Don’t you love to laugh? I certainly do. I especially love to laugh at myself, and at some of my patterns of reluctance in trying new things. Just as I had to be dragged kicking and screaming into the world of martial arts, it was the same story with technology.        The truth is that just a year ago all I could do on a computer was check my email. I didn’t even know what a blog was, let alone imagine myself having one. I had no idea what Facebook was or why anyone would ever want to be on it. I spent two years traveling a lot, and in the airports I noticed how many people had their computers with them. I wondered why anyone would possibly want or need their computer. And almost everyone was actually using them. I would glance curiously at the people busily tapping away...

    I love math. It’s so simple and so logical. I also have passion for movement.  Math is movement. It’s gymnastics with numbers. Isn’t that a fun way to look at it?     I didn’t always feel this way. When I was young, I didn’t do very well in math. I used to feel incredibly stupid, clumsy and frustrated. Everyone else seemed to understand and catch on so easily, where I always struggled. It did not help that I was told I had no aptitude for math, or even worse, that I just didn’t apply myself or work hard enough. Ouch.     I remember being in Algebra class when I was in high school. I was trying to follow along with the new material my teacher was presenting, but I was lost. Utterly, completely and hopelessly lost. Finally, I raised my hand and said,...

      Several weeks ago a powerful storm swept through Rocky Mountain National Park. Two weeks later, we went hiking in the area, and we came across a devastating scene of absolute chaos and destruction. Hundreds of huge pine trees littered the ground, crisscrossing over each other, their broken limbs strewn everywhere. Most of the trees were literally ripped from the ground by their roots. Some trees that may have survived the storm that swept through the forest were split in two by the crashing force of the other trees that succumbed to the gale force wind.    What once was a beautiful forest of tall, majestic trees was now an eerie field of debris and destruction. Along with the broken branches, uprooted trees, exposed roots and huge craters in the ground, I saw several deadly nature...

    I have a Charlie Brown Christmas Tree. So do all four of my sisters. Yes, I have four sisters, no brothers. Which always amazes me that my Dad did manage to live as long as he did. It also explains a little bit of his hearing loss. We used to think it was from the constant noise of the years spent working in the steel mills. Knowing what I know now about the nervous system and habituation, I believe it was from the constant high pitched squeals and shrieks that resulted from living with 6 women.     Anyway, last Christmas was an unhappy one for me and my sisters. Our Dad died on Thanksgiving weekend, just less than three short weeks after we lost our Mom. The five of us were together again, preparing to say another final farewell. There we were, surrounded by all of the lights, decorations,...

    Don’t you just love the story about Charlie Brown’s Christmas? Poor Charlie Brown. He starts out so sad and depressed by the thought of the upcoming holiday. It seems his depression was exacerbated by the enthusiasm displayed by his little friends who were eagerly anticipating Christmas. He was so disheartened he even sought help from the local psychiatrist. Why he trusted her with his fragile emotional state is a puzzle to me, since there was already some history between them. She never missed an opportunity to knock him down and call him a Blockhead. True to form, her advice appeared to be the psychological equivalent of smacking him upside the head and still charging him 5 cents for her services. Sheesh. That doesn’t seem right.     Everywhere Charlie Brown turned,...

I started out my weekend in pretty low spirits. When I woke up Saturday morning, I couldn’t shake off the bad mood I was experiencing. It didn’t help that my very sweet little geriatric Italian Greyhound had crawled into bed with us the night before and had become incontinent sometime during the night. Sheesh. I felt the weight of the world coming down upon me. I also felt like the entire world’s population was looking to do the same thing to me during the day that my little dog did the night before. I jumped out of bed, sprinted through the kitchen past the fresh brewed coffee that my husband had just made and directly to the laundry room. I washed the sheets, cleaned the mattress and cleaned my little dog. The nice thing about an Italian Greyhound is that they rarely require...