Roaming Home

Travel is stimulating. We anticipate it with enthusiasm and reminisce our wanderings with longing to return. While roaming the country or traveling abroad, we admire what we may never see again and indulge in pleasures because they are distant from home and attractive because unfamiliar.

When roughing it, what would be a major nuisance at home becomes a rustic adventure. When taking in the city high life, the deafening hustle-bustle and stench of transportation fumes becomes the life pulse of sophistication and culture.

I heard a lecture in college about vacations. It was a natural resources class intended to help students understand how to design and enhance a national park for maximum vacation satisfaction. I've never forgotten several points. They explained how emotions impact vacation. Anticipation rises as the departure time nears. Pleasure has an early peak right after beginning a trip and then settles into a contented plateau. When nearing the destination excitement begins to rise again. The point of the lecture was learning how to design a facility or park to keep the excitement level at high enough peaks and plateaus that the visitor leaves feeling successful about the experience.

What I don't remember about it is when the allure of home kicks in. When does that desire peak and plateau? Can you quantify the longing and relief when home comes in sight?

I love vacations. I anticipate them, get immersed in them, and hope for them to last. But once I'm packed to leave, heading for the turf I know best, I'm also glad to be roaming home.

Can't Take It

Wider and wider,

sipping hard cider,

My eyes begin to pop.

Warmer and warmer,

My cheeks are the warner--

It's time for me to stop.

Scrambling for a Win?

My top ten tips for being a good Scrabble player:

1. Always look to see which colored tiles are reachable.

2. Always check every word on the board to see if one letter can be added to the front or end of it.

3. Always check before you finish your play to see what you are opening up for your opponent.

4. Make plays parallel to words as much as possible so you get scores going in several directions.

5. Don't assume your opponent can spell, won't try to fake a word, or won't challenge you.*

6. Try to play people that are better than you as much as possible.

7. Don't complain about your tiles unless your opponent complains first. Let him/her start the whining. If you have poor tiles, either swap or shut up. A good player can tell when his/her opponent is working with crap.

8. Between games read a lot, and have a dictionary on hand to look up words. You can never have a good enough stock pile of words.

9. Big is not always better. Short words with big scores are just fine. Impress me with the bottom line--unless you use all your tiles and get a BINGO.

10. It doesn't hurt, especially at the end of the game, to keep track of which tiles have been played and what letters are left. In a close game, it can make the difference between a win or loss.

11. (A bonus tip!) Never assume in the first two-thirds of the game that you are too far ahead to be beaten. Cockiness leads to less aggressive playing. Next thing you know, you'll be scrambling to stay on top.

*Does not apply to the facebook version of Scrabble, which is why I really hate it. I also hate it because it accepts lots of phony words like XI, QI, and ZA to make people who are lousy players feel better, and to make good players lazy. Did that push anyone's buttons? (Hope so.)

Breaking up (a habit) is hard to do...

What is the difference between a good and bad habit?

1. A good one is hard to start, and a bad one is hard to stop.

2. A good one is undermined by good intentions, while a bad one is what is doing the undermining.

3. A good one may have few immediate rewards, while a bad one usually punishes us somehow.

4. A good one doesn't come naturally, while a bad one takes little effort to maintain because it is a habit...

Springtime Tanager

With vermilion plumage and jet-black wings,

You make my art-starved spirit sing:

A canvas splashed with brilliant hues

Of scarlet, chartreuse, and azure blues.

Perched among the fuschia flowers,

A redbud refuge is your bower

Against a clear and cloudless expanse

Of the bluest blue. I stand entranced.

All afternoon you come and go

Keeping me company as I work below

To dig and weed and cultivate

A beauteous Eden I long to create.

Suspended License

I know how it feels

when you lose your wheels,

'cause I'll be the one who provides

all your needed rides.

Limbo

It seems odd to me that I dislike washing up and getting dressed in the morning, but it's true. There is a grace period from the time my feet hit the floor to when I've finished my breakfast when I'm just fine. Then comes the realization that I am still in my pajamas and something must be done about that. Lounging around in pj's is not my idea of comfort--unless I'm sick--which isn't a comforting thought.

Sometimes I delay the actual ritual by doing pre-ritual rituals. It is legitimate to empty the dishwasher and make the bed first. Starting a load of laundry is also acceptable. Sometimes I allow myself to check my email, but then I'm ashamed if I actually answer some email in my pj's. That is really pitiful. Just get dressed. Go do it!

I arrive in the bathroom. Disliking that sticky, gritty, been-driving-with-the-windows-rolled-down feel of uncleanness on my face, I flip a towel around my neck. How people can go around without washing the film of sleep-induced oils and sweat off their face is beyond my reckoning. But actually picking up a washcloth and doing it takes really decisive action on my part for so early in the morning. The main deterrent could be that I use ice-cold water--not wanting to waste gallons of frigid water waiting for the tepidly warm water to arrive. However, once that washcloth hits my face I know I have made it halfway through the tedious morning ritual.

My morning ablutions are so simple, it is difficult for me to admit that I can hardly get through them. I often have to take a break between washing my face and brushing my teeth. The will to just keep pushing on often breaks down in the middle--I can't take any more of this! I admit that I don't shower every morning, because so often I do something that gets me dirty during the day, that I often shower later on. So when I've made it through washing my face, instead of showering, I go get dressed before trying to tackle the next part of washing up.

Bliss for me would be a world where you could wear the exact same comfortable thing every day and everyone would affirm your choice as fashionable, sensible, modest and becoming. My uniform would be jeans, a tee shirt, a sweater if chilly, white socks, and slip-on loafers. Most days are not that simple, but I still have to remind myself not to put on the same dressed-up look as the day before.

Once I'm clothed I still feel that burden of unreadiness--teeth must still be brushed. I love that slick, fresh, minty feel of freshly brushed teeth. When I was in college, I would brush and floss my teeth whenever I needed a study-time pick-me-up. It worked better than caffeine, and my dentist was always amazed at my hygiene. I still like brushed teeth, but I have to actually do it. Squeezing the toothpaste out on my brush, finally doing it, comes as a relief. The last needful decision has been made; the action has been carried out.

But wait--I still have to floss! In my opinion, one of the greatest inventions of the last decade was the flosser. If you haven't discovered them yet, get in your car right now, go straight to the drugstore and find the mouth care aisle. Right where you would find dental floss are these packages with fifty or so little tools that have half an inch of floss stretched across plastic arms just like a miniature cheese slicer. They are for flossing your teeth! Amazing. You don't have to pull out a yard of waxy string and attempt to cut it on a tiny razor edge with a yank hard enough to start a chain saw. You don't have to wrap it around two fingers until they turn purple from lack of circulation. You don't have to try to fit both fists in your mouth while you try to floss, unable to see what you are doing because your bloated, throbbing fingers are in the way. You can now floss one-handed, comfortably, and without fear of needing a finger amputated because of gangrene due to loss of blood flow into that digit.

The feeling of accomplishment once I'm dressed, washed, brushed and flossed gives me the energy to actually face the day and start to do what that day is for. I've left that feeling of limbo--up, but not dressed and ready to go--behind.