Notes from the Red Bird House

Tomorrow, in the World Cup, Mexico plays Sweden in one of the last matches to decide who moves out of the group stage (I still haven't mastered the lingo). Mexico is more or less in - I don't think even a loss can impede their progress into the next phase of the tournament. Sweden, though, is, as we say in American sports, 'on the bubble'. A win gives them a chance, but a loss has them on a plane back to Stockholm. Who cares, you ask? I do. And so does my friend, Manny. You see, he has Mexican heritage and, with the US not participating, Mexico is his team. And well, me... For reasons more or less inexplicable to the majority of people, myself included, I'm all about Sweden. I am zero-point-zero percent Swedish, but as I've said many, many times before, Sweden is my place. It only makes sense that I'd root for them in the World Cup. When the schedule first came out a couple weeks ago, Manny and I realized that our teams were in the same group and would eve

"I ran nine miles this morning. I can have a banana nut muffin." I surely didn't expect the incredulous looks I got from the baristas behind the counter at Lola's (short-hand for Lola Savannah Coffee Lounge, 3001 Ranch Road South, Austin, Texas, 78734). They know me. They know I run. And write. And drink coffee (but never Java Estate). They also know that I eat the occasional 'life changing chocolate chip cookie' or, like today, a banana nut muffin. Maybe it was the early hour that surprised them. After all, it's not yet 0900 and I'm in my office AND I've run arguably farther than either of them have probably ever run. I did explain that I started in the 5 o'clock hour, not because I'm some gung-ho-can't-wait-a-minute-longer-into-the-day-to-run kind of runner (I wish...), but because it'd be too monstrously hot later in the day. For me, it's O-Dark-30 or it's nothing. I hoped that a miracle might have happened in the five

It's early on a Thursday morning. To my far right I can see a friend's deck, dock, and Lake LBJ beyond. To my slight right, I can see my phone propped up on a wine bottle and a World Cup match between Denmark and Australia. The volume is down because I don't want to wake the three other women who are still sleeping. I figured I'd put in a little work before the day gets rolling and let the soccer game run in the background, I'm uncharacteristically a lot of things right now. For one, I'm on a girls' midweek weekend break with members of my tennis team, i.e. I've stepped away from my routine and I'm being social. For two, I'm watching soccer, i.e a sport that traditionally competes with curling as my least favorite. For three (perhaps related to #1), I skipped my workout this morning in favor of coffee, work, and soccer . I can easily rationalize my odd behavior on two of the three points above. Arguably, the day is still young and if it's n

Things in life don't always go according to plan. It's not that I'm a negativist - I truly see the glass as half full - but there are these things called "variables". Some we can control and others, well... they have a mind of their own. Even those we think we've got a handle on, occasionally let us know that our grasp is illusory at best. The human body is a great example. We can do everything as right as we can - get rest, eat right, drink right, exercise regularly - but it can still let us down when we least expect it. And when we least want it to. Suffice it to say that my weekend didn't go exactly to plan. And, in all honesty, I'm as much to blame as my body. No, I didn't get drunk at my book signing Friday night and spend all day yesterday hungover. Though I probably should have for as shitty as I felt. I hadn't had a migraine - like a real, nausea inducing, puke up everything including Pedialyte, feel like death migraine - in four mayb

"Sometimes I wish I was normal...but then I'd actually have to BE normal...and that would never do." I posted that as a Facebook status update this afternoon. I'd just walked from Lola Savannah Coffee Lounge to The Grove Wine Bar and Restaurant to use the restroom. It's not like it was a long trip - the two establishments are actually two halves of one whole and are linked by a long bar with an excellent view of the Texas Hill Country. Several couples were enjoying a late lunch and bottle of wine at the bar. And seemingly enjoying each other's company while wiling away the afternoon. I was making my way through as quickly as I could. I needed to get back to work. Or so I tell myself. Because let's be honest, I rarely get a Saturday off and I could have done something different - met up with friends, done a little day-drinking, maybe caught a movie, talked a friend into taking her boat out. I didn't need to work to get work done; everything I

It might be best to remember that everything that follows - every word, phrase, idea, sentence, paragraph - is nothing more than wishful thinking, educated guessing, and hefty dose of rationalization. I do so love a good rationalization. That'll become grossly apparent here in a little bit. This particular one isn't quite as dangerous as rationalizing that even though your parachute packer hates your guts, he's still a professional and won't do anything to jeopardize his reputation...but it could be close. Truth is we won't know until late October, around noon Reykjavik Iceland time on October 28, 2018, to be exact. Hopefully, it'll be noon. Too much earlier and we will know that all the wishful thinking, educated guessing, and rationalizing were for absolutely nothing. We'll also know that I should never, ever, ever again commit to a fall half marathon. While living (and summering) in Central Texas. I'm going on a run-cation to Iceland in October. Log

When I was in Las Vegas last month, I often ate meals with my dad at his assisted living facility. We'd go down to the dining room about fifteen minutes before they'd start serving and Dad would wheel himself up to a table. I'd take a chair next to him. Then, even though he's capable and does it when I'm not there, I'd go to the salad bar and get him his fruit (He loves the fresh melon and pineapple they serve at every meal). About then, if he wasn't there waiting for us, my dad's friend, Ed, who happens to be blind, would join us. Throughout the meal, I'd help both Ed and my dad with whatever they needed. Most of the servers knew Ed's routine and where to set things  so he could easily find them, but occasionally we'd get a new person who didn't seem to understand what a sightless person needs. I'd wave them off and get his drinks (coffee with one sugar and a small glass of milk) situated. When our meals arrived, I'd butter bread

Right now, as I write this, I'm practicing self-care. It's a bit of therapy. Writing always has been. I started blogging more than a decade ago to vent about a crappy break up. Admittedly, it probably wasn't the best outlet for my anger and disillusionment given it did all go "public" but it got me to where I am today. Since then, I've stopped venting (for the most part), but writing is still therapy and I expect it always will be. This is normally my morning workout time. Normally . Today, I'm writing instead. Not because these words seemed more important than an hour on my Spin bike, nor because I'm lazy and wanted to sleep in. Nope, I'm writing to maintain some semblance of sanity, to distract me from the thoughts that invariably haunt me on mornings such as these. You see, when I hopped out of bed shortly after just one snooze of my alarm clock, I made the command decision that I needed an off day. Not a "day off" (though I could de