Dee Hathaway

I have some shocking news. I hope you’re ready for this. Are you ready? Cuz I need you to be ready…

Today. I did not go to the gym. (gasp!) I know! I was pretty shocked myself. I stayed up way too late last night (I blame you) at a most fantastical rave party and had to get up way to early to go deposit one of the kidlings at their ride to work. When I got back home I figured I would just get the day started and sat down on the computer (and there goes the day, right?!) and do a little emailing and blogging and posting and stuff and junk. And then I got a little sidetracked (no way! not you dee!) by some songs. And before I knew it my phone was saying “going to the gym today?”

At that time I had every intention of going to the gym (see, now I wish I hadn’t started out the post by telling you I didn’t go, cuz it would have fit right here as a little entertaining twist in the story… and these stories need all the entertaining twists they can get :-/ ) I went into the ol’ bedroom and took care of some tanning and got a little bit roasty-toasty – the tanning lights tend to warm you up a bit – and thought I’d just stretch out on the bed under the fan to cool down (you know how that goes, right?)

And the next thing you know my phone is buzzing at me and it’s an hour and a half later.

I could have gone to the gym at that point, but decided instead to spend the day working on some tasks that I have been putting off lately, mostly talking (typing, whatever) to you, and working on some music. There are a couple of songs I’ve been telling myself I would learn on the guitar and today, rainy as it is, seems like a very good day to sit on the couch and strum the strings. So I hopped on the handy-dandy internet to find the chords for the songs… and today’s post was born.

Now I know what you’re thinking (I really don’t, but without you telling me I have to make stuff up)… what does finding song chords have to do with paths and intention and the usual weird stuff that gets posted here? Well, I am so glad you asked!

When you’re learning a new song, one of the easiest ways to get the chords is google (I do like to google things… it generally works out really well for me). Back in the day (I promise to not use that phrase again) I had to listen to the cassette tape over and over and over and try to figure out the words and chords on my own. Now I just hop online and somebody else has done all that work for me. I appreciate that someone else takes the time to listen to the cassette over and over. What? mp3? hmmm. I’ll have to try that.

Most songs are pretty basic (well, the songs I can play anyway) and have a few easy chords, but there are times when you run across the music and can’t figure out how in the heck the people writing the chords came up with what they did. Ever try playing a song in the key of L flat minor 7? Me neither, but some people who transpose this stuff think that it’s okay to play chords that require 3 sets of fingers to play, and generally it turns out that if they had changed the key or used a capo the chord would have been a simple C.

And that got me thinking (did you see that coming?)… how often in our lives do we make things so much more difficult and complicated than they have to be, than they really are? (Oh! I do it all the time. Why I did it just about an hour ago!) I’m guessing the world is a complicated place because we make it so. Because we don’t necessarily play it in the right key, or because we are too afraid, or too busy, or too distracted by our everyday existence to retune ourselves to make life easier to play.

So let me be your capo. Let me be your sounding board. Together we can figure out the chords that will be our song. When life seems a bit too complicated, when it seems that you can’t possibly stretch to cover all the notes you need to play, turn to me. And I will help you find your way across the strings… that’s a promise. and maybe, just maybe, your life will be played in the key of Dee.

I know that you and I can make some beautiful music together.

A happy life is just a string of happy moments. But most people don’t allow the happy moment, because they’re so busy trying to get a happy life.
— Abraham

Popularity: 12% [?]

for fun and weight loss

If you have been on this blog before, you know that I am a gym junkie. I am at the gym 7 days a week whenever possible. And for anyone to tell me to take ‘rest days’ from the gym so that I won’t overdo it, I say get your own blog. I you haven’t been on this blog before and don’t know that I’m a gym junkie, press the backspace key now and get out while you can! (or just go read the other posts first. whatever)

And… if you’re any kind of stalker at all (and I know you rival me in your stalkeryishness) you know that Fridays are yoga days. (that’s yoga, not yoda. but I did put yoda in this paragraph specifically to see how many Star Wars fans I could lure to this site) I do so very much enjoy yoga Fridays. It’s the time when I get to focus on my center, my intention, when I can actually see what it is that I truly want. Sometimes that visualization works so well I can just.. about… stretch…. out my hand….. and touch what it is I want!

Sounds wonderful doesn’t it? Well it really is. And kudos to the yoga instructor and most excellent partners in class for making it so.

I need to stop here to let you know that as I sit here writing this post, the cat keeps biting me on the leg. I’m not sure if he’s just giving me little love bites (cuz he does that sometimes) or if he’s hungry. I’m hoping it’s cuz he likes me… otherwise I am doomed.  :)

Anywayz, today’s yoga class was a ‘little’ different. I woke up a little groggy and figured I’d take a shower before yoga; just to see if it would wake me up a little (it did, btw). So clean and refreshed and less groggied I set off to the gym in search of my center. But there was no center at yoga today (oh no!) I knew the regular yoga instructor would be out today and figured that was no big deal, yoga is yoga. (you see the story taking shape already, don’t you?!)

The previously kudoed yoga instructor is pretty much always late, so I had put my bets on yoga starting on time this week. And counting on a normal start time,  I was actually a bit early in my arrival. The very nice lady at the front desk chatted with me for a few minutes and let me know that the sub-yoga guru had called in and would be running a little late. (so I guess maybe that’s just how yoga instructors are) The doors to the little room in which we do yoga were propped open, and as I entered them I found out why. The place was on fire. OK, so not really on fire, but it was smoldering a little. If it weren’t so humid here right now it probably would have been on fire though.

There were a few regular yoga-devotees there (and just where were you… hmmm?)  and we politely chit-chatted while waiting the 10 minutes for the instructor to arrive. And upon arrival, the instructor closed the doors (nooooo!) and the temperature went up about 4 degrees. Miss yoga smiled and said good morning and sorry about the delay and sorry about not being able to get the cabinet to the sound system open, so we were going to do yoga acapella again. And that doesn’t matter because we’re here for yoga, not music right? (no, we’re here for the whole experience… hellooo.  music, center and A/C included)

And then my world went sideways. What I didn’t realize is that there is such a thing as competitive speed yoga. I am used to the first few minutes being a little relaxing and intention-setting and center-focusing and sharing nice little laughs about inside jokes with the others in the room about focusing on things you really want. (wow, that was a run-on sentence if ever there was one) Today it was every pose you can do in 3 minutes or less. Imagine you like shopping (which I really don’t). You like it a lot. And now you have 12 minutes to put everything you need into a cart and get checked out. And you are on fire.

It was kinda like that.

The instructor kept saying to “go at your own pace”, but there was no your own pace, because unless you were watching her very closely, you had no idea what pose was going on. And go at your own pace was like being tied to the bumper of a car and being told to keep up if you could while we drive at freeway speeds. uh-huh. It was like the first time at a Catholic church service and you don’t know when you’re supposed to sit, kneel, stand, feel guilty or sing. (no, I’m not a Catholic, but I know the workout) The people who admitted they were new to yoga kinda sat on their mats and laughed.

45 minutes later I looked at the clock and realized that only about 10 minutes had gone by. (clocks and I do NOT get along) And I had already been in more yoga positions than I do in a full class. So you know what I did? Do you? No? Well then let me tell you.

I stood long enough to stop sweating and start breathing, rolled up my mat and left. That’s me… the quitter. On the way out of the gym I found out that the air conditioning was broken in that room and the part would be there the next day. I told myself for just a few seconds that I would use that as my excuse for cutting out… that it was just too hot.

And that got me thinking. (see, this is where the moral, the thought, the lesson to be learned would be if I did that sort of thing. and I do. so here it is) I left because that particular class was not what I wanted. And that is perfectly okay. In fact, it’s the way it should be.

There was a time when I would have stuck it out in class and hated the whole experience. But because of you, because of my distraction (which I am now convinced is actually my main attraction) I am not scared to be myself and stand up and reach for what I want, and stand up and move away from the things I don’t (like aerobic yoga classes, for example). It’s the new me (and yes, I blame you) and I like the new me!

The one part that is left unanswered for me is… what happened to the people who were new to yoga? I have been doing yoga with semi-private lessons, and then in a group session, for about 18 months. And I couldn’t hang. (wimpy me? ya, whatever. let’s just wrestle and see who wins!) I’m guessing those peeps who were laughing on their mats will never go to another yoga class. And that makes me very sad for them. But because they might have gotten a bad first experience, because they got hooked up with a yoga nazi, they will miss out on what really can be a beautiful, life-changing exercise. (have you ever tried the Happy Dee pose?)

So the moral of the story, the place where I think you and I can help each other is here. (just in case you were looking for it; I know sometimes I lose things in the most unusual places ) By this time I know that we are not afraid to tell each other what we want. We might still be a little hesitant in a few areas, but if you’ve been keeping up with the posts, by now you are starting to see the power of intention, the magic of believing, and the truth in changing your own destiny. So… let me move you to another level (and yes, there are still many levels to which we can ascend)

This life is ours (yours, mine, Ours)… let’s live it like it belongs to us,  and not somebody else. Not to society and not to expectations. There will be some tough times, some times when the temperature seems too hot to stand, when the pace is far too fast and we don’t really know what’s going on. I would suggest that this is not the time to jump out of the ring, but maybe to step back. To take a breath. I left the class today because it was more than I was willing to put myself through… not because I was ready to quit yoga (cuz I’m not), but because I didn’t feel comfortable at that time. But you wanna know a secret? Well, I’m not gonna tell you a secret here because this is a public blog! Come see me if you wanna know a secret!

But I will tell you this… I am not giving up. I had a bad day.  I had some doubts.  There were some things in place that made it seem that I couldn’t keep up, that I didn’t know what was going on, that I was about to get my trash kicked.  But I will be back in class next week!

So when we feel like that, let’s not be afraid to step back for a few minutes/days. Bad times do not negate good times. Do not give up on lighting a fire just because you’re lighter is out of fuel. Find some matches (why, you and I are a pretty good match!), call a boy scout (which I was, btw), get some flint and steel, or just snuggle up with me until daybreak. But don’t.give.up on finding that light! And I promise that I won’t too!

If happiness is the goal, and it should be, then let’s decide how we can keep that happiness. (you already know what makes you happy, don’t you… come on. you can tell me!) And if I can help you be happy, well that’s why I’m here.

Popularity: 9% [?]

Breakin’ the Law is a most excellent song that my oh so famous rock band covered back in the 80s. (My hair was awesome even then, just bigger!)

Now that I have you here, I would like to tell you a little story. You like stories, don’t you?  Well this is a story about how I broke the law. (gasp!!) Right?! I am such a rebel, such a bad-boy, such a dangerous man that I had to have my day in front of the judge. Why Dee, you might ask (go ahead and ask. I’ll wait).. why would such an outstanding citizen such as yourself have to appear in front of ‘the man’.

I’m so glad you asked (cuz now I can post about it). It all started when I was a little boy… no, wait. That’s a different story. A couple of months ago I went fishing (big shocker) at Alamo Lake and got busted by the AZ FnG (pronounced “effin G”, meaning Fish and Game for you not familiar with the fishing ghetto vernacular) for not having my fishing license with me. I got a ticket for “Fishing Without a License in Possession”. Oh ya. I am a criminal mastermind.

Or criminally absent-minded. I do have a fishing license… no really! Do you remember the trip to Lake Powell this spring? You know, the one where I ran every cell phone within 120 miles dead? Well, I bought the license then. I just left it in the ‘junk drawer’ at home. I could see it in my head.. in it’s little blue protective sleeve on the bottom of the drawer, covered with… well, with junk (it is a junk drawer). I just couldn’t show it to Mr FnG, so he showed me a pink piece of paper that said “TICKET!” and explained to me that Arizona Revised Statute (snore, snooze, nap) states that you must have a license in your possession when fishing. OK!  Well, we can’t have people like that running around. If I weren’t taught a lesson, why the next thing you know I’d be tinting my windows too dark!

You know, those FnG guys are like outdoor Mall Cops or Forest Rangers; I’m starting to have a real problem with ‘authority figures’. What a bunch of funhaters! 

Mr FnG told me that I could just call the court in a couple of weeks and probably send them a copy of my license, if I actually have one (which I do!  hello! didn’t I just tell the Powell story!). Well the court had a different story. Since I live within 100 miles (I live like 99.3 miles from there) I would have to show up in person. Great. It’s not like I have a job or anything. and I can’t handle this through mail or even at my local courthouse. I have to drive to Shalome. Evidently it’s a little Jewish community out in the middle of… what’s that? Oh! I see. My bad.

Evidently it’s Salome, not Shalome.

Anyhoo, it is a little community out in the middle of freakin’ nowhere (and this from a guy who lives in Buckeye). It’s actually about an 85 mile drive from the office, and google says it takes 2 hours. Well… I am race car driver and I know I can do it in 90 minutes. At least I could have if I hadn’t been all distracted and missed my exit. :-/ When I got to exit 69 I realized that I might have passed exit 81. (oopsies!) It’s a good thing I trust Google (googling has been so very good for me) and like to be places early, cuz I would so not have made it on time if I hadn’t given myself 2 hours!

I only did 90 a little over the speed limit, and only long enough to get me back on schedule. (well… long enough-ish). And I found out why it takes 2 hours to get from my hick town to theirs… half the trip is 35-45 miles per hour! You know why? Me neither! I did see a whole lot of “Watch for Cattle” signs, but I didn’t see a single Cattle. And I was looking! According to the signs, Cattles look like cows. (there were pictures, just my speed)

Because of my… effective driving skills… I still made it to the courthouse about 20 minutes early. When I say courthouse, what I really meant to say is court-shack(s). And I’m not worried about hurting the feelings of the people who work there… they know. I took a quick picture with my phone, so that I would have a ‘before’ picture for you to remember me by should the worst happen, and worked my way around the building to the front entrance. I stepped into the lobby/waiting area/holding cell (funny thing about a ‘holding cell’. It’s not really a good place for holding. I suppose if you had the right person with you it could be pleasant, but generally it’s not like that) and felt a little panic ripple through me.

I’ve been through lot of new emotions and experiences lately, and this was not one of the better ones. The place was just covered with warnings about your legal rights. And disclaimers. And what to expect and not expect during your stay. (no bellhop OR concierge, I’m only giving them 2 stars)

The nice lady behind the bullet-proof glass (except in Salome, it’s bb proof glass) handed me a paper about my legal rights and what to expect from the judge, and directed me to the front of the shack (outside and around the corner) where the judge would be waiting for my execution hearing.

I walked in the courtroom looking all good in my work clothes (you know, power tie, fancy shoes) and could just feel the justice. It was either justice or terror, I wasn’t really sure which. Anyway, the courtroom was nice little churchy feeling place, with pews for seats and plenty of guilt for everyone.  I took a pew in the back of the room, because Mr. Jeff Spicoli was seated at the defendant’s table up front. “I’ll just sit here and wait my turn” I thought.

Then Judge Dredd noticed me and said (in a very authoratative voice, I might add) “and who are you”?
What? Me? Why I’m Sheriff Goodnight!  DeLoooong Goodnight. You can call me Dee. (yes! still with the melodrama! It was so much fun!) I actually didn’t think that throwing around my make-believe lawmanship would be a good idea, and I hadn’t brought my star… So after I told Mr. Justice my real name, he directed me to defendant’s table number 2, right in front of him.  Well, this isn’t like Law and Order at all!

I took my place at the table next to Spicoli’s… not even a “hey” or “dude” or “what’s up” from him. All business with the criminal world evidently. The judge rattled off a whole slew of legal sayings about lawyers and weapons and illegal status and full extent of the law and miranda rights and lefts and… ok. I’m back. His Honor started reading the charges against Spicoli, which were like 3 dozen felonies, most of them involving some type of leafy green substances and the various ways to transport, bake or burn them…

And when he got to charge number 3,724 against my new friend and co-lawbreaker, the judge said “you might want to listen to this too, Mr. McDorkman Goodnight, cuz this penalty applies to your charge as well”. Was I not paying attention before? Did I look like I was dozing? I didn’t have my phone out (and that NEVER happens!).

Well I was all good right up until then.  But, evidently I was being charged with Premeditated Aggravated Fishing Without a License in Possession… (these people take their fishing a little too seriously). Class 2 misdemeanor punishable by up to a $750 fine AND 4 months in jail (I’m much too pretty to go to jail!). Now you readers of the fairer sex might be thinking ‘just work up a few tears..and bat your eyelashes. that works’. That doesn’t work for a guy who’s about to go to prison! (although working up tears at that point wouldn’t have been very difficult).

While Mr Blackrobe was reading off the charges, Spicoli just kept saying “not guilty”. Even I wasn’t buying it. I think he was high right then!

When the judge turned his attention to me (I didn’t jump or anything) and asked how I pleaded I said “please, please don’t send me to jail”!  (that would have been good pleading)  But I actually said… “can I ask a question your honor?” and this nice man let me clarify what I was being charged with. Not fishing without a license (which I have…remember?), but without it in possession. Crap! Then I plead Guilty your honor (and may the court have mercy on my hair).

Does it still count as being convicted if I plead guilty?  :)

Mr. HoldingMyFateInHisHands asked me to approach the bench (so legal sounding, isn’t it?) because he had a written statement from Mr FnG (who couldn’t be bothered to show up to see me swing) and I needed to see if I concured with the statement.  The statement was pretty much “Dood didn’t have his license, although he claimed it was home in a blue case in his way messy junk drawer, so we harshed on his buzz and wrote him up”.  (well, I said pretty much).  But yah…that’s kinda how it happened.  So Mr. McBench had me return to my seat while he did the same thing with Spicoli.  Except there was not really a FnG statement for my bleary-eyed new friend, more like a DEA statement, I think.

No, I’m not finished yet!  Keep reading!

So at this time I was thinking “okay… checkbook is in the car… who can I call to come bail me out that won’t just take the checkbook and go shopping?”

Spicoli decided at this time that the whole thing was bogus, and asked the judge (I kid you not) “can I ask you a question?”  (riveting, isn’t it?)  Spicoli said that he really didn’t want to spend any more time dealing with this, and if he just changed his pleas to ‘no contest’ could he pay his fine or whatever and , like, go back to California or something and junk?  He didn’t want to have to come back.

What’s in California that’s so important?  All it does this time of year is rain and mist and stay cloudy and ruin your freakin’ beach vacation!!

Well, evidently the Judge likes Mr Felony Spicoli, because he didn’t have to stay, didn’t have to change his plea, didn’t even have to come back.  ”Only have to be there for the initial appearance and the rest can be done by mail.  It’s not like you did anything horribly wrong, like fish without a license in your possession.”  (Did I mention you don’t even have to have any fish?  Just the pole.)  Just fill out this paperwork and you can be on your way.

Now, Mr. Demeanor (that’s me, btw) was called up to the bench again and told in no uncertain terms “don’t lean on the bench!”  Crap!  How can I sign my freedom away if I can’t put my hand on the bench.  Turns out the bench is mostly made of plywood and duct tape and wouldn’t take much pressure.  The judge started rattling off (again) the limits of what my punishment could be… and the room started getting a little dark and kinda sideways.  And as I was signing my guilty plea,  I was picturing that long walk… towards the piranha pool, or wherever non-license possessing fishermen like me go, sleeping on a bed of nails and eating my dinner while kneeling on rose thorns…  Then the judge leaned forward and said “you do understand that it is against the law to fish without a license in your possession..”  Well, ya!  I got that by now thank you very much!  Can we get to that speedy trial or quick execution or  something?!?!   If I’m gonna have to tunnel out I want to get an early start!

Well since this was my first offense, I was given the minimum sentence.  Which is, as it turns out, a terrifying trip to Salome.  No fine.  No jail time.  I had spent enough time and money getting to the 5th circle of Buckeye to show up for court.   (whew!)  And I can petition the court to have the conviction (crap!) stricken from the record.  Of course nobody in the office had that form, so they’ll mail it to me.  Uh-huh.

So that is my story.  I hope you enjoyed reading it a whole lot more than I enjoyed living it.  Thank you for keeping me company during this trip of mine!  It has made my imaginary time in the holding cell so much more funner.  I wish you could have been there IRL (cuz I just about needed someone to post bail).   And here’s the part that involves you the most.  You spent more time reading the story than I spent living it!   Ya.  Not liking my wordiness so much now, are you!?

If you are convicted of a felony you are felon, but did you know that if you are convicted of a misdemeanor you are a misdemeanant??? Didja?!

Popularity: 11% [?]

I was at the gym today (shocking, isn’t it) running on the treadmill and saw something that had me shaking my head in disbelief. Now I know what you’re thinking (so stop thinking that and pay attention), and no, it wasn’t the 80s outfit that sometimes shows up. And it wasn’t creepy stalker guy (although that does make me shake my head in disbelief). You know what it was?

Well, first let me say that I love going to the gym on Sunday morning. The place is pretty much empty, which is just how I like it. Of course, none of the entertaining people are there on Sunday, but I never have to wait for equipment. And I don’t have to wait when I go in at 5 am either… hmmm. I have this gym thing down better than I realized.

Anyway, I generally wear the headphones and listen to my own soundtrack when I work out, because the Hathaway soundtrack just rocks, and the gym’s music… well… not so much.

The best thing in life is finding someone who knows all your mistakes and weaknesses, and still thinks you're completely amazing

And I almost never watch the TVs in there… far too much bad news for this happy Dee to have to deal with first thing in the morning.  I’m much more of a “start your day with a smile” kind of guy.  But today there was something very unusual on the screens. The TV was set to ESPN (which is not the disbelieving part) and that makes good sense. You know… sports… gym. It’s what was on ESPN that I found so funny… a hot dog eating contest. I’m pretty sure the dude 2 treadmills down was drooling.

And yes, I just spent 3 paragraphs telling you what was on TV. Deal with it.

So I know I haven’t posted in a while, and I’m just going to stop saying that (cuz you already know) and also stop pretending that I really care about the frequency of posts anymore. Like all good things (yes, these posts are good. no, really) they happen as they should, and when they are needed. And I need to post one today, so you have something to read and take with you as you travel off on your big holiday adventures. (you are having big holiday adventures, aren’t you? yes? take me with you!!)

Anyway, on to the actual post. ((holy crap, half a page in and he hasn’t even started with the post yet))

While I was at the gym, doing the stretches that I do after killing my legs, I noticed a couple of things. First was that the lighting and mirrors in that gym are brutal! I prefer the dim lighting and soft reflection of my home mirror to the bright light and industrial truth -in-reflection mirrors at the gym. the second thing was how much the sweat on my shirt (eww) reminded me of a Rorschach test. You know, where you look at the ink spots on a piece of paper and a doctor judges you based on what you pretend to see. And the thing about those ink blots is that different people see different things.

And that got me thinking (I really gotta get a new writing routine… maybe for my birthday. nah. I already know what I want) about how we do that all the time. How different people can see the same thing so differently, and other people can see it exactly the same.

Let’s take the race car for example. It’s quite possibly one of the best looking cars around (you love it, you know you do). But there are people who think that a blue Charger would be better. Or that having those little fancy black stripes down the rear quarter-panel make the charger sexier. (but almost everyone likes the red. let’s get that straight right now). I suppose the only thing that would make the car more memorable is if it were the batmobile. What is it with bats, anyway?

Oh! and I have another example (wow, two stories in a post… maybe I already have a new writing routine) I was watching a magic act on TV a couple of days ago and there was a really, really cool magic trick on. I was blown away. And I am not easily impressed. (oh, look! a banana!) I called my peeps into the room and said “you have got to see this!” As the trick was performed on TV, peep number one was equally blown away, wide-eyed and slack-jawed amazed and impressed. Peep number two was (say it with me) not impressed. In fact, the questions were “how did they do that?!” and “is that it? can I go now?”. You figure out who was whom.

So the point to my little ramblings (wake up, it’s time to end the post) is this: You and I don’t have to see everything the same (although I’m pretty sure we do). And You and I don’t have to see everything the same as everyone else (and I’m pretty sure we don’t). But I think the most important thing is actually how we see things. Some people will see the magic in anything and everything, and some people will not even see the magic in magic.

I like to think that the fact that you have read this far, and have hung in with me through all this time and all these posts means that you are a believer. That you can see the magic in what most people would think of as everyday, as ordinary, as average. And I know you recognize magic when you see It, when you feel It. Let’s always look for the magic in every moment, because It’s there. Let’s remind each other (again and again) how lucky we are to have found things in this life that make us say “holy crap”, because a lot of people never get that. Let’s share our own magic with those we love the most, and revel in the things that make us smile, that give us butterflies and that make us trembly.

I believe in magic. I believe in You. I believe in Us!

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