They say I am either naive, or “too nice.” But this time, really, it’s a different story. This time, I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Or, I was in the right place at the right time…depending on how you want to look at it.
I missed the bus on Monday morning. This is a frequent occurrence, and a downside of public transportation. I never miss the bus by much–usually I’m (quite literally) chasing it’s tail as it putters away . Surprisingly, I kept my cool this time instead of throwing a mini tantrum. If I’ve made my semi-urban life look attractive in past blog posts, this is when you’ll capture a real glimpse into the not so fairy tale kind of days.
Missing the bus gave me about 20 minutes to spare before the next one came. I decided to get some exercise by walking to the Alhambra stop, which I figured would also save me a dollar or so in fare. I am so thrifty.
When I approached the station, I realized this was a stop where many homeless people usually gather. While I’m not scared of people who live on the streets, I’m not necessarily comfortable around them either. Many of the homeless people in our area have mental issues that often make interactions unusual. After my last experience chatting with a stranger at the bus stop, many friends told me I was “too nice.” This time, I told myself, I would be guarded.
When I sat down at the bus stop, I ignored the disheveled woman at the end of the bench. Very quickly a man sat down next to me who asked lots of questions. Ignore? Engage? Be rude? Be friendly? So many decisions for a Monday morning. When it came down to it, I was more guarded than usual, but still kind to him. I think that’s what He asks of us, and I wanted to obey.
But, I didn’t want to be kissed. Which is what almost happened. A homeless man tried to kiss me. And when I said “NO YOU CANNOT KISS ME!” he asked why not? And when I explained why not, in a calm but stern voice, he moved in closer. And when I jumped up, he touched my butt in the most creepy and scary way. And that, my friends, is when I pulled out the finger…not the middle finger…but the stern, mom-like pointer finger. Confidence and anger mixed together like I’d never experienced before. “Look at me! Look me in the eye,” I shouted. When he finally did, I told him to never, EVER, EVER try anything like that ever again with me or anyone. I threatened calling the police. I may have used the word “inappropriate.” Oh gosh…I probably looked like a lunatic to anyone passing by.
“I better go,” he whispered.
“Yes,” I said. “You’d better.”
That’s when he walked out in the street in front of a moving car. He didn’t get hit, but traffic had to stop before he ran to the other side. I realized how confused he looked. He wasn’t healthy.
I walked over to the woman who sat at the end of the bench. I felt a connection to her like I hadn’t earlier. I was going to hop on a bus, and walk away from any danger on the streets. She was up against men like this all the time.
“Are you scared?” I asked.
“Sometimes,” she said.
I didn’t get her name before leaving, but I’ve thought about her a lot since then. For a short moment, I felt a connection to her as a woman that I hadn’t experienced before. I felt the weight she carries, and also the strength she must have to get by.
I am so proud that I didn’t crumple when I needed to stand tall. I hope she continues to stand tall, too.
I stood in my closet, right foot resting flamingo style on the left knee. This is my thinking pose; and on Monday night I needed to make an important fashion decision for the following day.
Most days, getting dressed is a short process that happens while brushing my teeth in the morning. My office allows us to dress casually, so unless I have a meeting or event, I don’t need to look perfectly put together—which is fortunate because I’m not a perfectly put together type of girl. My makeup is minimal, my hair is usually straight, and the clothes I wear are often from Target.
I’ve always wanted to dress nicer than I do. Don’t most women say that? Even the ones who are always well dressed? I remember feeling fashion challenged for the first time in sixth grade when all the other girls got body suits and Guess denim shorts. Suddenly, the clothes I had from Limited Too didn’t seem as mature. My mom assured me I looked cute, but I sure didn’t feel as sophisticated as all the other girls.
Sophisticated is exactly how I wanted to feel on Tuesday night. A co-worker and I were nominated for a business award in Sacramento. It was an honor I didn’t expect, and one I felt highly unqualified to win. For that reason, I wanted to look the part of an actual adult. I didn’t want to be the 28 year old kid who shows up to a bar wearing Limited Too when everyone else has on body suits and Guess shorts.
I tried on several outfits. None of them seemed right. How do girls know which shirts go with which pants? When do I need a skinny belt? Can people see my bra through this? Does an undershirt look silly? It’s spring—but it’s raining—so what shoes do I wear? Open? Closed? And, do I have time for a pedicure?
Jonathan didn’t really get it. His most difficult fashion decision each day is deciding what tie to wear. Oddly enough, even this decision can be a challenge for him. And while he gently poked fun of my dramatic closet scene, I found myself lecturing him about how the importance of this very moment and how it might translate to the rest of my career. Was it overly dramatic? Um, yes. (*blush*) But, was it somewhat true? Possibly. Women remember what other women wear—right or wrong—and first impressions count. It’s no wonder we worry so much about finding the perfect skinny belt.
I settled on a short sleeved Target blouse and brown skinny pants. My older heels would have to work, and I’d go without a belt since I don’t own one. The next morning before leaving the house I decided to grab a vintage yellow necklace I’d purchased earlier that week at a consignment store. I’d never shopped at a consignment store before, and it’s rare that I buy jewelry for myself. The necklace was certainly, for me, a step outside the typical.
I fiddled throughout the day with my outfit. The shirt didn’t stay tucked in very well without a belt, and I was cold because of the rainy weather. I started doubting my choice of clothing as soon as I walked into the event not because I was dressed inappropriately but because I am new at this game of playing career woman.
After drinks and appetizers, the award presentation began. I didn’t win. I felt a sense of relief as soon as the last name was called. I wouldn’t have to tromp across that stage in heels with my shirt hanging out. I could go home, change out of the costume, and feel like a kid again.
Shortly after the program, a woman walked up. “You’re Lesley! I’ve wanted to meet you in person.” She was the owner of the consignment store where I’d bought the necklace, and she recognized me from Twitter. I smiled as my hand found its way to my neck.
“This necklace I’m wearing—“ I began.
“Is from our store? Yes. I know. My mom and I recognized it from across the room. It’s so cute. I’m glad you like it,” she said.
I stood a little taller, and smiled a little wider. My self worth isn’t based on appearances. It’s not based on winning an award either. But, in that very short moment, my yellow necklace made me feel like the grown woman I’d been pretending to be.
Maybe I don’t need that skinny belt after all.
photo credit: elsita on flickr [click to continue…]
by Lesley on April 26, 2010
in running
The Southern California Ragnar Relay, a recipe
Ingredients:
12 people
2 vans
1 RV
iPod full of new music and NPR podcasts
3 sets of clothes, 5 sports bras, 4+ bags of Trader Joe’s snacks,
and a pancake breakfast
2 bike pacers (thanks Dad and Allison!)
Directions:
Assemble team of 12. Preheat for three months with lots of training runs and
complaining. Assemble/manipulate close family members to act as bodyguards during middle-of-the-night legs. Fly to Santa Barbara. Drive to Ventura. Show up at a random church in Moorpark to meet two vans full of strangers. Drink lots of water. Start driving, slowly. Cheer loudly. Honk horn often. Hop out of van at 4pm, run 7.4 miles completely uphill. Question why you agreed to ever do a relay race in the first place. Eat mexican food. Sleep from 11:15pm to 2:15am. Run 6.8 miles from Manhattan Beach to Redondo Beach. Reward yourself with hot chocolate to ward off exhaustion. Cheer for teammates, eat, drive, honk horn. Show up at Huntington Beach for a two hour nap. Think about showering. Decide to eat pancake breakfast instead. Hop back into van. Run 5.4 miles through Irvine. Eat-AGAIN. Show up at finish line as the sun sets to celebrate and collect medals.
Total prep time: 3 months
Total time in oven: 36 hours from start to finish; 200 miles
by Lesley on April 19, 2010
in family
Dear Jet,
It only makes sense to write you a letter. It’s a very human thing to do, but there have been many days we treated you like a human so this is only right. Tomorrow afternoon, my family will do something very difficult. We will say goodbye to you, our faithful friend, after almost 15 years.
I am very torn tonight, because I won’t be there tomorrow to say goodbye. I suppose, if I really wanted to, I could be. But I know, I just know, that I’d lose it. I’m a chicken. I don’t want to see your questioning eyes, or have to look at my dad, and my mom, and my sister, and my brother. Because then, I’d bawl and weep like a little kid. One of the worst parts about losing you is that you’re a part of our childhood. When we say goodbye to you, we are reminded that life has slowly changed since the day when we welcomed you home as a young family.
I still remember when my dad showed up with you, so tiny you were! We’d been begging for a puppy. Secretly, my dad was thrilled we did the begging for him. He wanted you even more than we did. I think my mom could resist my dad, but I don’t think she could resist us. We promised to pick up your poop and take you on walks. We rarely did. Instead, she took on that role, day in and day out. Dad’s role was to keep you well bathed, and to throw the tennis ball all the way down the cul-de-sac to get you nice and tired. In the early years, you were a constant bundle of energy.
Our role, as your faithful older “siblings”, was to cuddle and call you silly names like Bugaboo and Jetter Bear. I loved playing hide-and-seek with you, and letting you crawl up on my lap as if you only weighed 5 pounds.
Oh sure, there were times you made me very, very angry. I still don’t think I’ve forgiven you for that one time when, after I’d spent all afternoon making Valentine’s cookies for my first high school boyfriend, you hoisted yourself up on the counter and ate them- every.single.one. Ooooo, I was so mad! I’m sure my mom has many more tales of your bad behavior, including finding “surprises” around the house every now and then. But, I think she’ll agree with me that you’ve been worth it.
You have been a love to us, Jet, as a family and as individuals. You are the reason I beg Jonathan for a puppy. You gave us a lot of laughter and were a companion that doesn’t choose sides. (Except you did always have dad as your favorite. It’s okay–somedays, you were his favorite out of all of us too!)
With a lot of sadness, we say goodbye to you. Everyone has different ideas of what heaven will look like. Tonight, my heaven includes you waiting for us to throw tennis balls.
Love, Lesley
by Lesley on April 1, 2010
in food
It’s been a full week of food issues at the Miller casa. I, Lesley, am buried in yogurt related marketing duties for a brand that shall remain nameless (Yellowberry? Nah. Orangeberry? Nope. Redberry? Getting closer….) As a result of my late nights at the office, Jonathan is also up to his neck in food related duties. Mainly, he’s become chef for the week so I can concentrate on getting stuff done. And then, there is the real reason for this post: farm fresh food, my thoughts on seeds, and Jaime Oliver.
I don’t want to beat a dead horse veggie since I’ve talked about my farm box several times now in the last few months. But, will you humor me with one more post? Pretty puhlease?
On Saturday, before Redberry hell week began, we headed to the Capay Valley with our friends Sam and Sharon to attend a farm tour at Full Belly. The farm holds tours several times a year, and I didn’t like the thought of visiting in August during 100 degree weather. Saturday’s blue skies and breezy air were a perfect excuse to open the sunroof and get out of Sacramento.
What I appreciated the most about our tour was seeing firsthand the people who stand behind the food we eat each week. Full Belly is owned by two couples who have farmed the land since 1985. They are passionate about the work, treat their employees fairly, and believe in natural farming practices. I found many parts of our walk fascinating, but what I enjoyed most was seeing how everything works together in such a miraculous way. Sharon said it best–how could there not be a creator when you see the way He’s crafted the world? The picture above shows just some of the few thousand chickens on Full Belly’s property. The chickens are moved from field to field every week so they can roam and peck, feed and poop. (Resulting in healthy soil, no need for weed killers, and lovely eggs and meat.)
That night, we finally rented Food, Inc. The contrast between our day at the farm, and the images of America’s large scale agriculture and meat packing practices, was striking. Oh sure–the images of nasty meat and chicken coops really turned my stomach the wrong way. But, what worried me the most, was the segment about Monsanto. Monsanto is the leading producer for genetically engineered seeds and “Roundup,” a herbicide used to kill weeds. Interesting that the seeds Monsanto creates grow into plants that are resistant to Roundup. Which basically means farmers can dump Roundup on their plants, killing all the weeds around the crop, but not the crop itself.
Even more intriguing/concerning? Organic farmers like Full Belly suffer as a result of Monsanto having so much control of the seed market. On Tuesday, we received this newsletter from the farm. In it you can read about Monsanto aquirring Seminis (the holder of the Early Girl tomato patent) in 2005. As a result of that purchase, this is the first year Full Belly can’t buy Early Girl tomato seeds because they can no longer find untreated seed. How sad! Early Girls are a staple on many farms. I have to wonder, are we moving towards a future when all seeds are genetically engineered? And, can that possibly be a good thing?
My questions may seem silly to some, or too “green thumb” for others, or just plain liberal. I don’t ask them from a political angle. I ask them simply from a health angle. Why, as we gain new advances in technology, do we abandon a food system that for many years was working just fine? What is wrong with eating food without the preservatives, the additives, and the scientific tinkering?
Not convinced our food system is broken? Rent Food Inc. or check out Jamie Oliver’s Food Revolution on ABC. It’s a new show about food in America. I think you’ll find it funny, charming, alarming and entertaining. And then, leave me your thoughts.
Mmmmm… I think it’s about time for some processed dessert. Good night!
