If money can buy this, I’ll be happy with not having too much of it thankuverymuch.
Every now and then, I click on the FB one of those “where are they now” posts that magically appear on my feed. On Sunday, it was “where are they now, Full House cast.” Now, I was older when Full House came out, old enough not to be gaga over John Stamos (that happened when he was still Blackie on General Hospital. Ooooolala.)
But I still enjoyed the show. It was silly and those little Olsen twins were adorbs. So imagine my surprise when I saw the above picture of the two. Oh well, I thought, we all age. I mean, I guess they were closer to my age than I had thought but I’m pretty bad at keeping track of that stuff. Until I see what their actual age is:
Twenty Nine.
Ummmmmmm, whut?
Yup. Twenty Nine. What in the everlivin’ hellz are you doing to yourself to look like this at 29? How bad do you hate yourself to destroy your skin; hair; and body to this extent? I’m still gobsmacked (Tabitha of Tabitha Takes Over always uses that word, I love it.)
Twenty Nine.
Ummmmm, here’s other girls I know in that age group:
Sara, Victoria, Christy, Elissa, and Katie
Um ya, I’m not clear on Sara’s age but there ya go. She comes back after baby number three and kicks butt from the word ‘GO.’
Kinda takes the phrase, “Hooray for Hollywood” and flushes it down the toilet.
Add, oh I dunno, twenty more years (and then some) and you have girls like this:
But I’m pretty biased. Obviously.
We can only age as we age. Some do it better than others. A lot of that is not in our control. Have you seen a recent picture of Christie Brinkley? Ya, she’s still gorgeous. For those of us who do NOT have those genes, it’s up to us. Eat. Train. Be at Peace with yourself. Drink wine (it’s PROVEN!)
But by gods, I’ll do everything I can to avoid looking like these 29 year old’s.
Bigg and I watched the Disney movie, “Brave” this weekend. It was on, we had nothing better to do, and he had never seen it so there ya go. It’s a cute one, a better story line than most. The Princess doesn’t need to be saved by a man, in fact, it’s the very thing she’s fighting.
Anyways. Not the point of today. One scene in the movie had me chuckling however even though it had nothing to do with the movie’s plot. It was a scene in which a witch (which/witch) was running around gathering items to put into her cauldron to work up a spell for the Princess. Huh, I thought. Ya know, that’s a lot like this throwing stuff.
We have our cauldron, and in the beginning of our “career” (that’s a stretch but couldn’t think of another word that applies) it’s filled with water. Hopefully it has a nice fire underneath keeping it boiling but it could just be lukewarm to start. As we hit more and more Highland Games, we finally start adding some ingredients to the pot. An “arm up” here or a “push” there. Bits and pieces of advice or experience that we throw in to the pot and hopefully something will be brewed to help us along. But really, at this point, we’re just throwing everything in. There is no recipe, it’s all in there. The good with the bad. The useful along with the useless, filling our pot to the brim but without solid substance to whip up a spell for consistent throwing.
Enter year 2. Now we’re a little bit more aware of what we want to throw out. Throwing or lifting concept on Games Days: Out damn spot! Out I say! Learning that keeping things OUT of our cauldron is just as important as what we put in. Many pieces of advice may be useful IF we understood how to move through a trig but since many of us don’t, they’re not. OUT. We become more selective in which ingredients we put in. If it’s processed correctly where applying it consistently will result in better throwing, IN. If not? Out. We’re still putting in more than we should, but we’re not experienced enough to know better. Things are starting to click in some areas and others are still a mystery. We just don’t have the right mix yet. But we’re getting there.
On to year three. Ahhhhhhh, now we are starting to see things happening. There are sparks coming out of our cauldrons. At times the earth will shift before going back to silence. We are becoming better at deciphering which ingredients do what and are able to even give a little attention to the spices of the brew. Those items that will give the last 5% of a good throw. We know where to look for help, we seek it out and if are lucky enough, the best of the best will allow us to put their words in before we stir. We look at videos and add nuggets of knowledge where the contributors may not even know it. But we stir and we stir and we know that those flashes are becoming brighter and brighter, sharper and sharper, stronger and stronger. We keep adding and removing, finely balancing our potions so that the energy given envelopes us when we most need it.
And beyond?
We allow our cauldrons to simmer. For years. We do not expect the results of those that have more talent or more time in the trig. We are patient, knowing the day will come when the brew will be exactly right and also knowing that it can turn sour at any moment. Never let up, never let it get cold. Heat and stir, heat and stir. We meet our fellow athletes each Games day as equals, for they have been stirring their pots also through the years. We have no need for game playing, or shit talking (trash talking is entirely different and a necessary part of the Highland Games.) We are confident in our cauldrons and encourage our equals to play their hardest and play their best. For we will do the same.
Oz’s first year in football was the 6th grade. Ancient by some accounts. If it were hockey in Minnesota, they probably would’ve told him it’s too late. True story.
Now, admittedly, Oz isn’t a huge football fan. Loves to hang with the guys; practice; train, and get geared up for game day. Sure. But to sit and watch game after game on a Saturday afternoon? Uhhhhh, no dice. So his first year of football was more, ‘dude, what do I DO?’ than anything. Luckily for us, we had Coach Courtright who worked with Oz here and there to explain the lineman positions a bit more clearly and Oz still had fun even though play time was nearly non-existent.
Another day, I’ll talk about youth sports “Coach’s” who believe that winning at all costs in the 6th grade is all that matters instead of instilling a love (and an understanding) for the game AND learning how to be coached. But not today.
My expectations that first year for Oz was that he do his best and respect the coaches. That’s it. There were a few times I saw him goofing off on the sidelines. Not cool. Yes, common, they’re silly boys in the 6th grade. But not part of the deal. When coach is talking, you STFU.
When games started, I noticed two things. First off, the expectation of respecting your coach was not team wide. Never in my sports life as an athlete or a mom have I seen so many kids screaming back at coaches. It was unbelievable. In my not so humble opinion, more than eight kids on any given day should have been benched. But we had to win (which we didn’t.) So they weren’t. Secondly, also never in my sports life have I seen such ill behaved youth coaches. Look, ya know why Bobby Knight was so much fun to watch? Cuz our kids weren’t being coached by him. True story.
Pacing back and forth screaming constantly. Throwing your ball cap down on the ground repeatedly. Actually walking off the field in the middle of a practice; getting in your car, and driving home leaving a field full of kids wondering WTF they’re supposed to do now (these really happened. It was sublimely awesome in it’s stupidity.)
But we had Coach Courtright so looking at the big picture, we came out of it pretty good. Oz is still playing the game which is good. He works harder now but still doesn’t use his size or strength. I’m hoping a coach picks up on it and fixes it.That’s his job, not mine.If a coach comes around and equates holding the offensive line to the constant push at Omaha Beach, Oz will be ready for the next level in a week or two but they haven’t yet so we’ll wait it out and see if it happens.
Anyways.
The ‘Tosa kids are brats. The coaches are worse. Sorry I’m not sorry. I actually watched as the head coach’s son screamed from the sidelines that Dad was calling the wrong play and to SHUT UP! and guess what? Dad did. He shut up. Right there in front of everyone. It was mind numbing. From what I’ve heard it hasn’t gotten much better. Kids still whine. Coaches are forced to send a constant stream of e-mails explaining themselves to upset parents who never want to see their little Johnny upset. Completely fucked up. I’m glad Oz isn’t in the program anymore.
Fast forward to last Friday, Oz’s first High School football game. Now, last year, Oz’s middle school team played for the region Championship where they lost. That loss was their first of the season (bad time to lose a game.) They played the other district middle school earlier in the year and beat them by 50-something to 0. Ouch. However, most of those kids went to the other High School this year so Oz’s team is mostly made up of the “0” kids from that 50something-0 game. Which made the first game a bit tough.
Of course I had a blast. Getting to watch Oz do anything is a lot of fun for me; I volunteered to pull chains so had a front row seat and it was a beautiful, early fall day. The ref’s were great and helpful to the kids and Oz had some very nice blocks that resulted in some nice runs for his offense. Defense is still a bit of a mystery to him in that as he runs through their line, he just kind of stops instead of creaming the quarterback. Again, hopefully a coach can heal that.
Since I was pulling chains, I was situated on the opposing sidelines. The team they were playing was Robbinsdale Cooper. Now, I grew up north of Robbinsdale and there are two parts of the suburb. Huge homes on a beautiful parkway and lots of money, that was one end. The other was bordering Minneapolis proper and was about as inner city as a suburb could be. In fact, I counted 3 white kids on the team and one was on the sidelines with a splint on his finger so he was out of commission for at least that week.
Yes, I am making sweeping generalizations here. No need to call me out on it, I know. Don’t care. In most cases, sweeping generalizations have truth to them. Deal with it or stop reading. Don’t care.
So, on one side, we have A) the upper crust of Bloomington that goes to Jefferson. True story. These are, for the most part, kids from homes who (financially anyway) are doing a’ight. B) they remind me of the ‘tosa kids but are better behaved. On the field anyway. And on the other side is suburban inner city team with pretty decent coaches. One coach started jumping up and down at some point (I remember when I won my first game) but the other coach was on it and calmed him down. Reminded him of the example they wanted to set for the boys. (I should say here I assume Oz’s coaches and team do fine. He likes them a lot and says the boys are far more respectful to their coaches than the ‘tosa boys. I guess I believe him.)
But here’s what I saw that I liked on that Cooper sideline; whenever any Coach would give direction to a player whether it be from a screw up or not, the boy would look him in the eye and say, “Yes coach!” Not once was there back talk. Not ONCE was there whining. When a player was pulled to make room for another after the game was safely put away and was told he’ll sit the bench the last plays of the game, the disappointment was there in his eyes but all he said was, “Yes coach!” That’s it. Cheering for each other and Yes coach. And believe me, I was listening closely. Mostly because I couldn’t believe my ears.
And it wasn’t just the boys. At one point, one of the players had, what seemed like, a colossal screwup. One coach started yelling and another hot stepped over to him and reminded him that this was player’s first year and they need to be patient when he doesn’t exactly remember where to be. Coach A instantly changed his tone and by the time the player came off the field, he was told what to do next time and given a ‘good effort’ pat from the coach. I almost teared up.
That folks, is a youth coach.
Cooper won. By a lot. Oz came out of the locker room later smiling. That’s what Mom wants to see. He said the post game talk revolved around holes that the game brought to light to and they’ll work on those holes through the season. Coach also said that their hard work during two a days paid off and to enjoy the weekend off. As for Oz, all he said was, “I had a blast and I need food right now, we need to go eat.” So pretty normal 15 year old.
But those Cooper boys, I’ll remember them for a while. I hope good things for them, in football and beyond. They have a good start anyways.
If you are not willing to learn, no one can help you. If you are determined to learn, no one can stop you.
When I was very young, probably around eight or nine years old, the Peterson’s packed up the family station wagon and headed west. Destination (the first one anyway): Seattle-ish. Honestly, it’s this trips fault why I love the PNW so very much.
Now, I will be the first to admit that large chunks of this trip is fuzzy. What I DO remember is that this was my first huge road trip and here’s how Lynda Peterson (mom) prepares her kids for a huge road trip…
Prizes. Yup, prizes. She bought various dollar items (or less), wrapped them up in real wrapping paper and put a post-it note on each one labeling when we could open them. For example, prize #1 can be opened when we leave Minnesota. Cool. My brother and I kept our eyes peeled for that “Welcome to South Dakota” sign the entire 3-4 hours it took to see it. Cross the border, open a prize. Now, we didn’t have a lot of money so prizes were never anything big. Animal Crackers; Car Bingo; Bubbles; a Comic Book or new Crayons,anything that’s fun. They didn’t always match either. Sometimes Jerry got something a little bit cooler and sometimes I did but it never mattered. We kept our eyes on the road, a map, and how big the next prize looked in Mom’s grocery bag (she’d pack up the daily prizes in a grocery bag and put it by her feet for the day. In hindsight, probably not the most comfy for her. Things mom’s do for kids.)
Sometimes prizes would be quick. For example, once into South Dakota the next prize would be when you saw the first WALL DRUG sign. Well, anyone who’s traveled I-90 knows it takes about 18 seconds to see the first WALL DRUG sign. Next prize! But then the following prize may not be for hours and hours and looking back, that was probably “you kids go to sleep and shut up for a while and give us peace” time because she always promised that if we went to sleep she’d wake us up if prize time got close. My mom was wicked smaat. (By the way, I should state for the record now that I can’t even remember if my little sister came on this trip. For some reason I don’t think she did, she would have been around 2 years old and I recall it being a big deal that we’d be away from her for so long but again, I could be completely wrong. It was 40 years ago, cut a girl some slack!)
Having run out of prizes, we knew we were “there.” We didn’t know what “there” meant but I remember having to head to a place near the water to catch a ferry (a Ferry, a real Ferry ride for an 8 year old is a pretty big deal) and then catch an old rickety school bus that rumbled along a road with many switch backs that was both terrifying and invigorating, to our final destination, Holden Village.
Holden Village is church camp. In paradise.
Woods. Mountains. The tallest trees I’d ever seen. The smell of campfire and goodness, everything perfect in the world all rolled up in one little mountainside retreat. And it got even better.
This particular week at Holden Village was ‘Lutheran Church of the Master’ week which meant so many of our favorite friends from home were there too. To this day, I get a kick out of traveling to places and running into people I know. To just be roaming down a street in Scotland and BOOM! there’s Merl Lawless and his lovely wife or Dawn Higgins’ daughter flying up a nearby stairwell or waiting at a stoplight near the Inverness Castle to cross the street and BOOM! there’s Terri and Larry Ventress in a car at the light, I love it!
One of the women from church (there were lots of non Church of the Master there too) was Phyllis Aho. She was shorter (okay, she was really short) and though not a huge person (short people got it tough YO!) she was solid and had ginormous boobs that 70’s bras made look like something Madonna wore 20 years later TRYING to give bulk to her boobs.) True story.
Anyways. Every morning, Phyllis seemed to be the first one awake in our cabin (the cabin’s were huge, probably more like a hotel but shared bathrooms. However, my brother and I had our own sink in our room we could use to wash up and brush our teeth, etc. To that point in my life, it was the most luxurious thing I had ever experienced.)
Back to the story, “early to rise Phyllis “would run up and down the hallway in her house coat, long black hair flying (boobs too) singing (more screaming) the Vacation Bible School song “Rise and Shine.” Once she started singing, you could hear my dad across the hall in their room laughing. (Pastor John has a very distinctive laugh. If you know him, you know it. That’s all I can say but to illustrate, when I was very young and wanted to find dad in a pot lucked crowded gymnasium filled with a couple of hundred people, all I had to do was stay still and wait for his laugh. BOOM! There it is and there HE was. True story.)
And those were our first moments every morning at Holden Village. A (what I would call her today) crazy woman with big boobs scream singing and my dad’s laugh. Is it no wonder the PNW has a piece of my heart?
Above is pretty much one of the most bizarre video’s I’ve seen in a while but it has Rise and Shine and the other version available was creepy kids lip syncing it. People fishing from clouds won out.
A very vivid memory was upon arrival to Holden Village. Having survived the bus ride, we unloaded and my dad disappeared for a bit, I assume to check us in or something. He came running back to the bus saying there’s a mountain hike leaving RIGHT NOW and he’s taking me and my brother leaving mom to unpack and get settled. We literally got off the bus and headed right into the woods. Look! I grew up in a northern suburb of Minneapolis, I didn’t even KNOW you could do such things as get off a bus and head into the mountains! And here we were, doing it!!
I don’t remember how many of us there were but there was another brother sister pair and we made friends. It was amazing. I also found a pretty fine walking stick that stayed with me for most of the trip until it disappeared. I assume my brother took it and hid it, big brothers are a pain in the ass sometimes. But he’s cool now so that’s nice.We hiked to a small mountain lake and I thought it was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen in my life. Clear and blue, surrounded by sounds of birds and leaves and far away streams and NOTHING ELSE! How could anywhere on earth be as peaceful as this? (I still think that when I’m there.)
True story.
Holden Village is still there. Today at least. They are right in the middle of the Wolverine fire and it’s closing in. They have been working with crews for weeks trying to protect it but it’s hot and it’s dry and each passing day brings flames closer and closer. Will it make it? I don’t know. I hope so but these fires are spreading devastation over almost 58 square miles and this is just one fire out of many. If it makes it, does that mean God saved it? If it doesn’t, does that mean it’s just “part of his plan”? Dunno. Things people say to make their present predicament livable are of no interest to me.
All I know is that this place is very special. The trip instilled a love for this land in my heart that, when coupled with all the amazing people we now know out there, makes me believe it’s just a matter of time before a move would be made (or at least an extended stay.) So if you feel led to send some good energy the way of Holden Village and Lake Chelan residents, I’m sure they’ll take it. And I appreciate it.
OH! When we left, I was very sad. We got off the ferry and packed up our waiting station wagon and headed out. Along the way, my dad noticed some Peach trees and pulled over. We loaded up one of mom’s empty grocery bags that once held our prizes with Peaches stolen from someone’s orchard. Mom was screaming at dad that this was ‘NOT COOL JOHN!’ and my brother and I thought it was actually very cool. Heh.
Happy Friday. Enjoy the weekend.
I went on a road trip with my cat, Cap’n. I would have let him drive, but he was drunk.
tosabarbell 