Breaking the Code

Starbucks and I have a unique relationship.

IN THE BEGINNING

For years I've managed to pretend they didn't exist and they were fine with that. I'm only an occasional coffee drinker these days. If I drink six cups of coffee a week it would surprise me, and it's always decaf.

My aversion to Starbucks, at first, had to do with price. $5 for a cup of coffee . . . really? (I'm about to show my age here, but it had to happen sooner or later.) I waited tables off and on for most of my twenties and I still remember selling a cup of coffee for forty nine cents. Even today, I can go to a dozen places and get free refills for hours (and tons of cream) for less than $2. And I never cared for those fancy coffees. Just give me a plain old coffee with something to make it sweet and some cream-like substance.

The few times I did grace the doorway of a Starbucks it was usually with co-workers. I found the menu so confusing that I usually just ordered whatever the last person had. As I've aged I've come to appreciate tastes more, the small nuances of roasted bean, the weight, the acidity.

THE MIDDLE

My friend, Charlene, took me to Starbucks a few months back and ordered me a carmel coffee drink that was OUT OF THIS world. I didn't begrudge paying $5 for it at all. The place was empty, so I didn't feel rushed or pressured. But as I've become more conscious of each calorie I consume, I've come to realize that what tasted like heaven was actually a concoction from hell. And while I enjoyed it very much - bad things always taste good - I also realized that the hidden nuances of the coffee were good on their own. So I've made a few additional trips to Starbucks over the last few months. Alone. By my self.

THE END

The first time I pulled up to the driveway - thinking, for some reason, that it would be less embarrassing to talk to a microphone than to a real person - I was once again overwhelmed by their menu.

Nothing was as it should be. There are no small, medium, or large. You can order a Short, Tall, Grande, or Venti. Then there are words like; Mocha, Latte, Machiato, Con Panna, Americano, Cappucino, Frapachino, etc. There are options on flavors - vanilla, carmel, cinnamon, dolce, and so on -, options on milk - non-fat, 2%, whole, soy -, and almost everything can come cold, as well as hot, and it doesn't always say.

No where on the damn menu does it actually say, "Coffee" or "Decaf".

After making the poor girl wait for several minutes while I wildly searched for 'coffee', I finally just told her what I really wanted.

"I just want a cup of decaf with some soy milk and artificial sweetener in it."

She gave me a drink I really enjoyed, that cost me $5. I went back a week later and said the same thing, only this time I left with an iced version that I didn't like nearly as much. And it still cost me $5 - which is a lot of money if you don't like what you leave with.

After discussing my failed attempt to remember what the girl had given me the first time, Steve reminded me it was a Latte.

So, tonight I drove up and ordered a "Grande Decaf Latte with Soy and two NutraSweets." I got what I wanted and enjoyed ever sip of it.

If you're having trouble cracking Starbucks code, you might want to check out this website I found after I figured out what I wanted: http://www.quicksilverweb.net/sbucks/sbcharts.htm

A Mix What?

I've always loved music of all kinds. In fact, it's probably easier to say what I don't like than what I do. I don't care for hard-core rapping, heavy metal, or techno. Last month, Steve installed a new stereo in my SUV and I've spent a lot of time listing to a CD the girls burned for me five or six years ago. I have truly enjoyed the mix of light rap, country, alternative, and blues.

(Naturally, Steve hates it. Every time he gets in the vehicle and it's playing he makes a noise like it's literally hurting his ears and quickly turns it off.)

The last couple of days I've come to appreciate the time put into creating the CD; picking out the songs, the variety of genres included, the order of assembly, and the cost and time to burn it. It's even clearly marked, "Mom's Mix CD." All of which make it even more special when I listen to it.

Someone going to so much trouble for me reminded me of my first steady boy friend, from my teens - and yes, I can remember that far back. He use to make me mix cassette tapes that included all of our favorite songs, or songs that 'said' something to one of the other of us.

So in my youth I received mix tapes. In my daughter's youth they received mix CDs. What will my son, Will, put together for his girlfriend in another ten years? A mix download for her cell phone? A mix DVD of photos/videos put to music?

A mix . . . what?

The Other Side

I went to a swimming party with a friend today and it was an eye opening experience. The party was held at an apartment swimming pool, and hosted by a 44 year old friend of my friends. A single woman.

There ended up being seven women and one man that attended. One woman looked to be in her late 30s, one was most likely in her early sixties, and the rest of us ranged between 44-54. The man appeared to be in his mid-fifties. Everyone, with the exception of the sixty year old, was overweight and flabby.

Other than my friend and myself, they were all single. I think everyone there had been married at least once.

So there we were in all of our bathing suit glory - which wasn't very glorified. We ended up next to the area of the pool that hosted the volley ball match. A group of about fifteen young men - all under 25 - played ball the entire time we were there. And the entire time, all the women at our party drooled over them.

I have trouble drooling over anything young enough to be my own child, so I was more than a little freaked out about this. And as I listed to the conversation among our group, I became more freaked out.

This group gets together at a different swimming pool every two weeks all summer long and has parties. They were all desperately seeking someone. In fact, one woman had to leave early for a first-date with someone she met online - something she's been doing a lot of according to the rest of the women.

Everyone drink too much, tried too hard, laughed too much - often at nothing.

The longer I was there, the more desperate and sad they all seemed. And I think the thing that bothered me most is the knowledge that in their shoes, I wouldn't even be as well off as they are. At least they have each other to hang out with a couple of times a month. At least they still get out of their house and interact with others - even if they are young enough to be their children. At least they are still trying.

I've often heard how hard it becomes to find someone to spend your life with after you hit your forties. The people I met today showed me a side of that difficulty I never thought about; the isolation.

I can't say I had a bad time. The company made me feel good in my bathing suit. I got to listen to some really old music. I watched a 55 year old woman give a 22 year old guy a boobie-shot. I had free alcohol and snacks.

It wasn't the best time I've ever had, nor the worse.

What it was, was a look at life on the other side of the coin. I was really glad to get home to husband, every mature inch of him.

Shed Those Clothes

Spending the better part of five days in a car will leave you lots of time to think . . . about everything. And once you've thought about all the normal stuff, your mind really begins to wonder.

Today I found myself embedded deeply in thought solely from a verse in a song on the radio. Oddly, I don't even recall the song, artist, or the exact lyrics that started my little thought process. It was about a woman being hurt in a relationship and then being afraid to love again.

My initial thought was, "Who hasn't?" (Keep in mind, this isn't my third marriage because it's my lucky number.)

Then I started thinking about how differently we love the first time we commit. How freely we give of ourselves before we realize we can, and probably will be, hurt. In truth, it's like we're standing there naked and vulnerable; offering all. Expecting all in return.

And each time we try again, we are a little less open. A little less naked and vulnerable. A little more clothed.

I know for a fact that even with my husband of fourteen years I am not as open or free with my emotions as I was the first time I ever fell in love. I don't know that I can be. Too much experience, too many walls.

As the thought developed, I realized that actually it's not just in love that we don protective gear. It's in all relationships we have; with our children, our co-workers, friends, siblings, parents, etc. In a sense, we are truly born naked and open and gear ourselves more and more as we grow and experience life.

It's natural.

It's also sad. Yes, we are more protected. Yes, we are less likely to get hurt. But what about that unbridled passion of giving your all? How long has it been since you felt that . . . offered that?

So I challenge you to join me. Pick a day, a 24-hour period, and strip. Shed those clothes, those layers.

• Forget every bad thing your co-worker ever said about you.
  
• Overlook every slight from your neighbor.
  
• Pretend your siblings were never mean.
  
• Erase all ill feelings toward your boss, or your job.
  
• Image this is your first date, ever.
  
• Act as if you've never been hurt.
  
• Pretend your perfect.

For one day, smile and be happy. Look forward to everything you do. Tease. Flirt. Share unconditional love and support. Enthusiastically great each adventure, each person.

Join me for one day of skinny dipping.

The Trip

As you can see, I made it safely to CO to spend time with Bonnet and my new grand daughter, B'ella. I also made it safely home.

I owe the success of the trip to my friend, Bill. He is the person that suggested I drink Monster energy drinks to keep me awake during the long days of driving. Prior to this trip, I have never been able to drive longer than 2-3 hours without falling asleep at the wheel. I had no such issues the entire trip there or back. In fact, I was wide awake and everything was extremely clear and vivid.

How liberating.

For the first time in my life, I can truly look forward to taking road trips anywhere I want to go -- given enough funds for gas and hotel rooms. (All the more reason to look for a job when Will goes to school next month.)

The trip was amazing. My nine days with Bonnet and B'ella were priceless. I remember my mother telling me when Bonnet was born that she had no idea she would love a grandchild (on sight) as much as a child she had carried for nine months. I now know exactly what she was talking about.

The opportunity to see Bonnet as a mother brought tears to my eyes. Her obvious love and devotion for B'ella -- precious. I wanted to just wrap them both in my arms and protect them from growing-up and learning to raise a child -- neither of which can be done without mistakes and a few hard knocks.

I'm so glad I made the trip. So glad I had the time with my girls. I'm even glad I took Will along and that we spent some time sight seeing on the return trip.

All I have to say in closing is that none of you are safe. I have wheels (and monsters) and I know how to use them.

Changes

I've always been a person that doesn't handle change well. I like living in my routine and slowing graduating to new phases of life. In my experience, giant changes proceed difficult times. Lost job, new baby, moving into a new house, adjusting to marriage. Not that all of those things are bad, just difficult.

In fact, most 'major changes' take the average person six months to adjust to. During that time they are more emotional, stressed, and prone to physical ailments. If you are more prone to stress or depression than normal, they are harder than that to bounce back from.

I remember the first time I flew on a plane. I was 34, on my way up the corporate ladder. I was flown to CO for a weeks worth of classes. I cried when the plane took off, scared of facing this new experience on my own. Afraid of being away from my family and home. (And, I'm afraid of heights - that didn't help.) Each additional time I've flown since has become easier. No poor stranger has had to hold my hand on takeoff since the first time.

Now I'm facing another first. Another change. And it's scary too, thought mentally I realize it shouldn't be. I'm going on my first cross-country trip alone. I've driven to Tyler, to Midland, to Ft. Worth by myself. I've never driven out of Texas on my own. Will and I are leaving Thursday morning and hope to be in CO by Friday evening.

Sure, this sounds like a totally doable thing to most people. My issue is that I seriously can't drive for more than 2-3 hours max at a time, then I start falling asleep. So, my plan is to drive until I need to stop and . . . well, stop. Oddly, it's not the thought of the driving that's bothering me. Yes, it will take me much longer than it should. But I'll have Will with me and I don't expect he'll be griping about lots of pit stops.

What's bothering me is that I've never done it before. I've never driven across states on my own. Never had to find and check into a hotel by myself. Never had to worry about how far to the next gas station or if I'd make it to another town before dark - cause believe me, no one wants me on the highway after dark.

While sharing this irrational fear with a friend over coffee tonight, Latisha said that doing 'new' things actually becomes harder to adjust to as we get older. When young, everything is new. As we get older, there are less new things to do and when we stumble across one, it rocks our world.

At least in my case, I think she's right.

So if you have any good secrets for staying awake on trips, or ideas of good stopping places on the trip to CO, be sure to share.

Oh, and here is the reason for my trip; Briella (B'ella) Riddles. Born today around 3:00 p.m. At birth, she was 7.3 pounds and 18-3/4 inches long. Not a great photo, but the first one her Grammy got to see.

Crazy Uncle Steve

My sister, Byjo, and her two children showed up for a visit yesterday. They are going to be spending a few days with us and we're very excited.

Byjo has two children, Payton who is seven and Sam who is five. Sam is actually only three weeks older than Will.

Jody, Byjo's husband, gets along well with Steve and we use to really enjoy seeing the entire family on a more regular biases.

An hour or so after Steve got home last night, Sam walks up to him and asks him a question. To be honest, I never found out what the question was because the very calm way he addresses Steve (and what he called him) was so funny.

"Hu, Crazy Uncle Steve, can . . . "

Hum, wonder where he got the idea that was Steve's official name? Gotta watch how you refer to people in your children's hearing or they will tell on you every time.