Crushes

I really wanted a cheeseburger while hiking today. I'm sure my body started this obsession because I gave up heavy meats for Lent and I was in the middle of the wilderness.

But then my mind wandered to shoving an entire McDonald's cheeseburger in my mouth in the second grade to impress Aaron Ramroth. I had a crush on him and surely this feat would woo him. 

That didn't work. Gagging and spewing food everywhere has never convinced a crush to like you.

I rewatched Pretty in Pink recently, with some horror, but the part that wasn't rapey was Molly Ringwald's dad telling her they are called crushes for a reason. 

There is something about that obsession with what we don't have that is crushing for the heart. This strange last year has made FOMO (Fear of Missing Out) even more intense and I've found hearts around me aching for otherness. 

How crushing it is to long for what one doesn't have, or what I often see in my office, a refusal to make decisions because it means you have to say no to some things. 

Martin Luther talks about a god as wherever we hang our heart. I like that. It feels open and freeing instead of crushing and confining. 

The question is where will we hang our hearts. On my better days, I let it hang in the eternal love I witness in Jesus. It's an opening and freeing space where I can make choices without being bound up with fear of regret or failure. The gift of love is that it sustains us through either. 

On my not so amazing days, I obsess over cheeseburgers.

Tracksuit

I came home from Ash Wednesday worship and put on my new velour tracksuit. Someone bought it for me as a joke on my latest birthday and it looked really comfy so I put it on and then pretended to speed walk around the house.

I've never been on the cutting edge of fashion, except maybe when I had everything seersucker, but I do think tracksuits might be for those who have quit trying. 

Yes, velour + tracksuit is amazingly comfortable, but then I caught a look at myself in the mirror.

There I was with the ashes smudged on my head looking like Maxine on a Hallmark card. 

Mortality smacked me in the face and I started to laugh. 

You are dust and to dust you shall return. 

Awesome.

I'm embracing tracksuits for this last sprint to the finish line. 

Yes, I will still make some attempt at attending to my appearance; I was able to withstand the temptation to get the pants at Costco advertised as "Ladies Comfort Fit". 

But I'm also going to enjoy some tracksuit time. 

I don't really have anything profound for this Ash Wednesday, other than how relieving it was to giggle at finitude. Yes, time will stop my breath and decay my body, but God's love and a tracksuit can sustain me until it does. 

My daughter makes it look way cuter

Helmet

I don't want to die doing something stupid. I'm not willing to bet on those chances because I make lots of ridiculous decisions, but I don't want one to identify me posthumously. 

I also don't want to die from ALS, but I feel less in control of that. 

So I wore my helmet today when we skied out to the glacier. Being on the lake and in the caves is a risk since all this stuff is moving and conditions can change in the blink of an eye. But that risk feels comparable to eating potato chips. Yes, it may kill me, but it brings me enough joy that I'm willing to take the risk.

I'm not a huge fan of helmets. I don't like to have my head covered and I look like a dork, but I appreciated the little extra protection today. 

The wind was blowing on the lake. 

I should say howling, and it was also cracking. 

The thin layer of ice on top of the snow and on the cliffs was breaking apart and whipping across the lake like sideways buzz saws. 

It was slightly terrifying to have thin sheets of ice rocketing through the air towards my head. There was a moment I stopped and savored the horrific Indiana Jones' experience of sharp objects trying to decapitate me. 

I'm not sure a helmet would help in that situation, but at least I made an attempt to be safe. 

Maybe that's how I feel through all this pandemic stuff too. I want to attempt to be safe. I know there are tons of hypocrisies in what many of us are doing. I try to be faithful about wearing my mask, but also not digging the mask I wear from beneath my car seat or out of the trash. I fail and I forget, but I don't lie to myself about risks or belittle and chastise others. I figure out my comfort and willingness to risk, I try not to do anything that would endanger others, and I wear my helmet when sharp ice sheets are hurtling towards my head.

Cards

 I'm so thankful I was raised in a house where we played cards and that my family continues to enjoy playing cards. Cribbage, euchre, and hearts are my favorites and carrying a deck of cards to restaurants, ferry trips, or church meetings has entertained us for many an hour. 

I appreciate cards not only for their entertainment value, but their amazing life lessons:

1. Pay attention to body language. Playing cards is not only about the cards in your hands, but also having a sense of what other people have in their hands (without mirrors or getting up to get a drink so you can look).

2. You don't have to talk. I'm happy to chat when playing cards (unless it makes you delay your turn), but there is no pressure to fill every moment with conversation. I used to take Sophie to the long term care with me when she was little to play Crazy 8s with a fellow there who had a stroke and could only swear or sing. That was fun. I'd have to help Sophie out every now and she'd start yelling "card looker" and the fellow would start swearing and there would be a ruckus. I truly loved those moments because it was hard to visit and know what to say, but we had fun playing cards.

3. Learn how to wait your turn and how to lose/win gracefully. You should watch me when we play cribbage because I will steal the deal if I can get away with it. A lot of the card games I like have big advantages for the dealer and you have to learn to wait until your time comes, unless the other person isn't paying attention. This may not be the winning hand, but there is always next time. Winning or losing one round doesn't define you for life so don't take it too personally. 

4. There is a symbiotic relationship between luck and skill. Unless you're playing war (a card game I hate) or you're a genius at statistics, then you live in the tension between skill and chance.  Cards help me figure out how much risk I am willing to accept. I've learned how to assess the hand I'm dealt, the chances of it winning, and when I need to cut my losses. These are helpful skills, especially when decision making is paralyzing because of the fear of missing out on something, failing, or looking like a fool. Assess, risk, and adjust. 

5. Play more. Cards engage something in our brains and relationships that watching a movie doesn't. Don't get me wrong, I love watching movies, but playing cards actually makes us grow in our relationships with each other.