adventure searching

I feel like since I've started this blog I should revise the name to The Mundane Life of Hazel Cade. Life has been a little short on adventure lately. There was a time when City and I had a rule that we would set a limit on only doing one wild, impulsive thing per year. Then it become a goal-- to do a least one wild thing per year. I've now tired of dating adventures and settled into a vocation and house. I've done my skydiving, summers at national parks, working at a ranch, nose piercing, hair dying, seedy club exploring, blind dating, and white water kayaking. What does this leave?

At small group last night there was a couple promoting short-term missions to tribal villages. This is something I have not done. Is it bad to feel the conflict of wanting to go as an adventure even when I know money spent for missions accomplishes a lot more when sent to national workers? My plane ticket could probably cover the salaries of a few workers for a year. Hmmm... I need to think more on that.

envisioning myself

I ran the Bolder Boulder yesterday. I was surprised to find it wasn't agonizing and had a pretty good time. I do events like that and for moments envision myself as a runner who loves nothing more than getting out for 6 miles a day.

I took my golf lesson on Saturday. I did okay and envisioned myself as a golfer with a wardrobe full of collared shirts, a lot of drinking in the morning, and a husband who drives an Audi.

Reality-- I will probably continue to jog my 3 miles and golf when I have friends who are golfers.

Idea-- Design a new modern pentathalon. It should be jogging, golfing, biking, landscaping, square dancing. I could train for that.

Outfits

I went to see Angels & Demons yesterday. I give my fundamentalist and cultural elitist friends permission here to disapprove. I loved it and think that the protestant church should have more rings, more secrets, more art (in addition to dewey-eyed Precious Moments and Thomas Kincaids), more archives, and better priest outfits.

I start golf lessons tomorrow with a fashionista friend and am already falling behind in the dressing like a golfer department. I believe she has a new golf wardrobe of choices to wear to each of our five lessons. I own 1 shirt with a collar. It has a very small hole in the shoulder from when I caught it on a piece of the football concession stand. I hope I don't get kicked out. I'm definitely going to buy the outfit this young chap is wearing after I graduate from golf school.

new place

I'm ready to say good-bye to the last 2 years of commuting up to a world I left behind a long time ago. Lower-upper class suburbia is where I came from. Here I drove with a knot in my stomach every day to work knowing I was never enough to return to that starched and pressed place. Every conversation here has included a competitive edge. Can you be funnier, fitter, more devoted to your job, more popular, louder, a better shopper? Do you have gorgeous, athletic, academically advanced children?

I may be headed for a job where I can use my real laugh (not the forced one) and be an analytical introvert without fear of not being cool enough for the Mean Cheerleaders (the women in my dept.) This fact actually makes me want to cheer! Someone might ask me a question about my life. That would be a change of pace from my life of anonymity here.

finally the incline

My two big first-time events for the summer so far are hiking the Incline and mowing the lawn. The Incline (1 mile of steps that go straight up Pikes Peak) is something I've been fixin' to do for the last 4 years. I completed the Incline Friday at a snail's pace without any of the rumored screaming muscles people claim you get. I think they say this to secure their parking spots at the trail head.

Side note: I could get away with a lot more if I adopted a Texas vocabulary where fixin' to means I'm actively engaged in good intention. In TX this is almost as good as actually starting. Unfortunately with other TX vocab, it's hard to sprinkle in used of neked- no clothes on and ill intent (vs. naked- just no clothes on) into everyday conversation. (take notes here Birdie)

My career in lawn mowing started late because I grew up with a brother who was the family mow-man, and I just now have a patch of grass about 10 feet by 8. This is an excellent starter-lawn. I'm the kind of person who would run over my toes with a real mower, so I'm starting out with a rusty, antique push mower from the 40's. Check out my shrinking carbon footprint. Actually, I believe the neighbors are saying, "check out that crazy lady throwing her whole body against that antiquated, barely working neandrothal contraption." Still, I'm proud of my efforts. What have you tried this summer?

Cheese Wedge Hospitality

I got an invitation this week to a non-event. Basically, a friend said, "I've got a wedge of good cheese and some fig spread. I won't clean. You won't dress up. We'll just have wine and cheese and good conversation. Come." So we sat under a string of Christmas lights talking about how great it would be to hold a membership in a cheese-of-the-month club and our feelings about men and facial hair. On a Friday night after a long work week, I can assure you that this was better than an event.

I've had some good conversations lately with friends about hospitality. We get intimidated by the standards our moms set from their great dinner parties. We'll have people over a few times a year for big events. But aren't the great hosts the ones who extend a hundred little non-event invitations? Come on over when my kitchen is not clean, the bras from the washing machine are hanging over the door, and a mysterious smell is coming from the sink.

Everyone these days is too busy for more commitments. I end up especially grateful for friends who are willing to do spontaneous, everyday life with me. Metro has room for last-minutes walks or shopping and wants to take golf lessons together. Keen sends last-minute invitations. Lucky swung by the other week for a dinner of whatever we could both pull together last-minute.

I had dinner last night with some older women with the same complaint. We're so busy, but we want to get to know people in a way that doesn't feel like another calendar obligation. I ask people every week to walk with me. I need to remember to just keep asking, find people who have room for spontaneity, and offer my own cheese wedge hospitality.

asking cautiously

Never ask the women of BSF to pray for something you're not sure you want. You might ask for wisdom in dating. Then your friend Barb would come along and remind you of the journey you're on. The next day your spiritual director could push you towards your future. Beth could call on your way home and talk about something God told her that reminded you of something God told you. Joanne could sit down next to you an hour later and out of nowhere decide to speak into your life.

I'm listening to country music today because I changed everything with Greg last night. We sat in my front yard watching the sunset (my first from my new yard). I told him we might want different things. We might need time to think about it. We decided to just meet once a week as friends. He looked relieved. I'm praying this decision leads into the Promise Land and not more desert wandering.

Thanks to the friends who God uses to speak to me.

rock and a hard place

I told my spiritual director I was between a rock and a hard place. She requested a metaphor revision. She thinks I'm in a situation more like a baby's head in the birth canal- kind of gross but hopeful. That all of this inescapable pressure is what's making me arrive-- giving new birth. I really hope this is true because I'm making one of those terrifying decisions right now that can push you out into a place of space and possibility or into a space of huge regret.

old story, new wedding

Last night my sweet friend Susan married a really great man. They're the real deal. Met at church, dated over a year, sought out a lot of counsel, have never slept together. It was a beautiful, hopeful event. Good, good people. Joy everywhere.

I didn't know anyone attending the wedding, so Susan took mercy on me and asked Randy to invite a single (hot!) co-worker. The night played itself out as usual. I was sitting at a table alone. My friend's brother's father-in-law joined me, flirted with me, and was my dance companion for the night. The single protestant men my age hugged the wall, terrified of the dance floor.

There's nothing like being around strangers who are uncomfortable dancing to make me lose my inhibitions. I requested Sweet Child of Mine, danced like a fool, and did my fake version of swing with the nice man 20 years older than I am.

I also discovered being guest book attendant is a great gig. I got listed in the program, received a thank you gift, got a corsage, didn't have to pose for photos but still got a nice corsage. And I got to wear a cute black dress instead of the ugly, purple satin ones the bridesmaids got stuck with.

The wedding made me want to break up with Greg and date a protestant more than ever. Until, again, the protestants refused to dance. Jesus wouldn't have been happy. He talks about playing music while folks crossed their arms and refused to celebrate. Was Jesus actually a happy catholic with the wine and the dance moves and loud celebrations?