Let us pray . . .

Today I treated myself to a pedicure. My feet were feeling rough, and I had disliked my nail color almost since I had it put on a month ago. I'm really pleased with the result and feel more confident to face the summer now.

While I was sitting in the pedicure chair having my feet pampered, I was reminded of the last time I got a mani/pedi. It was at the nail salon in Henderson last month. I had my pedicure first and then sat down to have my nails manicured. The woman did all the prep work on my fingers (filing, cutting, soaking, etc.) and then leaned over to tell me something. I didn't understand her, so I asked her to repeat herself.

"Will you pray for me?"

Hmm. All these thoughts began to race through my head. Should I pray that she makes my nails look pretty? That she doesn't hurt me with those sharp tools? Or is this something more serious — is she going through some real life issues right now?

As I was sitting there looking very confused, she repeated her question and pointed to my purse.


"Would you like to pay me now?"

That made much more sense. I sheepishly took out my wallet and paid her.

You just never know what's going to happen when you get your nails done.

Riding the Train

Back when I used to ride the train every day, there was a man who often rode on the same car as me. What was so remarkable about this man was that he was wearing shorts every time I saw him. It didn’t matter if it was 9 degrees or 90 degrees — he always wore shorts. I was pretty amazed by him the first few times I saw him. I thought he must be one of those strong New England types who never feels the cold and laughs at the sight of me, a Texas transplant, wearing Big Blue. Then I began to wonder where he worked — it must be a pretty informal workplace if he’s able to wear shorts everyday. Did everyone else there wear shorts too?

It’s funny how you spend so much time riding the train and creating stories about the people who ride along beside you. There was one older lady who always wore her hair up in a fancy, almost old-fashioned bun. She walked very slowly but with purpose. In the winter she carried a ski pole to help her navigate the ice. I always wondered if her grandchildren insisted she carry it, or if she was self-assured enough to carry it herself. Another woman had the craziest, multi-colored backpack. I was desolate the few weeks she went without it. Luckily she went back to it, and all order returned to the world.

Sometimes I wonder what people thought about me. Did they recognize me because of my coats? (I tend to wear brightly colored numbers — mostly to ensure I don’t get lost in the snow.) Or was it something else? My hair cut? My smile? My inability to really run for the train, but a willingness to try?

I miss riding the train sometimes. I got so much reading done and had two whole hours of ME time every day. But sometimes, what I miss the most are the people.

Colorado Panorama

I finally learned how to stitch together the panorama pictures from my camera. This is the panorama I took at Rocky Mountain National Park in May 2009. You can see a bigger version here.

Swimming Lessons

A short video for your viewing pleasure . . .