My Life is Measured

My life is measured
In heartbeats and skips
And the birthdays of my friends' children
By miles driven and turns made
And songs played on the radio

My life is measured
In chances taken
And opportunities missed
By trips to the mailbox
And the taking of pills

My life is measured
In books I've read
And bills I've paid
By secrets I've shared
And a few I've held close

My life is measured
In friends I've made
And those I left behind
By boxes I've packed
And lovers who have forgotten me

My life is measured
In vibrant dreams
And the writing of words
By minutes and hours and days
And the ticking of a clock I cannot see

A Very Merry Unbirthday

As some of you are aware, I recently celebrated a birthday. I would like to thank everyone who took the time to send a happy thought or comment in my direction.

Birthdays serve to let me celebrate having had the opportunity to navigate my path for one more year. I rejoice in my friendships, and the encouragement and comfort each one provides. I have come to treasure the knowledge that all along this path, I have made the right choices (something that is made indubitably clear on an almost daily basis these days).

Each birthday, I take time to reflect on the near-misses in my life, or what I like to call "mulligans". Here are some of the most memorable, either from my personal recollection or from stories shared by my family:

- As a toddler, my first steps into the ocean during a visit to the beach immediately introduced me to the undertow. I was saved by my father, who grabbed the back of my diaper and lifted me out of the water.

- Still a toddler, I fell out of the door of a moving car as we traveled around a curve. Once again, I was saved by my father's quick thinking and, you guessed it, my diaper.

- As a pre-teen, I was rescued from drowning by my tri-athlete grandfather after I thought it would be clever to ride on top of an inflatable tube down a pool slide. Not so much.

- In the late 70s, my house was struck by a tornado in the wee hours while my parents and I were sleeping. It picked the house up and moved it, intact, three feet off the foundation. For those of you who don't know first hand, yes, it does sound like a train.

- During high school, I almost drove a moped off a cliff at the beach during Spring Break. I ended up flipping the bike to keep from going over the edge. The scenery I observed while the bike was airborne for those few seconds was spectacular. Then I had to drive the moped back to the rental shop while my newly-mangled knee, which strongly resembled shredded wheat, got sandblasted. My first and last time on a moped.

- After high school, I survived a freak, single-car accident that left the reporting State Trooper in awe. I clearly remember thinking, "I am not in an upright position," as my car did a nose over end flip and two side rolls down a 50 foot embankment. Mr. Trooper told my father he'd "never seen anyone walk away from a car that looked like that". It didn't really hit home until a few days later, when I went to collect some personal items from the car where it rested in the junkyard; I was reduced to tears when I saw the collapsed roof and the MacPherson struts poking through the hood of the car. This accident was a life changer.

- In the late 90s, my Mother was visiting me in California. We ordered in some Chinese food one evening, and during dinner (okay, fine, during laughing and talking while I was eating) I choked violently on a thin strip of beef when it draped over my epiglottis. I was unable to communicate or breathe. After a couple of minutes of near panic I realized that if I breathed very slowly through my nose, a little air could bypass the blockage. I forced myself to calm down, and then concentrated all of my will to locate and constrict the muscles that could shift the position of the obstruction. After an exhausting effort, I finally pushed the beef off of the tiny ledge and was able to breathe freely again.

Recent unpleasantries aside, there are lots more near-misses, but these are some of the most noteworthy. These experiences have made me cognizant of what a gift life is, and that with this many mulligans, I'm expected to do something really great with it.

So I am.

Score One for the Good Guys

It seems to me that a majority of the populous thinks that rules are made simply to be broken; that they serve no useful purpose other than to inconvenience or to be manipulated in an effort to exploit those of us who are mature enough not only to understand the big picture of why rules and laws exist in the first place, but who actually like being held to a higher ethical standard. Case in point:

Mid-day today, I stopped by the Wally-Mart to run an errand. As I took my place in the express line, I observed two well dressed, attractive young women, aged 19 or 20, completing a purchase of what appeared to be a small DVD player and some incidentals (including a can of snuff; go figure). On the belt was a large stack of self-service kiosk photograph sheets. The cashier saw that they had not been scanned (i.e., priced) and called the photo department for instructions. She then directed the paying customer to complete the authorized portion of her purchase via the keypad, and then take her items and the photographs back to the photo desk to have them priced. The customer was informed that she would pay for them in Photo. Photo was expecting her.

I saw this train wreck coming from a mile away.

The girls sweetly thanked the cashier, gathered their bags, and departed the check-out. I looked at the cashier in awe, thinking, "Egad, but you are a trusting soul." I gently asked her if she truly believed the girls would do as she bid them, and she smiled and said she did. I scooted out to the end of the aisle and watched the girls meander towards the door. They had a 50% chance of doing the right thing: turning left and re-entering the store on their way to Photo. They turned right without a backward glance, on their way to the parking lot.

I informed the cashier that the photos just walked out the door. She didn't believe me. She looked around but didn't see the girls. She then told the senior cashier that the girls had stolen the pictures. The senior cashier didn't believe her. After a bit of coercing by the younger cashier, the senior cashier followed the girls, who I expected by this time to be halfway to Alabama.

While she searched, I gently recommended to the cashier that she should probably refrain from providing such an opportunity in the future. I suggested an easy way to prevent such an instance: by canceling the purchase in process and routing the customer back to Photo immediately. I also explained that they could very easily find out who the girl was by examining the credit card register, and that if they examined the printing record of the self-serve kiosk, they could recreate the purchase and debit her for the cost of the photos using the charge information already in the system. She admitted she hadn't even thought of that, and seemed hopeful that all would end well.

I departed with my purchase and passed the senior cashier, who was a little out of breath. I inquired "Any luck?" and she just shook her head. Gee, no real surprise there.

I scanned the parking lot briefly but didn't see the girls. I got into my car and made for the Parkway, when what to my wondering eyes should appear? Two little thieves in a Scion xA, sitting at the traffic light. I made note of the tag number as I pulled alongside, where I stopped and smiled at them.

Upon making the easily comprehended "Hey, roll down your window, I have something to impart" hand gesture, the passenger rolled down her window and smiled at me. I smiled back and asked, "Hi! Did you girls just leave the Wal-Mart?" They replied in the affirmative. Still holding a conversational, almost conspiratorial tone, I said, "Just so you know, the store has your information, about the pictures that you stole." And their pretty little faces blanched behind their now-faltering smiles. I then lowered my sunglasses a touch and said, not so conspiratorially, "I can't believe you just did that. That was just so . . . tacky." It is at this exact moment that I see the lower lip of the passenger begin to quiver, and the passenger-side window slowly begins to rise. The light changes and I nonchalantly drive off in a different direction from the girls.

Long story short, I then called the manager at the Wal-Mart and explained what transpired outside of the store, and told him that the girls were pretty much expecting to be charged for the photos at this point. I provided identifying details about the car. He obtained the time stamp from my receipt, took my phone number, and concurred that the store could recover the loss. Shoplifting charges might be pressed, but that is management's call. He thanked me profusely before saying goodbye to pull the videos and begin his investigation.

Now, that felt good.