Accidental Commuter

I actually wasn't looking for a job, but it found me anyway.  I am not complaining.  I am very grateful for the opportunity.  And I had just finished my third book, The Mystery of Loch Duny, so I sent the manuscript off to my editors and visited the company to see what they needed.  What they needed matched my experience and the people are sincere and dedicated, so I agreed to do some consulting for them for the next couple of months.  Teachscape is an educational software company that is truly dedicated to helping teachers with their occupational development.  And that's a new domain for me and so there's lots of interesting work.  But as in a lot of life's new challenges, the really excellent adventure is in the getting there.  Literally, in this case.  The job is in San Francisco, I live 45 miles south.  Forty-five miles of prime commute, or put another way, a two-hour drive each way.  I drove it exactly once.  The next day, I became a customer of public transportation.  I take Caltrain to San Francisco and walk the 1.25 miles from the train station to the office. It is still a two hour commute door to door but much less stressful than sitting in traffic and I get some exercise thrown in there as a bonus.  And so, I have become, quite literally, an Accidental Commuter.  

For a person that has never taken public transportation, taking the train has been quite an experience.

Learning the ins and outs of mass transit Clipper Cards and tagging on and off were simple but the fun is settling in on the train and people watching. 

I tried reading or working on the train and plenty of people do it.  But I found I am much more interested in looking at people and making up stories about them in my head.

(I suppose it's the writer in me.)



Sunnyvale Caltrain Station

Harriet gets on the train in Palo Alto.  She doesn't like having to get up early in the morning and is rushing every morning as she gets on the train.  She is left-handed, which I noticed when she was putting on her earrings one morning.  She's divorced and has two grown children, a son who lives in Maui and surfs and a daughter who is a lawyer living in Chicago.  Harriet never smiles.  She rarely even looks up.  The world is too much with her and I wonder if the sound of her laughter would startle even herself.  Some of the cars on the train have seats that face each other and one morning Harriet is facing me and as I stare at her, she finally looks up.  I smile.  I smile a lot at everyone I see at the train.  Not for their sake, but for my own.  I always feel better when I smile.  Go figure.  My smile is confusing to Harriet. She can't decide if I'm looking at her or beyond her.  Finally, the corners of her mouth move just the smallest bit.  But she catches herself and looks away.  The next day, as Harriet boards the train I smile again, but she looks away and sits facing away from me.  I don't really know what Harriet's life is.  Whether or not she has kids, is divorced.  I do know she is left-handed and I do know she is not a happy person.   My hope for today is that the cosmos send Harriet something to smile about if even just for a moment.  Or even better, God, would asking for a good belly laugh for her be out of line? 

On Golf and Fear

Okay, so I did the WW post and honestly....it was kinda a bust.  I posted on three different boards and got one response.  And I realized that it's not the posting that scared me.  It's the sheer size of the community that is daunting.  There must be several hundred boards on the WW site.  And some people (many people) have posted 20,000+ times.  No lie.  That's dedication.  But it's not my thing.

Now to my next fear:  a little white ball that you put in a cup with a stick.  Sounds easy, right?  OMG!  How can such a ridiculous game have such a hold on me?  GOLF.  Okay, I know what part of it is.  Take a look at where I spend as many mornings as I possibly can:

 This is the twelfth fairway at Deep Cliff Golf Course, and, yes, that is a deer ignoring me with all the confidence that I will never hit it.   The picture below is the signature hole, #2.  That cliff is truly breathtaking and is going to be featured in one of my upcoming books.

I golf by myself frequently.  There is a mountain lion that frequents the golf course, although I must say I've never seen him.  I did see a coyote once and lots of egrets and ducks and geese and deer, always.  But the wildlife never scares me.  I always feel safe and content with the forest.  It's my golf game that scares me. 

Today, my putting was good.  My long shots were pretty decent too.  But my pitching was awful. The twenty yard shots.  I'd either end up two inches short of the green or lob a long one ten yards on the other side.  But that is how golf works, I am told.  Is it the golf gods?  Like some days, the driving gods are with you and the chipping gods are not.  Some days the Great Guru of Putts cannot be bothered to push your ball "just one half turn more"?
Or is it that just as you approached the hole the earth hiccupped just enough to stop your ball one inch short? 

There is a lot to consider in golf.  The kind of grass.  How wet it is?  Is the air heavy with moisture or is the humidity low?  Is the wind in your face or at your back or any one of 360 degrees of direction it could be blowing.  Is the green uphill or downhill?  Does it slope left to right or right to left or not at all?  Did someone leave a divot?  Did a ground squirrel dig a hole?  Does a bee land in the line of your putt just after you released?  Did you hit the cart sign?  The OOB stake?   Did the tree jump out and eat your ball?  Or was it the seductive call of the water that swallowed your ball. 

Why do we love golf so much? The pros love it because they make a lot money.  Okay, I never talked to one and they probably love it for other reasons too.  But I am reasonably certain that I am never going to win the FedEx cup in this lifetime, anyway.  I am fairly certain that my husband is going to continue to beat me most of the time (and let me know about it, too).  Reasonably certain that I am not going to win the annual championship at my Thursday Ladies Golf Club.

But out there by myself, with just those deer and the sunrise, with the sound of the birds and the feel of my putter in my hand, I feel all's right with the world.  And I am NOT afraid of a little white ball.



On Fear and Courage

I want to talk about fear.  I'm not talking about being afraid of the big things:  flying, sky diving, falling off a high cliff.  Of course I'm afraid of those things.  Everyone is afraid of flying these days.  The thought of navigating through the airport; trying to find a small space for your computer when everyone else has carried on mega-luggage; squeezing into airline seats that have gotten smaller while your seat has gotten larger.  What's not to be fearful of?  But that fear is rational in my mind.  I want to talk about the little fears that I have had all of these years and I'm afraid (more fear) to admit.  Some of the items on my bucket list are things that have to do with overcoming fear.  Case in point:  I'm afraid of heights and I'm afraid of bridges.  So one day last summer I walked the Golden Gate Bridge. It may have been liberating at the time, but I wouldn't do it again.  And even that fear had to do with potential bodily harm (at least in my mind), so again, it falls more in the rational category. 

I'm talking about little, stupid, irrational fears.  Like the fear of failure.  Not so little or irrational, you say?  Of course not.  But it's not fear of failure, really, that keeps me from trying new things, or even retrying old things. It's public fear of failure that scares me to death.  Being totally honest that I'm going to try something and totally open when I fail.   Losing weight?  I have been struggling for years.  Finally, last January, I hunkered down.  My sister and I re-joined Weight Watchers with renewed determination.  We have shared tips, recipes, successes and tears.  We have both lost over 35 pounds.  So what's the problem?  I've gone onto the Weight Watchers website at least five times and read  community posts by someone reaching out with their own success or their own frustration.  I have started to answer their post.  To congratulate them or share my own thoughts.  I have wanted to become a part of that community.  But each time I stopped.  Why?  Because I am still afraid I will fail, and failing in front of my sister, who loves me, and will still love me is really not that scary.  Failing in front of all those other people, the ones I don't know, now that's really scary.  Writing this blog post is scary. 

But I am really tired of coming from a place of fear.  Not living large because I am trying to protect myself in some convoluted way.  These years are not meant for fear.   These years are meant for courage.  I am going to muster up my courage and post on the Weight Watchers bulletin boards.   And after I do, I will let you know how it goes.  And then I'll choose another irrational, stupid little fear and tackle it.  So, please come along with me on this journey if you like.  Tell me about your little fears (or not so little fears) and then share your courage. And invite your friends.    I can use all the support I can get. 

Expanding Interests

There are a lot of things I don't know.  Far more than I do know.  But there are a few things I am sure of.  One of them is that as we age, our interests expand, rather than contract.  I'm not sure we think about life this way very often.  In fact, if you are like me, you might have thought that this phenomena is like that of a baby "soaking up knowledge like a sponge".  We, therefore, have been sort of conditioned to believe that youth is a time to dabble in lots of interests and then pick one (around time for college) and then stick with it to build a solid career. Well, that's how I did it, anyway.  How boring!  And the truth is that I stuck with the model until it nearly sucked all the life out of me.  I even stuck with it long after I realized that although I still liked what I was doing with my life, I was no longer impassioned to do it.  In fact, there were other things that were pulling on me to turn left, or right.  And those forces were growing stronger with each day that I ignored them, until finally, the swimming upstream became so difficult that I was literally stopped.  I had stopped caring, stopped growing (except my dress size) and stopped learning.  And then, finally, I got off my one track path.  And that's when I realized that I am not passionate about one thing.  I gave myself permission to be interested in as many things as I wanted.

Be a Farmer:  Some of my favorite tomatoes!

 

Be a Merchant: Helping Melissa with her Garage Sale......or be a Candy Maker: Here, trying to make caramels for the first time.

And a miracle happened.  Okay, it was a small miracle compared to walking on water or something like that.  But it was my miracle.  I discovered that lots of interests isn't what I used to think: that like rushing water with no banks, too many interests would just cause my energy to flow out, disperse and eventually just dry up.  No, it didn't happen that way.  Instead, my many interests were like river banks.  Building tributaries.  And the water rushes through them, endlessly and builds energy.  And interests beget interests and more banks and more water.  My life is fuller now than ever before.  More fun, more laughter, more things...way more things to do and see and experience than can fit in the finite time I have left.
Some people worry that they will run out of money before the end of their life.  I worry that I will run out of life before I have done all that I have to do.
Damn my old belief system that kept me a prisoner to the "do one thing and do it well" school of thought.  I wish I'd jumped off the train years ago.  But thank God that I didn't wait a minute longer than I did. 
Don't wait.  Be a doctor, lawyer, tinker, tailor, soldier, writer, painter, gardener, chef, farmer....not which ever one you want to be....but all that you want to be.  Expand your interests and your life can only expand with it.

Christmas Bread (Yes, Really)

Is there anything, really, better than the smell of fresh baked bread right out of the oven?  I started seriously baking bread about two years ago.  I have some sourdough starter that was given to me and I make a lot of sourdough bread for my family.  That got me interested in baking all kinds of breads.  I now bake all my own bread.  It is fun to try new ones.  This is not sourdough, but it is my nephew, Tyler's, favorite.  I call it Christmas Bread, only because I first made it at Christmas and it has spices that smell like Christmas.  But it's delicious any time and I make it all year long.  It is especially good toasted and spread with peanut butter.  (My favorite breakfast).

Here's the recipe:

Christmas Bread

1 cup oatmeal

1/2 cup brown sugar

1 T. honey

1 1/2 cups whole wheat flour

4 cups all-purpose flour

1 T. instant yeast

1 T. salt

4 T. butter

2 t. cinnamon

2 t. ground coriander

zest of 1 large orange

2 1/2 cups boiling water

 

Mix oatmeal, brown sugar, honey, yeast, salt, butter, spices and orange zest in a bowl.  Add boiling water and let it sit while the oatmeal softens and the butter melts.  After about 15 minutes, add the flours and mix to combine.  Knead by hand or with a dough hook on your mixer until it forms a soft, slightly sticky dough.  Shape it in a ball and put it in a greased bowl covered with a towel or plastic wrap.  Let it rise for an hour or until doubled.  Form into loaves.  I do freehand boules, but you can put this into a loaf pan as well.  This will make 2 large loaves or 4 small.  I prefer the small loaves.  Let them proof for another hour.  Sprinkle the top with AP flour and then slash the loaves.  Bake at 350 degrees for about 35 to 40 minutes.  Voila!!

 

Let me know how you like it! 

 

 





A Gift in Return

This year my husband put three raised beds next to our driveway.  I have a real vegetable garden for the first time since we've lived here.  We put the garden out front out of necessity.  We have no space in the back.  But a wonderful thing happened.  I have met more neighbors than I could have imagined.  And the abundance of the garden?  Well, there's just too much for only my husband and I.  So we give to the neighbors and often, when one of us is out front, a stranger will walk by and compliment the garden.  There is always a spare head of lettuce or tomato or pepper to give away.

Today I was out tying up the tomatoes.  A very nice elderly gentleman, a native of India happened by.  My husband had been cleaning out the garage and had put some old stuff on the curb (as he often does) with a "free" sign.  The gentleman stopped and asked permission to go through the stuff and I said, "Of course.  Help yourself."  He found a few treasures and then he turned to me with a big smile on his face.  "In India, nobody would give these things away," he said.  "In India, people would sell them and make a little money."  I smiled at him and nodded.  I really didn't know what to say.  I didn't want to say that I don't need the money.  We could all use a little more money.  He kept smiling and he repeated what he said, as if I didn't really understand him.  Finally I said, "I have enough.  I have what I need.  We don't need that stuff anymore and maybe someone else does."  With a very wide grin, he said, "Thank you."  I wanted to add, "Thank you, too."  I hadn't really thought of my life that way very often.  He made my day. 

 



My Grateful Years

 This morning I went to the Campbell Farmers Market with my sister, Julie and niece, Melissa.  We go nearly every Sunday morning.  We have come to know many of the farmers and we are always welcomed by them.  I started this journey to buy local whenever I can after reading The Omnivore's Dilemma , a book my sister Chris recommended for our book club.  Every so often you read a book that changes your path even in a small way.  A tweak, so to speak.




Dahlias from the Farmer's Market



The book made me much more aware of what it means to eat "clean" food.  To know what is in the food I'm eating.  To care about whether the eggs, dairy and meat I eat come from animals that are treated humanely.  To support local farmers in order to try and preserve honest, wholesome food that is grown on a smaller scale, with less pesticide and less chemical fertilizer.  To try to find heirloom seeds for my own home garden.

I am not an expert on these things.  Not by a long shot.  But I am learning.  And I am grateful that we have such an abundance of wonderful, locally grown and organic food that is easily accessible.  Oh, and FUN!  Going to the markets are fun, too. 

Melissa with a Basil Bouquet