys and key card through the dishwasher immediately upon arrival at home this evening. They are on the floor in my office right now, not in my purse, and have been sprayed with Lysol and drenched in liquid hand sanitizer... but I still don't feel better.

So.... the moral of the story... always.... ALWAYS..... wear long pants with pockets! I knew it at 4 years old... and should have just stuck with it. Kids... sometimes they really do know best.