Another one.

Been here. Done this.

But I need to do it again. Time for me to step out of the office. Away from the desk. Hands off the keyboard.

To be perfectly honest, I’ve forgotten to post. Sure, I’m a planner and have all the titles and ideas plotted out on paper; penciled in my planner. But when it comes time to post – I don’t. I wake up in the middle of the night and think, “Darn, it’s Wednesday today and I never wrote a Wednesday War.” I write reminders to myself to plan ahead and over-write for the next week, month, two months. My intentions are good. My time is limited.

And so. With so many things eating up my time, things important on many scales, I must step aside for a bit.

From this place where I write about whatever floats my boat. From this place where I let loose and go with the flow. From this place where I ponder questions I wouldn’t dare to ask aloud. From this place where creativity and imagination trumps sentence structure and punctuation. From this place where I sound like a basket case one day and a sane person the next.

And with every decision I finally decide on, I’m saddened to say “see ya soon.” I’m nervous to leave this blogging world for a brief moment in time. Because I know I’ll miss out on so much.

But if I don’t step away now, I’ll miss out on so much more than just banging away on my keyboard. And that’s something I can’t afford to miss out on.

Thanks for your understanding. Again. Thanks for  granting me this break. Again.

I’m probably most sad because it seems like everytime I need to take a break, it happens during my favorite season.

Autumn.

If only I could write out all the posts I wanted to post about fall leaves, bonfires, hayrides, crisp October mornings, pumpkins, apple orchards, jackets, hockey (by the time I come back, who knows what will have happened in the college world), family, kids, ETC.

Those will have to wait. Maybe next year?

Who knows. All I know is that the clock is ticking.

Another one has begun.

____________________________________________________

I ask. You answer.

1. Favorite MN Meditations post? 
2. Do you prefer Wednesday Wars or French Fry Fridays?
3. What should I write about when I return?
4. Is there a time of year when you wish you could take a break?

 

 

Wednesday Wars: Fast vs. Slow

dimensionsguide.com

There she is. In all her glory. The Mall Of America.

I know. I know. I have told you time and time again how much I dislike the Mall Of America. For various reasons, I tend to stay away from the busyness of MOA.

Except.

In the last year or so, I’ve found myself at the Mall Of America on a fairly regular basis. Due to a lot of airport drop offs and pick ups. And I’ve found that the MOA can be tolerable. Dare I say, enjoyable.

Since I’ve spent more time in the MOA, I can manuever the escalators, wings, and walkways with confidence and ease. And speed.

When it comes to most of my shopping, I’m an “in-n-out” kind of shopper. I’ll spend time pondering purchases, but refuse to be in other people’s way – I refuse to slow someone else down. Because I know how important it is to move it or lose it.

I should have known that my streak of successful MOA trips would come to an end. But I was not prepared for the insanity that met me on Friday afternoon.

From the minute I exited Lindau Lane, I knew I was in for a fight.

Signaling RIGHT at the first available opportunity, I noticed people crossing via the crosswalk – coming from the empty lot next to IKEA where Cirque du soleil set up their tents this past spring. Upon further examination, I noticed it was a large group of people. Not just people. But an entire boys’ lacrosse team from Syracuse, according to the matching hoodies and tees. Slowly, they sauntered across the crosswalk, staring into my windshield, daring me to honk at them.

I didn’t.

Parking was not an easy A, but it was not a complete failure either. I parked in the lot I usually park in. Walked in the store entrance I usually walk in. And made my way to a few key destinations. Time was short, I’d just come from wedding shopping at The Galleria for Crate & Barrel gifts and had to make a pick up at the airport. Getting to those key destinations – not a walk in the park. Despite the fact that I took the fastest routes to the only three stores I needed to hit up, people kept blocking my way.

Slow walkers. Mothers with strollers (jogging strollers – the irony). Tourists and toddlers. Cell phone junkies. Gawkers. Old people with walkers. Window shoppers. Kids killing time.

Hoards of people. Everywhere I looked.

It was not the Mall I hoped to encounter that day. My mind spun with the best routes, the best escalators, the best ways in and out of stores, around merchandise, avoiding the sandtraps of “would you like to try a sample of this crappy lotion that can guarantee your hands will never fall off?”

I held it together. I shopped faster than usual. Made wise purchases. And kept a close eye on the time so I did not miss my MSP pick up.

Leaving the last store of the day, I was relieved to take the escalator – alone. A rarity on a day like last Friday. But the minute I stepped off the escalator – BAM – slow walkers. I skirted around them and ran into another clogged intersection on the second floor. The typical moms and kids were part of the traffic jam, but the main culprit – 1/3 of a USHL Junior hockey team, according to their matching hoodies and hats.

They say that some people can be read like an open book. I’m thinking the title of my book was “Move.” Again with the slow walking, gawking, and daring me to vocalize my annoyance.

I didn’t.

Instead, I saw the light at the end of the tunnel and made a break for the airport.

As with every trip to a store, mall, shopping center, outlet center, etc. I am reminded of how impatient I am with s-l-o-w   w-a-l-k-i-n-g   p-e-o-p-l-e.

I’m owning my part and realizing that I need to be more patient with people. But I’d appreciate it if every single person who enters the Mall of America, or any store or mall, picks up the pace a bit. Or else, I’ll be hot on your heels pushing you to move over.

Are you a fast? Are you slow? Which do you prefer? Fast or slow mall walkers?

Accidental non-posting week

There are no pictures to portray the feelings floating around my allergy-stuffed head. Well, maybe there are, but I’m not  going to take the time to search Google for an image today. My fingers are semi-sore from various projects I’ve worked on lately and I decided to cook one night and needed to use knives…

The point is this: I have missed writing “live” posts. Posts about real things. Sure, every Wednesday War and French Fry Friday is real. It’s there for you to read. But sometimes I scratch the surface and don’t actually talk about meaninful things. And there’s been a boat load of meaningful things going on in the world. None of which you will find to be breaking news in this post. But topics worthy of a nod. Worthy of a look. Worthy of words.

The day the Russian plane carrying the entire Locomotiv Yaroslavl hockey team of the KHL crashed, I was busy at work. I caught a glimpse of a news feed on my Google homepage. My first thought was that this has been the worst off-season. Tragedies keep shaking the hockey world – right down to its core. And it’s a small world, so it doesn’t take much to shake it. Players, coaches, trainers, GMs, and fans around the world are affected everytime our televisions and internet newsfeeds light up with heartbreaking news. Everytime a hockey player is lost, the world shrinks.

Everytime a hockey player’s life is lost, we stop to remember them. Not their slap shot or work along the boards or their role as the enforcer. We remember them as a person. As a human being.

And that’s the way it should be.

And that’s why it’s so important that they live out lives on and off the ice that are honoring and full of integrity and purpose.

Another meaningful topic I failed to cover earlier is the 10 year anniversary of 9/11. When I realized it had been ten years, I shook my head in disbelief. I remembered the exact moment, the exact feeling of that day. And this past September 11, just five days ago, it was perfect outside. Blue skies, sunshine, a wonderful fall day. And I couldn’t help but compare the two days - ten years apart. Because it didn’t feel like ten years had passed. The moment I crossed an overpass with bikers and flags, firetrucks, and families, I lost it. And it felt like I was back in 10th grade wearing my white GAP sweater and baby blue American Eagle pants. But I wasn’t. Because so much has happened in those ten years. And yet, we still remembered 9/11. The lives lost.

The people who died that day were not just victims of 9/11 – they were mothers, fathers, grandfathers, grandmothers, aunts, uncles, cousins, friends, co-workers, former camp counselors and lifeguards, marathon runners, neighbors, book-club members – they were people. People we can’t ever forget. No matter how many years separate us from that day.

The last part of this post is a lot more personal. For Labor Day, I traveled to my parent’s hometown with my dad. I don’t remember the last time my dad and I went to visit the town where he was born and raised – just the two of us. So, I tucked this trip into the nooks and crannies of my memory so that I can look back someday and remember it. Because you never know if you’ll get another opportunity like that.

Our time spent way up north, the true “Up North” of Minnesota was packed with family. And it reminded me of when I was a kid. Minus the fact that we didn’t stay at either of my grandparents’ homes. Due to the fact that they are no longer in those homes. Instead, we sat with my grandma at the care center (sounds much better than nursing home). We helped her eat her meals, talked with her, and clung to those lucid moments when she smiled or seemed to recognize us. She’s the last grandparent in my life. The last one I have to love and hug. I didn’t cry when I saw her this time. Instead, I just enjoyed it. I talked with some of the other residents and cheered my grandma on everytime she took a bite of her eggs and toast. It was kind of odd to cheer on a woman in her mid nineties as she ate a simple breakfast, but I hoped that with every cheer and every bite, she knew that she was loved.

And I know that I may not get another chance to watch her eat breakfast or smile from her wheelchair.  Even if it is at a care center and not her home. A home in which my dad and I passed on our way to the cemetery. A home in which I have all my childhood Christmas memories.

We went to the cemetery just to see it. Nothing has changed since the days we buried my three grandparents. Besides the fact that more of their friends and neighbors have been buried just a few plots over. Standing in front of headstones and walking from plot to plot, I realized that I’m getting older. A duh moment you may think, but one that hits hard when you stand in front of headstones and see your grandparent’s names etched on them. Or when your visits to grandma’s house are at a care center with hundreds of other grandma’s and grandpa’s. Or when you realize that your pregnant cousin’s kids are never going to meet their great grandparents. Or when you remember that you really want to tell your grandparents something.

Maybe that’s why I subconsciously didn’t post this week’s typical Wednesday Wars and French Fry Friday. Because as fun as they can be (in my humble opinion), I had other thoughts that wouldn’t leave me. Other thoughts that mean more to me than Online vs Store (shopping) or Backpacks! The two posts I had written in my planner but never wrote on here.

Sometimes you just have to stop and remember. Sometimes you just have to write so that you remember.

 

Wednesday Wars: Markers vs. Colored pencils

happyclippings.com

“I would send you a bouquet of newly sharpened pencils if I knew your name and address.” – Joe Fox You’ve Got Mail (1998).

I buy school supplies. I should say office supplies. But I don’t think colored pencils and markers count as true office supplies.

I love going to Target when all the school supplies overtake the back part of the store. Kids are ramming carts into shelves, begging for cool notebooks with the latest Disney disaster, parents reading over school supply lists, siblings fighting over markers and folders. It’s chaos at its finest.

Stuck between the rulers and the pencil pouches are markers and colored pencils. Kids are required to purchase both – a pack of markers and colored pencils. Parents typically have both on hand at home, the car, and the cabin.

But when it comes time to color – coloring books, cards, chemistry lab reports, etc. what do you grab first?

A pack of markers.

A pack of colored pencils.

That is the question.

My answer: colored pencils.

__________________________________________________________

I ask. You answer.

1. Best brand of colored pencils?
2. Best brand of markers?