Living in south Florida for 8 years I learned to drive with a, shall we say, . . . purpose. Some would call it aggressive; I call moving in an efficient manner from point A to B. You dart, turn right on red without even coming to a complete stop, yield generally means "keep driving but slow down a bit." There's a lot of blue hairs rolling around the streets to you've got to learn to avoid them from impeding progress. It somewhat of a game. It's just how you drive down there.
Not so much here in the D.C. area.
For a city in such a rush, they move so slow!! Drives me nuts. (But maybe it makes sense as many work for or with the government so there's always desperation and talk complaining about the traffic but no one does anything about it; ya that's it. Just the culture here ; ) Here's my main beefs with the greater D.C. area motorist:
1) People do not turn right on red. I literally have to honk my horn (which is considered highly aggressive here; it's as if all cars are mute on these streets there's so little of it going on) to get them to move. Then when I do use this communication tool, it's as if they're like, "My oh my! What does this young man want? Oh yes, I did forget that it is legal to turn right on red. But I'm not going anywhere until there are absolutely NO cars coming!" Each day home from work I make a right on red or try to. There are three lanes of oncoming traffic but FOUR lanes right after the light as it's an on ramp to 495. So, visualize with me, three before, four after. That means, if you're turning right on red, you'll ALWAYS have a clear lane to turn into even if there is oncoming traffic. But for some inexplicable reason, I'd say 90% of people still wait until the coast is COMPLETELY, and I mean completely, clear. Ridiculous and annoying as the light is a 3 minute light (no exaggeration!)
2) D.C. people also believe the speed limit is just that; the absolute limit at which to travel; not the speed at which you're suppose to maintain while driving as to keep the flow of traffic moving. It's very common for the NoVA resident to cruise at 10 mph below the speed limit and then look at you as if you've gone mad if you're traveling 5 mph above.
3) On ramps/lanes are not places for you to stop!!! The only time you are supposed to stop is at a stop sign or when a red light is in front of you. All other times you should keep moving and merge with other traffic in a smooth and fluid manner. Don't slam on your brakes when the merge lane begins to end, just begin to move over and room will appear. Or beat everyone to the punch and accelerate on the ramp so you have four less cars in front of you. That's how I do it. Feels like you're legally skipping the line ; )
4) Really a sub point of #3 but if you want to change lanes, then change lanes!!! Don't brake and jerkily swerve after seeing that someone is in your blind spot. This is often followed by a moment of panic where excessive braking occurs leading to a chain reaction behind you. You do this instead; think ahead a bit, check your mirrors, even turn your head if need be. If there's a wide open slot, go ahead and move over; it's yours! If you are more of a pre-cautious type, just put on your blinker and wait for an opening WHILE maintaining current speed. If you're 3 lanes to the left and need to exit suddenly on your right; don't D.C. peeps! You don't have the skill to perform such a maneuver. Just keep going and exit at the next available or pull a U turn (but I know how those frighten you.)
So there are my four main complaints. I know it won't change. I also know that if our beloved urbanites around here read this, they'd all agree and not realize that they are who I'm talking about. As I began this rant with . . . drive with purpose ; ) Please and thank you-
Friday, February 11, 2011
Thursday, February 10, 2011
Joseph the Afghani-
Written on Sunday, January 23, 2011 at 2:51pm
Walked up to a house this a.m. looking to inquire about a vehicle for sale. A well dressed man, with peppered gray hair and stone blue eyes greeted me outside. He had a gentle voice, thick with a Middle Eastern accent. After going over the car, he invited me inside. As we walked in, I asked why he sold vehicles from his home (a very nice/large home it was; didn’t fit what you’d think an independent used car dealer would have.) Joseph immediately responded, “I used to own a car dealership but the past couple of years were very rough so I had to close. I lost $500,000 the last year I was open. So now I just do what I can from home. Have to pay the bills somehow!” He smiled; wasn’t ashamed or timid in the least. He apologized for the mess that his 5 kids had made as we walked through the kitchen and dining room back to his home office. As we sat down, I asked him when he came to the U.S. He said, “All the way back in 1981.” Always interested in the stories of immigrants, I began a barrage of questions and he freely answered.
Joseph’s journey began in 1978 (the year I was born.) Afghanistan was in a time of turmoil and war. He was 14 at the time and the men in his town were asking his father to hand Joseph and his 5 brothers over so they could join the local militia. Joseph said that he immediately told his father that he had no interest in fighting; especially since it would be against his own people. His father told him there were only two options: fight or leave the country. Joseph decided to leave and crossed over into Iran. He was alone. Not a soul with him as he risked his life to get out of the war zone. He was in Iran for two years holed up in a room he rented in a crappy hotel. He said that he worked day and night selling cigarettes, fixing birdcages and working labor jobs; anything to survive. He didn’t see his family at all during that time. Finally, his parents said that they would meet him in Pakistan if he could get there. He was now 16. One brother had made it over to the U.S. already so his parents thought maybe the three of them could go next. But saving money and getting the documents in line wasn’t that easy so they spent a year in Pakistan. Again, Joseph did whatever he could to make money. I couldn’t help but say, “But man, you were only a kid! How’d you do it?” He paused what he was writing and looked up, “What else could I do? You do whatever you need to in order to eat. When I was 14, I was equal to a 25 year old American. I had to hustle with grown men and work alongside them. I just had to do it. It didn’t matter that I was treated poorly and had no one. Nobody cared so I just did what needed to be done.” I must have said wow 50 times in the 20 minutes we were talking. Couldn’t get over his drive and perseverance!
But as he wrapped up his story, telling me that his whole family made it over and now live in the DC metro area, he said, “And that is why I love this country . . . there is nothing like it anywhere! At the worst here, is better than the best where I came from. Hard isn’t hard. Why? Because you’re safe and that is priceless! There is no war. Maybe you can’t pay your bills, like I’m having a hard time doing now, but that is very small problem in the grand scheme.” I just sat there and said meekly, “You’re right bud. I can’t fully comprehended or empathize with what it is you’re saying, as I’ve never come close to experiencing what you have, but I hear you. We are blessed. Life is good.” I stood up, shook his hand and thanked him for taking the time to share with me. He said that he enjoyed it.
As I drove away, and even now 3 hours later, his words keep ringing in my head. His thankfulness even in the midst of major loss he experienced in the past year was contagious. Good stuff-
So that was today. That was good. Joseph was his name.
No trust= no happiness
Written on Friday, November 19, 2010 at 8:50am
True happiness can't exist without trust.
Yup- I'm convinced of that. Had a conversation with a friend yesterday that reminded me of this. Yet again our culture doesn't seem to realize what it's doing to itself. In the age of "me first" and "whatever makes you happy", we've short circuited the process by which happiness and joy are natural by products. Try having a friendship, any relationship for that matter, without a basic element of trust. Not even a deep set trust but just starting with a sense of "Hey, I trust this guy." Without it, the relationship goes absolutely no where. You have interactions/transactions but there's nothing beyond that. Unconsciously your thoughts are full of questions and strategies to limit personal damage. It's exhausting. How can any form of happiness survive in that climate? It can't; fundamentally! You might have "victories" and moments of satisfaction but there's nothing that can last. In order for happiness to be cultivated in a relationship, both parties have to be for the other; not for self. Obviously, we all make selfish choices each day but in the department of honesty, if we snowball small lies to our mate or friend, the whole strength of the relationship starts to weaken. Doubt fills the holes created. Why? Because the trust is leaving and, with it, the healthy relationship. We start running; scared to death. Dishonesty is essentially selfishness, pride and self preservation (for the short term.) But the battle (and I call it that because it is a ferocious battle) of being truthful, always, so trust can develop, yields huge rewards! In a marriage, it strengthens the bond and gives a depth to your love WAY beyond emotion.
So that's my two cents on it- take it or leave it ; )
Love at first sight-
Written on Saturday, September 25, 2010 at 3:12pm
Today was the day- the day the "theory" of Nat's pregnancy turned into a full motion, awesomely beautiful reality of a little girl on the screen in front of me. Growing, moving, heart beating at 139 bpm . . . you most definitely meet God in those moments. You get to see His genius and gift all wrapped up into a future bundle of joy.
I've always been amazed by our world and the life that resides in it but when a piece of life is yours . . . when you know that you started this in motion and now will nurture it into a full blown person; the thought staggers you. My mind bounced from love at first sight to taking a walk with my future daughter and picking a flower for her to seeing my wife in a new light. All stunning in their own right.
I believe there are few moments in life when you experience the essence of love- today was one of them. Tried hard to keep my hands back from touching the screen. It drew me in; sat captivated. A completely different kind of beauty. Nat was cute laying there on the table. She was glowing and giggling. Loving seeing her daughter and her incredibly tiny arms and hands folded across her face as she slept. You could see the twinkle in her eye when the doc said all was well as the little legs kicked gently. Truly a moment when you wish someone could record your soul-
As a man, I felt a this mantle of protection fall. Giving Nat a hug, all I could eek out was, "I will protect and love you to always." Immense responsibility but not in an overwhelming way but rather just answering a call. It was as if something deep inside turned on and put into motion this intimate sense of sacrifice.
I pray that today remains fresh when life gets hard and when I'm tired. That I remember that each day is a gift . . . Amen.
Muslims and McDonald's
Written on Wednesday, August 18, 2010 at 1:10pm
The country agrees (for the most part), according to unbiased polls (?) that freedom of a religion is a right . . . cool. But many argue that doesn’t matter now, that sensitivity trumps constitution.
Not so good.
I get what the fuss is about. Really do. Didn’t lose anyone in 9/11 but knew a few who worked in those buildings and made it through that horrible day. But I ask this question: Is this the first time in our history that someone has been afraid of/hurt by another’s choice or thought it may be harmful to their way of life? Heck no! Granted this current issue is on a national scale but it’s no more insensitive and potentially damaging to our society as a whole than when . . .
*a new McDonald’s boasting of “healthier options” opens in a neighbor where half the people are obese and dying of congestive heart failure or diabetes and offers them all free meal coupons (only with purchase of 3 items from the dessert menu)
* a pharmaceutical company markets and sells a drug to the masses knowing full well it’s long term side effects can be lethal but steam rolls a widow when she tries to expose how it killed her husband
* a health insurance company pays for abortions, no questions asked, but won’t cover fertility treatments for a mother who is struggling to conceive
* American Indians are largely written out of history or their stories are edited to make their experience MUCH less painful/devastating than it really was (but please, continue to dress up and do your cultural dances for us)
* tens of thousands of Americans proudly slap stickers of the Confederate flag on their car knowing full well what the same flag means to African Americans ("What do you mean? I'm just proud of being from the south?" all said with a bewildered look on face.)
* a church in Gainesville is going to hold a Qur’an burning on their lawn on 9/11 (just like Jesus would do)
* yet another TV show pops up that applauds extra marital affairs and other promiscuous behavior which causes a recently divorced person that has experienced the very real destructiveness of such behavior, to feel that pain re-open with each commercial (c'mon- it's just TV, my kids love that they have two houses to choose from now)
* American citizens hold signs reading “Your son died because God is judging our country” and “God hates fags!” at a fallen soldiers funeral
(but please join our church for worship this Sunday at 11 a.m.- food is served after!)
So yes, see it or not, we are surrounded by insensitive decisions that are possibly more damaging to our society than that of one Muslim community center near the 9/11 epicenter. It may be scarier to certain people but it doesn’t spell the end of America as some suggest. So please, do continue to get angry at all Muslims- curse them out! Throw rocks through their windows. Tell them to get out of our country but just do so in a loving, calm and sensitive manner.
You get what you pay for ; )
Written on Sunday, May 16, 2010 at 3:43pm
Out at Chipotle, as I was finshing up a chicken fajita burrito, my wife says, "So we have an appointment at 1 p.m. to get a massage. Surprise!" She goes on to explain that it's at a massage school so we'll have students working on us. Doesn't matter to me- never had a bad massage even from a novice.
Natalie, thinking there's only one school in Vienna (but never checked to verify) points me in the direction and off we go. Get to the place and it looks a bit sketchy- we enter a pretty obscure door and walk up some carpeted stairs that have seen better days. There's a combination of smells- a lively blend of hospital, salon, and non-descrip asian food. To my right, on the wall is posted an ad for all people wanting to enter as contestants for "National Ms. Korea." Nice! As we move down the hall, we pass a room full of students in caps and gowns. This isn't feeling right- two guys run into us and ask if we're here for the graduation. We say no and that we're here for the massage. He says, "Well, we can do a facial massage at 2 p.m. Would you like to join us for lunch before graduation?" Huh- very inviting guy. We try to explain that we're here for a normal massage and he replies that they don't do that there. He cracks a smile and says the lady must have misunderstood Nat on the phone. I was thinking the very same thing but felt better that he said it because he was Asian.
We left- Nat was convinced she had made an appt. to get a full body massage; not a facial. Thanks to Mr. Blackberry, we found out that there was yet another school a couple miles away. Off we went!
Got there a few minutes past our scheduled time- this place looked a bit "used" but seemed more like a massage school. A very tall and . . . u hhh . . . Russian lady of healthy weight welcomed us. Classic! We sat. She asked, "Which you come with me for massage?", in a thick accent. Nat and I looked at each other- awkward moment passed. I broke it and offered to go.
We went in the room. The decor was an afterthought but I reminded myself that this was a school. She explained what she was going to do. As I was left standing in the room, waiting to dis clothe, my eyes searched the massage table sheets. I like to feel like I'll be laying in clean sheets when in public areas. These sheets had oil stains all over them- I slid under hesitantly and closed my eyes. Here goes nothing!
All the while Nat had a rookie and the instructor at the school working on her. The pupil wasn't much for learning though. Numerous times she told her instructor that she didn't want to mimic his moments after he asked her to. She said that she'd incorporate them into her OWN style. Didn't know you had your own style when first learning something. Right from the get go she says loudly to Nat, "Girl, you've got some rough feet! Gotta take care of those-" That's the way to loosen a stranger up before you rub 'em down. Insults work wonders to calm the nerves! As she moved her way to Nat's back she paused again and said, "Girl, you've got a black head on your back. Want me to take care of it?" What? How do you even respond to that. Just before she turned the massage into a zit popping session, her cell phone rang at full blast! Her reaction; answer the call and leave the room. Ha- She comes back in and continues to not follow the lead of her instructor; all in a voice meant for a bar, not a massage room. To make things even more relaxing, Natalie's head rest falls 3 times leaving Natalie's neck oh so relaxed. Unexpected collapse is the ultimate muscle relaxer- try it sometime! To cap it off, her phone rings full volume for a second time and she leaves.
Back in my room, I'm just waiting for Elena (that was her name) to inflict serious pain. She didn't. Her hands were completely relaxing and professional while my wife was suffering in the lab next door.
Natalie, thinking there's only one school in Vienna (but never checked to verify) points me in the direction and off we go. Get to the place and it looks a bit sketchy- we enter a pretty obscure door and walk up some carpeted stairs that have seen better days. There's a combination of smells- a lively blend of hospital, salon, and non-descrip asian food. To my right, on the wall is posted an ad for all people wanting to enter as contestants for "National Ms. Korea." Nice! As we move down the hall, we pass a room full of students in caps and gowns. This isn't feeling right- two guys run into us and ask if we're here for the graduation. We say no and that we're here for the massage. He says, "Well, we can do a facial massage at 2 p.m. Would you like to join us for lunch before graduation?" Huh- very inviting guy. We try to explain that we're here for a normal massage and he replies that they don't do that there. He cracks a smile and says the lady must have misunderstood Nat on the phone. I was thinking the very same thing but felt better that he said it because he was Asian.
We left- Nat was convinced she had made an appt. to get a full body massage; not a facial. Thanks to Mr. Blackberry, we found out that there was yet another school a couple miles away. Off we went!
Got there a few minutes past our scheduled time- this place looked a bit "used" but seemed more like a massage school. A very tall and . . . u hhh . . . Russian lady of healthy weight welcomed us. Classic! We sat. She asked, "Which you come with me for massage?", in a thick accent. Nat and I looked at each other- awkward moment passed. I broke it and offered to go.
We went in the room. The decor was an afterthought but I reminded myself that this was a school. She explained what she was going to do. As I was left standing in the room, waiting to dis clothe, my eyes searched the massage table sheets. I like to feel like I'll be laying in clean sheets when in public areas. These sheets had oil stains all over them- I slid under hesitantly and closed my eyes. Here goes nothing!
All the while Nat had a rookie and the instructor at the school working on her. The pupil wasn't much for learning though. Numerous times she told her instructor that she didn't want to mimic his moments after he asked her to. She said that she'd incorporate them into her OWN style. Didn't know you had your own style when first learning something. Right from the get go she says loudly to Nat, "Girl, you've got some rough feet! Gotta take care of those-" That's the way to loosen a stranger up before you rub 'em down. Insults work wonders to calm the nerves! As she moved her way to Nat's back she paused again and said, "Girl, you've got a black head on your back. Want me to take care of it?" What? How do you even respond to that. Just before she turned the massage into a zit popping session, her cell phone rang at full blast! Her reaction; answer the call and leave the room. Ha- She comes back in and continues to not follow the lead of her instructor; all in a voice meant for a bar, not a massage room. To make things even more relaxing, Natalie's head rest falls 3 times leaving Natalie's neck oh so relaxed. Unexpected collapse is the ultimate muscle relaxer- try it sometime! To cap it off, her phone rings full volume for a second time and she leaves.
Back in my room, I'm just waiting for Elena (that was her name) to inflict serious pain. She didn't. Her hands were completely relaxing and professional while my wife was suffering in the lab next door.
Quick check out by a shaking hand-
Written on Monday, March 29, 2010 at 9:12am
Normal afternoon- normal thoughts of nothing and everything. Up the escalator to grab my usual spinach, carrots, and anything else that may promote health. Wasn't thinking about suffering, perseverance, or unusual strength by others just to make it through the day but then I saw him. A man; slight of frame with peppered gray hair. His body, in the shape of an S. His spine and legs not cooperating with gravity in the least. He stood next to me selecting his veggies and then he moved. It was awkward and labored. His feet dragged and threw him off balance.
My immediate reaction was to pray for this guy. Sometimes you don't know why but it just feels right. I know how difficult life can be at a purely physical level with a healthy body, never mind the challenge of your mind and muscle not working in one accord each and every day.
As my eyes left him, I took two more steps and right in front of me stood a young girl; all of 25. She stood over the bananas, her eyes and hands searching for the ones with the least bruising or so it seemed. Her face was calm. She had the green basket hung on her right forearm. This was the prime of her life or was it? My eyes moved to her uncovered head. Her blond hair was thin and missing in patches . . . a sure sign of chemotherapy. You don't often see that as many people who are losing their hair often cover it with a scarf or hat. She must be proud of her struggle I thought. Unwilling to let it change the way she dresses in public. So my prayers moved from him to her as I know, without a doubt, she is hurting. Whether she is owning her disease or it is owning her, the pain remains the same during the process.
My heart was heavy for these people. Didn't expect this to be part of my normal routine. Didn't expect to be reminded that my health is a gift.
Moving on past her, I made my way to the bread isle and grabbed some bagels. Not wanting to wait in line at the normal registers, I hurried to the Starbucks in the corner of the store. I could see from a distance that no one was checking out there. As I approached, I noticed that the man behind the register was thin. His shoulders hung. His fingers were long. They didn't know heavy labor. Behind his wire framed glasses were kind eyes. "Good evening sir!", he said. There was a waiver to his voice. As he grabbed my items, I could see that there was no strength in his hands. They shook. If he was an older man I would have expected this but he couldn't have been more than 45 years of age. Again, a disease had come between mind and body.
A lump formed in my throat. Less because these people were in obvious pain but more so because they are the forgotten; the unseen. Maybe not for you but for me. I am more aware of my own struggles, as small as they are, than those around me the majority of the time. Instead of my eyes being open to the hurting, I want to go to the grocery store and get in and out as fast as I can. Head down, food in hand.
I am sorry sir. I am sorry miss. You remain in my thoughts and prayers today . . . like yesterday and the day before.
My immediate reaction was to pray for this guy. Sometimes you don't know why but it just feels right. I know how difficult life can be at a purely physical level with a healthy body, never mind the challenge of your mind and muscle not working in one accord each and every day.
As my eyes left him, I took two more steps and right in front of me stood a young girl; all of 25. She stood over the bananas, her eyes and hands searching for the ones with the least bruising or so it seemed. Her face was calm. She had the green basket hung on her right forearm. This was the prime of her life or was it? My eyes moved to her uncovered head. Her blond hair was thin and missing in patches . . . a sure sign of chemotherapy. You don't often see that as many people who are losing their hair often cover it with a scarf or hat. She must be proud of her struggle I thought. Unwilling to let it change the way she dresses in public. So my prayers moved from him to her as I know, without a doubt, she is hurting. Whether she is owning her disease or it is owning her, the pain remains the same during the process.
My heart was heavy for these people. Didn't expect this to be part of my normal routine. Didn't expect to be reminded that my health is a gift.
Moving on past her, I made my way to the bread isle and grabbed some bagels. Not wanting to wait in line at the normal registers, I hurried to the Starbucks in the corner of the store. I could see from a distance that no one was checking out there. As I approached, I noticed that the man behind the register was thin. His shoulders hung. His fingers were long. They didn't know heavy labor. Behind his wire framed glasses were kind eyes. "Good evening sir!", he said. There was a waiver to his voice. As he grabbed my items, I could see that there was no strength in his hands. They shook. If he was an older man I would have expected this but he couldn't have been more than 45 years of age. Again, a disease had come between mind and body.
A lump formed in my throat. Less because these people were in obvious pain but more so because they are the forgotten; the unseen. Maybe not for you but for me. I am more aware of my own struggles, as small as they are, than those around me the majority of the time. Instead of my eyes being open to the hurting, I want to go to the grocery store and get in and out as fast as I can. Head down, food in hand.
I am sorry sir. I am sorry miss. You remain in my thoughts and prayers today . . . like yesterday and the day before.
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