Blinding Moments of Unconviction: April 2011

Today was one of those days when the weather makes your hair irritable. Cold, grey, and windy. And today was the day that I needed to get my snow tires removed at Les Schwab. Not wanting a repeat of the incident of 2008, I made them pinky swear and spit that it would take no longer than an hour. I also came prepared with a book because I was not in the mood to be outside in this most bleak of climatological circumstances. But the witch's brew of chemicals in the stacks of new tires was suffocating my sanity and/or my brain cells and by the look of the zombie blank stares of the other people waiting, it was affecting them similarly. I had to get out there. I had to find a game to keep my mind of the fact going for a walk was not at all enjoyable at the moment, so I fell back on my past time of looking for strange decor. Here are some of the winners.....all on the same street.

The airplane

The relaxed cowboy

The occasionally lame but generally awesome product vehicle advertisement

The house with the perpetual yard sale where there are more yard sale signs than actual stuff to buy

The cement cat in the tree

This strengthens my theory that lawn decor is contagious as almost every house on the street had something ridiculous. True to their spitting word, they were done in one hour.

Just as I picked up the car without the snow tires, this started coming down.

I turned 39 today (April 11th). When asked to pick a number between 1 and 100, I always pick 39. 39 is my soul math...of....all...time. I've had a few flirtatious relationships with other numbers such as 16 and 27, but 39 is my tried and true. I can't remember when 39 took this lofty place in the numeralogical portion of my heart. I have a battering suspicion that Graig Nettles (#9), my first and last sports player crush, who played third base for the New York Yankees during the 70's when I was lucky enough to attend a few home games, has something to do with the latter half of the number. His career peek coincided with Reggie Jackson's time in the limelight and I thought Graig was so much more modest, deserving, and yes, well, ...cute. I decided to offer him a bit of his lack of sufficient attention in the form of a stringy-haired, battered shoed, geeky 8 year old. Lucky him.

I have no idea when 3 became part my numeric duo, but certainly during this time when numbers held some sort of magical powers, willing to unleash luck and good fortune transcended by time and space, unbound by any physical laws. If I counted 39 cracks on the sidewalk to my friend's house, perhaps today would be the day I found those coins hidden in the sand on the playground. My fourth grade classroom, #39, was certainly going to be the best year of my educational life. And it was the year that I won the school spelling bee and Brian Steinhause gently took the tinfoil off my pizza and sharpened my pencil on my birthday. Coincidence? I thought not. With, 39, anything could happen.

So here it is. My 39th birthday. And I truly don't know whether I should be raising the roof in celebration or hiding in the root cellar sucking my pre-arthritic thumb. Is this supposed to be the best year of my life? The apex? Or is this the year that I fall off a bridge and die, my fate a strange gypsy woman predicted years ago. Why am so superstitious about a silly numb
er? Thirty-nine is the sum of five consecutive primes (3 + 5 + 7 + 11 + 13) . Does this mean that I am in the prime of my primes?A few months I touched the skin under my chin and it really freaked me out. IMy fingers go rogue a little more often now, as if they are tied to some puppet string pulled at the most in opportune moments,and my teeth hurt almost all the time. What is happening to this body that I am inhabiting?

I looked up numerology.
Numerology is t
he science, philosophy, vibration?, study and psychology of numbers. Cultures of all kinds have studied the power of numbers since the beginning of time. Numerology can help you to understand more about your life. It can help you to understand your past, therefore helping you make wise choices in the present and for your future.

So maybe there is something to this hokey poky number thing. It is a science, after all. a science and a vibration. Sounds legit.

As you have noticed, this year I have dedicated my blog to finding little or big pieces of joy to each of my days. I have, on occasion, wondered if this gives the impression that I have become a self-centered, shallow person, one who is only looking for a laugh. On the contrary, In a surge of Oprah Winfry-esque energy, I chose to begin this blog of jubilations to counteract the weight of my unpublished book of lamentations sinking me far below surface of joy.

And what does this have to do with turning 39?

I learned something last week. Or should I say relearned? It is one of those things that I think that my soul has known since birth, but giggles anyway when I am again caught in this infantile remembering process.

I was able to go a support group last week where a kindred spirit of mine (you know who you are) related events in her life from the past year. Events that most people would not label fortunate by any means. In fact, many people would deem these events, brought on by choice and misfortune, devastating and life altering.

With no lack of pain or soul wrenching pre-dawn sobs, my friend has wrestled with her "life event" in a way not understood by anyone other than she. But through this wrestling and tossing and turning, and knotting, and untying, and reweaving, she has found a way to form something beautiful. The strands of pain, the strands of hope, the strands of love, the strands of grace, the strands of mercy and of forgiveness, the strands of doubt, the strands of sacrifice, the strands of voice, the strands of family and friends, the strands of those who have abandonment........all of these strands were woven together during her months of wrestling to form something beautiful and unbreakable.

On the way home, I asked my sister how everything that happens to our friend seems somehow magical, no matter what it is.

My sister replied in similar words, "She makes it magical. It is what she does with what life has given her."   She wills her experiences into these monumental temples of self.

Again, what does this have to do with me turning 39?

Everything. I guess I still believe in magic. But I believe that this magic is woven into my life by me. I can make my life as meaningful as I want it to be from here on out. I can interpret the past 39 years of my life, with all it's pain, joy, regret, and grace,... and weave them into my own monuments of strength. Much of what happens to me next is not up to me. But what I build with what happens to me is completely up to me.

So today, in honor of my birthday, I hiked my favorite Lake Coeur d'lane loop, had a picnic by myself, and sunk my cold hands into the lapping water, grabbing fist fulls of smoothed pebbles, admiring them, and then releasing them through the valleys of my fingers. I collected all the sea glass and broken bits of something once whole and fashioned a tangible monument of sorts with what I found. It is not easy for me to pose for pictures, especially one by myself. But today I make an exception (even though it will probably stay in my closet). My life is a gift, however old and historical it becomes. Every year beyond this 39th, I will recognize as so, and therefore, do my best to raise monuments of gratitude.

Thank you A.S, for your inspiration.