Travel: The Things Nobody Warns You About

If you love to travel, you’ll get this…

Pain-Envy and Other Afflictions of the Fauxletariat

I ran into this today and really enjoyed it. I hope you do too…

Cold

Bedriska, my grandmother, was an elegant, aristocratic Ilsa Lund type who was the kind of woman a man would do anything for. The kind of woman who would’ve made him do it, too.

My mother, Jirina, or Georgie as she calls herself in America, is gorgeous and vivacious. She is a Bond girl with a thick accent and a touching sweetness. A woman with a spine of steel and a broken heart. James Bond would’ve loved her – but like all the women he loves, she is a tragic heroine. If she and James had ever crossed paths she would’ve ended up being fed to sharks by a villain with an even thicker accent then hers, or would’ve at least faced a tearful goodbye with her handsome spy, who couldn’t bear to be with her for risk of putting her in harms way.

These are the women of my family…

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Love your legs

I pulled a muscle in my calf last weekend running up a hill. A friend calls it “blowing out your calf” or “calf heart attack” – both more accurate ways to describe it. One minute I was fine, the next I heard and felt a snap (like a rubber band) and could barely walk.

One thing I realized after my injury and diagnosis is that I take my legs for granted. As we were driving from the doctor’s office, I saw all of these people on the street, walking or running like it was the most natural thing. I thought to myself, “Those people don’t even realize how lucky they are!” 

When I’m back on my feet, and walking, running, dancing, doing yoga, climbing stairs and riding my bike, I hope I remember one thing: I sure do love my legs.

 

Love is . . .

When I was young, there was a cartoon called, “Love is…” that appeared in the Rocky Mountain News that I found both adorable and disturbing. The young characters rarely wore clothing and they were always doing sweet (and many times, sappy) things for each other.

I’ve been thinking about that cartoon a lot lately. My boyfriend takes care of me – really takes care of me. He took me to the doctor yesterday after I sprained a muscle, worried it could be more; fixed the heater in my yoga room because he knows I like to be warm in the morning; learned to make delicious french toast so he’d have something in his arsenal for a hearty breakfast.

Taking care of me usually fell on me, so suddenly having someone else who not only wants to do it, but will, is humbling. I suddenly feel like that little girl in the cartoon, coddled and cuddled, loved and adored. It’s funny how things from your youth come full circle. Funny and grand.

Can we do it all?

I just finished Sheryl Sandberg’s book, “Lean In” which questions traditional gender roles and encourages both men and women to shirk off old expectations. Research has found that children are treated differently based on their gender right from the get go. It’s no wonder that we continue these “roles” into adulthood.

One section of particular interest to me was on the question women have been asking for years: “Can we do it all?”

As a single Mom who never stopped working, I uttered that question more than once. I carried a lot of guilt about not being more involved in school projects, not baking cupcakes for my sons’ Halloween parties, not setting up more playdates, not being there when they came home from school. I also carried a bit of jealousy for the stay-at-home Moms (and Dads) who had the chance to do all of that.

That was a lot to carry and it wasn’t necessary. “The right question is not, ‘Can I do it all?’ but ‘Can I do what’s most important for me and my family?'”