All the fun

The weekend might have been all of the most fun things: ending the work week with boxing at Cappy's, enjoying a sampling of fresh hop brews at Chuck's Hop shop and trying a meatloaf sandwich for the first time at a new food truck, beverages at Hale Brewery after picking Lara up from her Friday night class, running by the airport my dear friend and lovely wifey Louise, enjoying more tasty beverages, rewatching our favorite segment of Drunk History about scientist Percy Julian, organizing an early morning derby scrimmage, coaching a new skate making progress, having our toes nails painted at Happy Nails in bright fall colors, buying cards and coasters at the new fair trade dirty hippie boutique "why would anyone shop here", sharing bites from three delicious cupcakes from Cupcake Royale, wedding adventures for Louise in Everett, off to Chuck's Greenwood for growler fills, party hats, birthday hats, baby cupcakes, amazing smorgasbord of gifts beers, a very surprised Julie at her surprise 40th birthday party, intensely interesting conversations, late night snacking to close the party down, singing happy birthday to Gary too, 2 a.m. bedtimes with no alarms set, long morning lines for delicious French pastries, leisurely walks with intense probably solving conversations in Discovery Park overlooking a most dazzling Puget Sound, grocery store snacks, 20 minute power naps curled up on the futon, meet friends at a local pub for delicious burgers and Elysian's yummy, yummy Space Dust, early bedtimes, early morning runs to start the Monday off right, Serious Biscuits for breakfast, and many, many hugs.  All the love.  So much fun.
 

 

Forty

Last night we welcomed Julie in to the 40's club with a surprise party that she was in no way expecting.  It was really just the most appropriate people and the right amount of delicious and unique beers. It was just the right amount of surprise - total surprise.  Her friends were astonished that they pulled it off. The dregs of party carried on into the wee hours of the morning.  Welcome to your 40s.  It's going to be an awesome trip.  You are going to be so loved.

Weedy came in from Boston just for the weekend to go to her friends and former teammate's wedding.  She had a great time and fulfilled her role as the "all night dancer" and connecting with people she hasn't seen for a long time and making new friends - which weddings are great at facilitating.   

Andrew came out to Julie's party, laughing and making jokes, enjoying the evening party in the safety of friends who know and love, at least once stepping away to be sad.  Andrew ushered in his 40th birthday two weeks away.  Two weeks ago his husband and partner of 10 years died. The night of his birthday celebration - also filled with just the right people and fantastic brews, Jim died.  There was a moment at Julie's party when Lara looked at me with a tear in the corner of her eye -  knowing that Andrew was loved and would be ok.  Not today or tomorrow but that he would eventually.

Boobs!

Yesterday was my first "boob smash" aka mammogram.  On a run a few weeks ago, Char Char told me the story of a friend whose kids go to the same school as Daniel (is there a shorter way to say that?), she had been diagnosed with breast cancer.  She ran into the dad, "James, how was your summer" and he relied "haven't you heard?"  She had breast cancer.  She was going to be ok.  She was going to survive but they had three kids and it was terrifying to imagine not being there for them.  So I told her I would schedule one.  And I did - for right after the Legal Voice Auction.

My mother was diagnosed with breast cancer just before I left for the Peace Corps.  I told the Peace Corps about it and they offered to move me to a site not that far away.  But I wanted to go to Cote d'Ivoire because I knew my mother would be Ok.  She had caught it very early.  She had access to great care.  And let's be honest, after all that she has been though concerning her health, cancer was not going to take her away.  It didn't stand a chance.  My mother's will power was too strong.  

However, her will power doesn't translate in to my not getting it.  Though she isn't a carrier of BRCA1 or BRCA2, there is no reason not to get a mammogram.  My insurance covers it.  My age demands it of me.  And I love and respect my body enough to do it.

Besterns!

For the Facebook phenomenon of Throwback Thursday (#TBT), a retired skater friend of mine posted a photo from Western Regionals in 2010.  This was a time when almost all of the leagues were in the United States and the country was divided in to "Regions".  It started as Eastern and Western, and then grew to North Center, South Central, Eastern and Western. Now we have division and international leagues from all over the world. The London team is one to beckoned with in Division 1.  Other European teams and Australian teams are up and coming. The first South African team was accepted into the apprentice program and the Cairo team continues to skate even with civil unrest chasing them from practice spaces.

Four years ago today, we headed to our first high level championship.  We came in as the underdog and pretty much got our butts kicked.  We played the Rocky Mountain Rollergirls and Denver Rollergirls, two teams, that continue to this day, to dominate the game.  We received a letter from the Denver coach complementing us on our game play, our drive but most of all our heart - never giving up - playing classy -  even when we were being pummeled.  It was a rude awakening.  It was an amazing experience.  I wouldn't have it any other way.

It was also the weekend where I would fly from the tournament in Sacramento to Seattle (and back again) to organize the production of the Legal Voice Auction.  I would fly back after playing two tough games on Friday.  I would fly back after busting my ACL in the last 5 minutes of the last game of the night.  I would sit on the floor and sob big fat tears because I knew I was so very injured and there were so many exciting things coming down the pipeline.

And I wouldn't change it for the world.

photo by Donalee Eiri

Creating a space...

You see them all over the internet all of the time. Google the words "30 day"... plank challenge, ab challenge, bike to work challenge, shred, squats, sober, coffee free, refined sugar free, and on and on. Thirty days.  One solid month whose name occupies the line on the checkbook, the auto fill in Word, the mm in the mm-dd-yyyy.  Only thirty days. So I signed up for Hugo House 30 Minutes a Day Writing Challenge. Just 30 minutes. Each day.

I can do a lot of things for 30 minutes.  We call can.  It's not impossible. And that's the point.  It's to get you back into the habit of making time and space for your writing. For saying "this is my time to create".  And not doing anything else in that space and time.  These are the things I am not doing right now:

• washing the 37 dishes I used to make a very delicious dinner 
• getting our apartment tidied up my wifey's weekend visit
• painting in my "art journal" - which I'm learning about from my friend Connie's Dirty Footprint Studio
• perusing Facebook
• dusting off my Twitter
• finishing up Gulp by Mary Roach

If you read about any successful writer it's because they write daily.  Just like athletes, you have to train daily, read good books, practice writing engaging sentences and weaving together stories, introducing yourself to characters that may challenge you daily, stretching your tight little vocabulary in a robust beast worth flaunting, making a space in your clutter home, your distracted head and busy life for all of this.

Making a space, like this.

Words, words, words

I've never been a good speller.  This blog is riddled with typos.  My honors thesis in college was excellent but had a gazillion typos.  Same with poetry from high school and likely essays in middle school.  My written French was actually pretty good.  I'm not sure why.  I'm not sure why I've always had such bad spelling.  Poupee, my Peace Corps site partner who was like a sister I never had - both good  and bad - was perplexed by this.  I was smart, quick, witty, but a horrible speller.  She concluded after two years together it was because I don't slow down.  I will often ask Lara to help me spell a word while I'm trying to spell it out.  And 9 of 10 times I get it on my own if I just slow down.  I move through life so quickly, trying to cram so much into each moment, millisecond,  that I don't take the time to read what I've written. Correct my mistakes. Spell correctly.  

But I care about words.  I do!  I don't want them to be spelled incorrectly.  I don't want to appear ignorant. And I've leaned, like running and playing rollerderby, you need to practice writing and exercise those muscles to keep them in shape.  You need to read to learn new words, to be articulate, to see new combinations.  Words.

I became a playwright because I didn't care about certain details.  I didn't care what color chair Melanie sat in or what she was wearing.  I cared about what she was saying and who she was saying it to - what she wanted out of the exchange.  I cared mostly about dialogue or lack of dialogue.  I wanted to capture that collective sigh or gasp when something is revealed to an audience.  I care a lot about words and images and people.  

One of my goals this year is to slow down and try to respect words a little bit more and spell them correctly.  And read more. And write too.  I'm trying to have a better relationship with words.  We'll see how it goes.

The Dirty Hippie I always wanted to be...

I am not one to post my "gratitude" online or in a blog.  I am often very grateful and feel very fortunate for what I have and the life I'm living.  Every birthday, I am grateful to have made it to that age.  I survived mental illness that usually plague young 20 year olds. Hell, I survived childhood and all of the crazy things we did like rafting in flooded streams.   I haven't gotten cancer (yet) and I'm not taking a single prescription drug.  Not one.  I have roof over my head.  I have enough food in my fridge and I feel loved. It's not perfect and there is definitely room for improvement but it's a fantastic place to be.  And I know how fortunate I am.

Last night while cooking, after having put away all of our groceries from Sunday shopping, I realized I've become the dirty hippie I've always wanted to be.  A bright modern kitchen, with matching appliances, organized spices and clearly labeled, packaged things never appeal to me.  I have a bright kitchen but my spices are bought in bulk, refilling glasses containers, sometimes with their name on them and sometime indicated by a rubber band or just a hunch.  We gave many have different oils and vinegars - and even our own homemade apple cider vinegar. Some very well known products like Hersey's coco powder and Morton's salt take up real estate as do obscure baggies tied closed with twist ties with illegible numbers or words scratched on them.  There is organic, ground peanut butter, local and exotic honeys, generic store brand cooking spray, shade grown coffee next to end of season sale Starbucks.  A pestle and mortar that is begging to be used.

The tiny bit of chaos that creates and flavors all of the homemade (following a recipe) meals in this house make me so happy. It's the person I wanted to be growing up.  A little bit salt of the earth.  Very environmentally aware, deliberate and conscious.  And I love it.

Next Steps

The dust has barely settled from an exciting, exhausting long weekend in Milwaukee but I'm excited to be heading back to the trails - running with the High Heel Running Group.

I started running as part of my ACL recovery. I had actually started running before in early morning Chris Kirchoff's Early Morning Boot Camp but it always hurt my back and heels.  I was misdiagnosed with plantar fasciitis and it wasn't until I was in physical therapy that my therapist said that my problem was that I was a heel pounder - which is why my back and heels hurt so much.  Fixing my running became yet another issue that PT fixed - that tearing my ACL taught me. (It really was a blessing in disguise.)

I enjoy trail running for many of the same reasons I love derby.  Great camaraderie with a group of gals who all have different running experiences.  Some of them have been running their wholes lives and some just picked it up.  Even when you run the races, the terrain is a great equalizer - much like the wheels on your roller skates.   It's not a team sport but still has a great, supportive atmosphere.  It's also still very DYI.  There aren't big bank race sponsors with VIP tents and swag bags touting the latest race, headband, gear, running shoes.  There aren't thousands of people pounding the trails. Often its a race director that has a vision or an idea of a great run - maybe a run he or she does often on their own and they want to share the challenge.  You make the sandwiches you're going to eat at rest station. You run one race and volunteer the next. 

You race up the hill like a bunny, in the woods on a snowy day where you're sure that unicorns or gnomes will appear around the corner.  It's pretty magical.  And it's time to get back on the trails.  I'm starting back at 3 miles... Oof. I have a long way to go.

The Oatmeal - if he had to put a running sticker on his car - it would be this one.  If I put a race sticker on my car, it would be this one as well.

Starting here.

Bombers won the WFTDA Division 2 Championship!  And we brought home a medal that somehow validated all the work we've done since 2007 - and in WFTDA since 2009.  Sometimes our setbacks were within our control and sometimes they not.  But all the hard work paid off.  All of it.  And we won by one point.  And we won all of it.

It snowed on us in Milwaukee.  It was like the Midwest's way of saying "Welcome home Michelle! We miss you."  It's like putting on a forgotten, comfortable jacket in the back of the closet.  It miraculously fits perfectly and there's even a five dollar bill in the pocket, a pin from a rollerderby team you saw play in 2009 and an old lipstick..  

Tonight's practice was fun league scrimmage, blue v. white.  I went to the penalty box like I owned the seat and didn't want anyone else to sit in it.  I was also the most relaxed I've been in probably three month and just enjoyed scrimmage.  However, since rupturing my bursa sac in my right knee about 4 weeks ago (lots of swelling, need for acupuncture, compression socks and the like) I have developed an odd relationship with my body.  I absolutely don't trust my right side.  My habit of falling on my right knee - Zombie knee - since coming back from my broken right ankle has been exhausting, frustrating and now, this third injury, distrustful. It's done some interesting things for my waterfalling (recycling to the front of the pack of skaters), it's been great for my jumping even.  It's made me fearful.  Not of falling down again.  But of my body failing to do what I asked of it.  We don't trust each other right now.   It's a weird spot to be in and it's even more strange to know you're there.

Snowpocalypse Now

The Snowpocalypse is the record amount of snow we may or may not get as predicted by meteorologist all from every news source, including the cable news, weather blogs and NOAA.   This usually happens at least once a year.  The dire prediction starts out with record something - wind, rain, snow-turning-into-rain-into-ice, snow, wind.  Classes get canceled.  People are required to chain up or avoid the mountain passes all together.  Seattleites and Western Washingtonians race to grocery stores to stock up on food, water, booze and fuel. Within hours of the initial announcement of the doom, the forecast is "adjust" and it's not 24 inches of snow anymore but 18" - still scary - still going to turn Denny into a bobsled chute - still going to close Queen Anne Hill.  People are still going to attempt to drive up these hills and come crashing down.  Every single year.  Twelve hours after the first alarm is sounded, the forecast has been reduced even more still.  Now you might have snow.  You may not.  You maybe be asked to stay off the roads - you may be given the go-ahead.

It wears you out.

The whole day my office anxiously anticipated the snowflakes.  I mean who doesn't want a day at home from work (like school!)  Who doesn't want to hang out in their house and "work" - while in sweat pants and a kitty on your lap?  So a flake would fall.  We would get all excited - this would lead to other exciting conversation.  Then the snow would stop.  Then we would be disappointed.  This cycle of expectations would go on and on.  Wash.  Rinse.  Repeat.  Snowflake.  Will there be more?  Should we head to the bus?  Oh the sun came out. 

I finally decided shortly after lunch that for my sanity and the sanity of my other coworkers I would find a very special Zen place and re-the-fucking-lax about the snow.  It wasn't happening - at least not in Seattle.  And even if it did happen, there wouldn't be enough snow for me NOT to go to work.  And you know, as soon as I went there - I stopped worrying about it and actually had a very productive and nice rest of the day. 

I would still love to wake up to SNOWPOCALYPSE.  But I'm not holding my breath (though my fingers are still crossed.)

My comeback at the start of Season Five...

"You are absolutely brilliant! I am in awe of your prowess and I'm so glad to see you back at better than 100%" one of my teammates texted me at the end of Jet City Rollergirls Season 5 opener this weekend.   I was thrilled by my performance in my first regular season bout since 2010.  Though I had been back form my ACL injury for 6 months, I was missing my confidence and strength. My decision to not skate for the travel team at this time (due to work) gave me another opportunity to just focus on my recovery.  I had so much to prove this weekend - to myself.  And to my team.  2011 was not my ending - was not the one I had scripted for myself.  I learned an incredible amount watching from the sidelines and I was out to prove that I was still a force to be reckoned with.  

The starts of Season 5 was much like the start of every other season.  There were a few missteps in getting things rolling as we tried to remember how things were done the year before when we rolled up the floor for the last time in June.  While volunteers and skaters busied themselves getting the floor set up, I hung up sponsor posters, set up tables, helped Ivana with ticketing.   Just as we were finishing laying out the floor, the cold rain that had accompanied us up to Everett turned to fat snowflakes blanketing just about everyone and everything.  Then doubt started sinking in.  We were there.  We would make sure derby happened but would our fans come?  Would we filled the seats?  Would we kick of Season 5 with as much energy and enthusiasm as we did with Season 4?  In the snow novice Pacific Northwest, weather like this creates panic.  We texted; we Facebooked; we let everyone know that we would be there to skate and they should join us.

And they did!  We had a great crowd for our two bouts which were absolute nailbiters!  The Pistols and Harem bout came down to the wire as did the Carnie and Hula bout.  A local derby writer, who has seen more bouts than just about anyone I can think of, said these may have been his favorite bouts ever.   It was "epic" - truly.  The Carnies were down by a few points at the half and dipped down to a twenty point deficit.  The time outs were called at the right times.  We kept a cool bench for the most part.  At half time we made some changes.  What we needed to do to break up their walls and force on offense.  (I had mostly jammed to this point and would throughout the second half.  And though I wasn't always lead jammer - I always got out of the pack (thanks blockers) and was able to force the jammer to call it off.  And in spite of my injury, I was able to retain my characteristic stable jamming - I just didn't get knocked down that often.  I managed to pull off an amazing whip off our smallest blocker and sailed through on one foot.  It was awesome.)

At one point, Audrey threw away the line ups and made up two killer lineups that pulled us into the lead - barely.  But when it came down to the last jam we were in a bind that we hadn't been in a long time - we had only two skaters on the track - the jammer and one blocker.  Three blockers in the box - with one coming.  A gaggle of small errors lead us to this point and our goose was cooked as our jammer went to the box doing her best to stop the opposing jammer.  I lost my cool for a minute - I forgot how much I hated to lose - especially after working this hard as a team.  And though it stung - it wasn't as bad as it was in years past.  We were in a positive place. Our mistakes were recognizable.  We were close and cohesive.  The crazy chair was minimally occupied.  I got mad.  Got over it and skated our high-fives.  It felt so incredible to be back.

*punk rocker snowman with snow bunny in my neighborhood.  He is what greeted us when we aborted our plans to go to Columbia City for brunch with Arson.  We settled for yummy breakfast on Phinney with punk rockers.

.

Rawr!

Pow!  2012 has come in like the roaring dragon that it promises to be this Chinese New Year.  Earlier this week Governor Gregoire announced her support for marriage equality and today there was a press conference were a handful of representatives and other community members announce the Reproductive Parity Act and their support for it.  Many months at the end of 2011 were spent building up to these moments.  It's exciting, exilerating and completely exhausting.  And this is only week one.
 
(Picture of the full moon tonight - like a little present for getting through the week.)

Believing again and again...

Tonight's scrimmage was not the Carnies' most shining moment.  It wasn't the worst we've been either - not by a long shot.  We all left the floor still liking each other, not nearly frustrated enough but a little bit clueless about what to do.  It was also the first time we had all been together since break.  I raced home to find this quote and repost it to my team - because I believe it.  Because I believe if you try hard enough, with the right spirit and strength - you can not lose.

"In the end, it's extra effort that separates a winner from second place. But winning takes a lot more that that, too. It starts with complete command of the fundamentals. Then it takes desire, determination, discipline, and self-sacrifice. And finally, it takes a great deal of love, fairness and respect for your fellow man. Put all these together, and even if you don't win, how can you lose?"- Jesse Owens

I play for the the league's least winning team.  I play but I keep coming back. I keep coming back because in spite of the crazy, the frustration, the losses, our team spirit is very strong.  We actually like each other.  We respect each other.  We care for each other.  And that makes you want to come back.  We may need to push each other a bit more (and some of us may need to look in the mirror before we throw that stone at that glass house) but the spirit is just right on that team.
And that's what keeps me coming back.

I have faith that we will get it together in the next week to put on a great game and give the Hulas a run for their money.  I also found my rose colored glasses.  (I hope they still fit, they've been misplaced for a while.)

Today

 

Today:

• worked on Marriage Equality in Washington
• prepared for a press conference for Sunday
• thanked supporters
• planned a house party
• had a beer - or two

Whooped.



KA-POW!

I'm the pony.  The dinosaurs are 2012.  If I stand real still no one will notice... (except maybe the giraffe.)

And we're off...


(*thanks to 2 year old Benny - who presented me with such a image.)

New Year's Resolutions

I'm not one to make New Year's Resolutions. I made typically impossible ones in the past.  Save more money (like how much more?  $50? $500?  $5,000.)  Lose weight. (I don't know that I've ever really thought that but most people did so it seemed like a good one for the non conformist to follow.) Write more (ahh, but the muscle is so weak!)  Date more (why?)  Fight for peace in the Middle East (not exactly sure how.)  Workout more (how can I do this when I'm doing 10,000 other things.) Travel more (yes!  Agree!)  Etc.  And most of them were forgotten in about a week or two.  I'm a person of action - if I need to make a resolution to change something in my life then what I really need to do is change something in my life.  Not make a resolution.  And that's where resolutions fail me.

However, I am a big fan of "if you say it out loud you make true" (so then you have to do.)  "I will write more in 2012."  I said it out loud.  Just now.  I also wrote it on my friend Christopher's Facebook page (or I agreed to his status about writing more and said I want to do that too.)  I told others - most of them in my head - that I would write more. 

But it's more than just writing more.  I want to take my creative self - who I have locked in a box, shoved in the corner of the closet, piled coats and sweaters upon and bolted the closet door shut - out again and invite her to get involved again.  I use to get so crabby when I didn't do anything creative.  My close friends could tell I just needed to dance - write - sew - paint - bake - create something - anything.  And then I would be happy - and whole.  But eventually, I started to ignore her. It wasn't easy at first but then it became something I didn't have time for.  Something I could push aside.  Something I couldn't justify spending time doing anyway. Something that wasn't as important as x, y or z.  (I mean there were rights to be fought for!  There were people who needed my help!  There were countries imploding!)  And eventually she went away.  I would let her out when I needed something for someone else - like to make ornaments for my team.  Or to sew helmet covers for the league.  Or to edit someone else's writing.  But never just for me.

There were multiple epiphanies this year.  One of them was at a sing along for Hedwig and the Angry Inch put on by the Seattle International Film Festival - which is a fantastic play/movie about many things but discovering your other half and becoming a whole person is part of it. I spent nearly the whole event in near tears (and not very good company.)   I told a friend about this - about this need to be with my creative self and she said "but Michelle, I mean isn't this a phase - don't we outgrow this?"  No.  It's not.  Why would you lock half of yourself in the closet - in a box - and pile coats on top of her?

So I'm working on letting her out of her box and inviting her to hang out more often.  It's likely not going to be easy at first.  I doubt we trust each other that much.  There is much work to do (and we both need to spend more time a the gym or the bar) but I'm going to try.  Because honestly it's more than just about writing and being creative.  It's about being whole.  And that's my New Year's Resolution.

Welcoming in 2012!

Today Arson and I did the 5k Resolution Run which ends in a polar bear plunge - or more of a swim - which is what polar bears on more apt to do anyway.  There were many more people there this year than last year (according to the announcer) and the beautiful sunny day - in the 40's - made for a great run and little swim.   Last year, Arson and I started running one 5k a month just for fun and I've truly enjoyed them.  (And I'm not so sure that it's the running as much as I really do enjoy getting dressed up and running with friends.)  She's been a great running buddy especially in races that involve an extra dare - like the Warrior Dash (5k mud run through an obstacle course) or this.  When we reach that moment of extra challenge and I often find her reaching out her hand - a "let's do this together" kind a gesture that gives you confidence to push through - whatever it is - jumping over fire or jumping into freezing water.  And I appreciate that about her.  She often says she would never imagine herself doing these things years ago.  But I kind of think she's just the kind of person whose perfect to do just these kinds of thing.

Happy New Year.  I'm can't wait to get started! 

Beginning again... with grief.

Today was a perfect day to start my blog back up.  Today was spent catching up with a few friends who don't use Facebook. - which in itself isn't bad.  Their own claims of being poor communicators (which isn't something they're particularly proud of)  compounds it a bit and makes calls like these wonderful.  Poupee asked, as I talked about what a struggle 2011 had been, if I was writing. And I truthfully said "no."  Sandra, who knew me when I was a "writer" and had big dreams of being a "playwright" said that we are not people who shouldn't be writing.  I told her that I had kept a blog for years and had every intention to get it started again.  After the new year?  No.  Today.  Right now.  And so here goes.

Today, though, is a particularly hard day to come back to writing.  The last time I wrote in my blog I was grieving for my older brother's best friend - Dave - who had died suddenly.  At the time we thought he had been murdered though it was eventually ruled a suicide.  This event was a the first in a chain of tragedies - Kathy lost her brother.  Audrey's daughter was diagnosed with cancer.  And that was just the start. 

Yesterday, on Christmas, a leaguemate was driving with her family to visit their grandparents for the holiday when a large branch was blown down onto their car in a freak accident.   Her daughter was killed instantly and her husband suffered a broken neck.  The pain of knowing that a friend has lost a child is intense.  Heartache is truly given meaning in this situation. It's almost as if you can't catch your breath - a knot forms in your throat and you find yourself staring out into nothing.  You think of her.  You think of her kids.  You think of what she is doing or not doing.  You can't imagine her pain.  You can't imagine not seeing this child grow up to become an adult.  And you feel helpless.

And that is just your personal grief.  Then, in this modern, digital, social media world you watch other people grieve.  Those who were close to her: her family, her teammates (in this case), her island community are in this incredible and intense pain.  Some people own their grief.  Some own other's grief.  You see these heart wrenching posts and out pourings of support.  You see stories shared and glimmers of hope start to appear.  Then this amazing derby community pulls together to support this skater and her family.   You see their posts.  You see their offers of love and support.  You see the holiday spirit - compounding this incredible tragedy - push generously and sympathy into the spotlight - sharing it with this grief. You feel amazed and blessed to be a part of this. And your heart still aches for her...

I don't want to be a member.

During my healing at home, I watched the Harry Potter films. I hadn't been a fan of the films but if you saw them in order, all together, they held up on their own. There was one point where Harry and Luna can see these characters/monsters pull the carriages. Only those two can see them because, as we later find out, it's because they've witnessed a death. I have a coworker who was also knew someone that was murdered. And I just wonder are we now part of some club ? - because it's a pretty horrible thing to experience. It is really like nothing else. And I don't want to be a member.

Tonight I went to The Angel Band's CD release party. The Angel Band was formed out of an outpouring of love and hope over the death of a women who, along with her partner, was sexually assaulted and then murdered. My coworker was musical partners with the survivor. It was a completely emotional evening for everyone involved. There was a moment however, when women who died, when her brother's video came up and he performed his song. It was heart breaking... And I all I could think of was Dave.

A few days after my surgery I got a call from both my mother and older brother within a few minutes of each other. That was odd, so I hung up with whom I was talking to and called them back. I called my mom first and she told me that Dave, Mark's best friend for 22 years, had been found dead. They thought it was a suicide. I called Mark and he repeated the same thing though he seemed skeptical of it. I called my younger brother Mike to see if he was going down to help Mark out (he was really good friends with Dave too - as brothers often are) and if there was any thing I could do to help out. By the end of the day, Dave's suicide had turned into a murder investigation.

The CSI nature of Dave's death makes it almost unbelievable - death threats, police involvement, wire tapped phones. No one arrested but plenty of suspects. Ridiculous. And ridiculous to believe that he was gone. Just like that. Snuffed out.

Losing Dave has a profound effect on me - more than I ever imagined. A part of the pain was just imagining what my older brother was going through losing his best friend - his foil - his compliment - the guy who had known him through thick and thin and still loved him.

Some of the pain was the hole that he left in the world. Dave got to know everyone - everyone. He took time to get to know some of Margie's more interesting family members. He would get to know them of course to tease them. But never out of malice - only out of fun. He didn't drink and was was always a good sport at any game, any conversation, and Johnson argument. We He loved the Johnson girls and had just taken them trick-or-treating. He was part of the family. He was always at Mark's house. He was like a third brother - who didn't have the same childhood experiences or baggage - but totally understood. And now he was gone. Absolutely gone. And I couldn't imagine it. I couldn't imagine being Mark. I couldn't imagine he was gone. And it was ridiculous.

Mike summed it up best in a posting on Dave's Facebook page: The world will not be the same without you dude. I remember first meeting you visiting Mark @ Miami. It has been a pleasure ever since. I wish I had the friend/wingman/DD/take one for the team/re-tell all my embarrassing stories in great detail friend that you were to my brother. You touched so many lives and you will live on thru us, our stories and the smiles you put on our hearts. Rest in Peace my friend.

Learning lessons

All I could think was, one more person, I just have to pass one more person and then I'll have lead jammer. (We weren't winning - not by a long shot. But it was the last 3 minutes - I had actually managed to score a bunch of points in this bout. I was an obvious target.) I passed the pack on the outside with a safe wall of Bombers on my left side. I cleared the pack and was heading to the inside line (ultimate safety) but there was one more out there. I could see her in my periphery and she landed a solid hip hit square on my thigh. My upper body flew nut my lower body did not follow, and I felt something completely unnatural happen in my knee. I knew I was hurt - really hurt. I didn't even try to stop my slide into the wall. I looked up at the outside pack ref heading my way - it was Hangin' Chad. And I said, rather loudly, "I'm NOT OK." Then I looked down at my knee and started saying "Oh My God, Oh My God" over and over. I was devastated. I am so hurt. I was thinking of the rest of the tournament; I was thinking of next season; I was thinking of all my goals for next year; I was thinking of the Bombers and how hard we worked and the great stuff we had planned for 2011. And it felt like it was all slipping away. Someone turned off the music and I could hear someone crying. I was wondering whose crying? I'm the one that is hurt. Oh, that would be me.

The rest of the tournament was a blur. I got crutches, I had two beers. I managed to fly back to Seattle for my work auction on Saturday morning and fly back for the rest of the tournament Sunday morning (yes, nuts, I know.) I finally had an appointment with a specialist and got an MRI within the first week back. My knee was tight - the orthopaedic physician didn't think it was my ACL was torn. And I celebrated for a day. But it was torn - snapped in half. Physical therapy was scheduled and my new life between crutches, work, surgery and pain meds was underway.

The moment I was wheeled off the skate floor, my Bomber dilemma started. What would be my role? I kept asking. I didn't want to be a broken skater on a team with Regional and Championship aspirations. That wasn't what we needed. We needed 20 strong skaters to take our team to the next level. But would the team vote in a non-rostered captain? Would they even want me as a captain at all? Or would I bench coach? Could I bench coach? I didn't know what to do. Nikki and I were very good captains - a good balance. We did a lot of things really well and learned from our mistakes and I thought we could carry these lessons and positive energy forward into the next year.

I started talking to my teammates about my dilemma. A few totally agreed. "We need a strong team. You're right. You should let someone else take your spot." Others said, "We need you on the team. When other skaters got hurt, you didn't kick them off. Torture, you're not being fair to Torture." The answer wasn't clear cut. It wasn't easy.

When I filled out the questionnaire for the coaches - that is when I figured it out. "What would you bring to this team?" It took me only a second to think about; I would bring leadership, feedback, positive attitude and energy. I would be give 100% and more - even not on skates. And then the league gave me a vote of confidence - even injured. The coaches told me it was my decision - they wanted me on the team and the league did. But it was my decision - I was the one who didn't know what I should do.

I said I DID want to stay on the team. I learned. It takes all kinds of athletes to make up this team - serious ones, total goofballs, enthusiastic one, leaders, trouble makers, all kinds. And I know this. I say this to other skaters all of the time - that they have a role on this team. But I finally feel like I've learned it.