That's How They Do It In An Ant Farm

Ants are not allowed in my house.  They do not pay rent, so they belong outside.  I think ants are great... Outside.  Inside they give me heebie geebies.  Too many bad science fiction movies with people and their skin literally crawling. Yuck.

But, put on a National Geographic documentary about how ants build and communicate, I am absorbed, fascinated.  I think the thing that gets me the most is how they communicate.  According to Wikipedia, "Ants communicate with each other using pheromones, sounds, and touch".  (Wikipedia - Ant)  What they can accomplish with their communication is amazing. 

Imagine the conversation.  Betty the Ant is walking along and meets Stacy.  They stop and knock their heads together, sniff around a bit and now Betty knows that there is a pretty sweet salami wrapper down the road.  Just follow the road that Stacy marked and bring back lunch.  Betty is on her way and tells Sally to turn around and tells Alice not to go toward the cupcake anymore, since "the hill prefers meat to sweet."  Eventually all the ants know the party is no longer at the cupcakes, but is hanging out with the salami.  SWARM!  And, on the way there, they set up an ant body bridge to ford the dishwater to get to the salami. So cool.  Kind of invisible and magical how it works.

Imagine looking at humans from an atmospheric observer's position.  We would look just like ants, except making a bit more noise.    Bumping our heads together as kisses in greetings, and our hands like antenna shake and embrace one another.  Pheromones and serotonin mixing together making connections, creating companions, getting stuff done.

I had some conversations with some friends lately that affected me deeply.  Whether it was me opening up or a friend telling me about her loneliness  there is a great relief in that contact.  How desperate we can feel but how refreshed that intimacy makes us, whether we are on the giving or receiving end. 

I wonder if ants are refreshed?  I hope they get a little anty wine and relax and just enjoy the sound of each other's squeaking and the smell of just hanging out.

If it's only pheromones and knocking heads together, that's OK.  I'd rather that than not have contact at all.

(3-2-1 Contact Song)

Hope Among the Living

I have been thinking a lot about hope.  It's a strange, elusive thing, and it is sometimes the only thing that makes things bearable.

If I really wanted to catalog all the things to be depressed about, I suppose I could.  I could list them in all their weight, and pile them high around my bed, on top of my covers.  I could paint them dull and tragic colors to give them importance and make them my focus.  Money problems, health problems, family problems, regrets.  Things I've done wrong and things I've neglected to do,  I know I could do this, because I have done this.  I know I could do this, because I continue to do this.

Piles and piles of things that need attention and juggling and action and dumping.

The real problem is that these pile on top of my bed pin me under my covers.  They hurt and keep me captive in my bed.  They add weight so heavy that I cannot breathe or sleep.  I am lonely and sad and cannot move.  This cannot be, because I am lost under everything.

That's where hope comes in.  Peeking out through the piles, a friendly face, a sunny day, a comforting verse. When I focus inward, I only see what is hard.  But, if I focus outward, I see possibility.  I see promise.  I have hope.

And that hope not only gets me out of bed, but it can get me moving and growing.  Just like riding a bike, if you look right to where your tire is rolling, you lose your balance and can fall, but if you look forward to your goal, the small bumps in the road don't matter and you can steer clear of all the big obstacles long before they become a problem.  Fear is gone and you can enjoy the breeze flowing through your hair.

So, instead of the piles, I see the blessings.  Health problems become triumphs of management.  Money problems become miracles of how I've never been without food or shelter.  These are not just Pollyanna Bright Side things.  They are real blessings I have in my life and real promises for the future.

And maybe, just maybe, if I look outward with hope, see my own blessings I'll feel like I can help support others, and they, in turn can gain courage and help others, and so on and so on

and so on....

BART Strike and Insanity

The sun gently rises and birds sing.  What a pleasure to great such an inviting day.  The smell of coffee brewing and the cool sight of morning clouds chilled and lifting to the sparkling brightness.  This is how I love to greet the early morning!  Well, intellectually, I believe in the concept of a pleasant, bracing morning, but concepts do not always equal truth.

Truth is often ugly, cranky, puffy eyed.  Clanging.  Ugg.  I did not greet the day in a pleasant manner.  I was up early, but I was not happy about it.  AT ALL.  Not enough time for a shower, sweaty from the nights of an ever pervasive heat wave, I put on the clothes I had fortunately laid out and dusted on some makeup.  Brush through the hair and teeth (different brushes chosen) and grabbed a cup of coffee.  (Thank you, Doug!) Off I went.

Michael left well before me.  We both had a difficult task before us, mine, more involved, his more arduous.

BART labor strike.  Rats.  The whole BART System is shut down, and for who knows how long?  This means that 400,000 people who usually take up one square foot of transit real estate each are now going to all be in their cars, taking up the whole stinking road and all of the parking spaces.  I have to go to Oakland from Concord and Michael has to go all the way to San Francisco.

At my office, we had a meeting to decide how do get everyone to work.  Fortunately, three of us were able to set up a carpool and adjust our start time to get us to work.  Rose Marie even has a parking space.  We started at 6 and arrived at 7:40.  I guess that's better than the trip to the city.  It's taking Michael 3 hours to get to the bridge.

I really think the union is doing a bad job in telling their story.  They kind of look greedy and petulant.  Spoiled brats holding the Bay Area hostage.  I'm sure there is more to their grievances, but really!  They should be telling their story better if they want the commuters to not be so cranky about their modified commute.

This is going on during the longest, hottest heat wave I've ever been through.  Day after day of three digit temperatures.  Cranky drivers.  Cranky people.  Sticky, itchy, not in the mood.  So how do I keep up with my exercise when I am in my car for days and it's too hot to exercise when I get home?  Leave it to Michael to come up with a solution.  He has the Insanity workout that we can do at home.  I did it.  Does that make me insane?  Ok, so I am really a wuss, and I am not buff like Shuan T. So, while I did exercise through the entire workout, I didn't do everything they told me to.  I mean really, jumping jacks with squats, push-ups while crawling like a crab across the floor, now faster, now faster, now higher, now faster.   But, I did a lot, and a lot more than I thought I could.  Lots and lots of sweat.

You know, there was a time in my life when I didn't sweat much at all.  I think I believed it was unladylike.  Maybe it is, but I am past caring.  As long as I can shower afterwards, I consider sweating is a badge of honor for courageously wearing stretch pants and making grunty faces for 45 minutes.  Yay exercise!

So Insanity at home, appointment with the trainer at the gym, weekend bike rides and hikes, all squeezed into little slots throughout the week.  Insanity feels less insane than driving to work these days.