Shades of Red - Part One

- life-granting color; worn by brides and babies (Asian definition of Red)

Red is the most striking color, and for me, it is a color that bombarded my life over the past two years. Chenlu entered my life two years ago and I have not been the same since. A woman from the Red Country of China, as pure and simple as China can get, reached through my layers of emotions and grabbed my heart, or rather, my heart grabbed her. With Shades of Red, I choose to write about me falling in love with Chenlu and our relationship as we journey down a road less taken.

I tried to sleep as my head slouched against the car window and I winced at the sound of our taxi driver's horn. His way of politely telling the motor scooter to move away. We passed hundreds of motor scooters that day, as we did everyday, returning from a factory visit. We were tired and borderline car sick from the roller coaster movements and the lack of fresh air. The road straightened for a bit, and the motor scooters were too far to see. The car smoothed out its bumps and I sat up to wonder why. I looked over to my right, and Chenlu lay still against the car door. I paused, and noticed that she was the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. In the dregs of a long, traveling day, in and out of dirty factories, with quick meals and little sleep the night before, this was hardly a woman's ideal moment to shine. But, she shined brilliantly.

"What?" she said in her soothing accent that made her English fun to listen to. "What are you looking at?" I explained that at that very moment, with a tired mind and body and without much thought, that I wanted to grow old with her. In my forty plus years on earth, I have never had a thought about growing old with someone and I saw that with her. I explained that I can imagine her old with me and how incredibly beautiful she will remain in my eyes.

Like many of our conversations and interactions between each other, translation can be lost. In this case, she thought I was saying that she looked old. She didn't take my comments as a compliment or even fancied the idea of growing old together. It was like a drop of water hitting a well waxed car hood, it just rolled off. But that moment was not for her, it was for me. The moment I was granted a life of love.

The taxi swerved a little, and honked his horn again. I leaned my head against the inside of the car, and closed my eyes. This time with a little smile on my face.

Family - Part Two

Deja vu! Yesterday morning early, my soon-to-be fiancee and I awoke early to partake in a old family ritual: Garage Sale-ing. The weekly Saturday sunrise activity is part thrift, part discovery, and part gamesmanship. For me, I realized yesterday, that it started young and shaped some of the way I do things today.

Today, the economy is rough and Garage Sales offer deals. We experienced that yesterday, as Chenlu and I filled our apartment with a couch, desk, wall hangings, and other small things for under $100 dollars. Our apartment feels much more like a home, and we enjoyed the experience of working together to find the second-hand treasures. Nothing to big about saving money for the coming year.

However, the discovery makes Garage Sale-ing so much fun. It is a treasure hunt, with a map and tools, but the treasures are unknown. For whatever reason, I like bargains. I love bargains. I have such a hard time paying full retail for anything, but do not hesitate to buy multiples of things on sale. Funny though, I do not care for second-hand stores, etc. I believe Garage Sale-ing is acceptable to me because I meet the previous owners of the goods. I get a chance to discover how they live, where they live, what other goods they are selling, and how they sell the goods they do no want anymore. It makes the purchase feel better. It is like taking a pet from an owner that has to move away. That is part of what makes the discovery of treasures so great for me, and satisfies my emotional desire to get a deal.

It is especially fun to work the deal. I found myself going back in time as a child or even 10 years ago and checking into deal maker's mode. If you find a good prospective seller with something you like, you immediately ask for a price on the item and once the price is given...you wait. Put the item down, subtly communicate that you are not happy with the initial price and begin to move around the merchandise. Check to see if there is anything else you might want from the sale, because you know that the initial price is either coming down or you are going to create a nice combination of things for that price. Lower prices or more merchandise is the game.

This, of course, was learned early on as our family went to garage sales and swap meets almost every weekend. The lessons of negotiation, patience, value sourcing, self sacrifice, working together as a team, and stepping back to analyze the situation are all vital elements to the art of Garage Sale-ing. As I finished up yesterday and unloaded our treasures, it struck me that I use those elements in my day-to-day work life.

I now realize that the greatest treasures of my childhood garage sale-ing days have materialized in the form of those valuable lessons, not the second-hand toys and games that ended up at our garage sales.

Quandary - Part One

Twenty years ago, the four of us hit beautiful US 395 for a mid-summer's road trip in the gorgeous Eastern Sierra landscape of California. Along with way we left the world famous Schatt's Bakery in Bishop to head north to our destination. The signal light was red, as usual, when you leave the parking lot of tiny, small-town bakery.

"Go and push the crosswalk button," I blurted to my buddy in the front seat. Whether it was because he was rooted in Texas, or just that we shared more thoughts in common, he jumped out and hit the button as if to signal is complete agreement on what would happen next.

Astonished, the other half of the tribe disagreed with the action and subsequent reaction of the light turning green. To them, the two events were unrelated, and the debate raged heavily for the next seven days. As it turned out, the debate continues. Even this week, with the advent of Facebook and Social Networking, the four of us have revisited and continue to debate that hitting the crosswalk button will cycle the traffic signal.

Of course, being from Texas has nothing to do with the fact that the two of us side with the fact that pushing the crosswalk button will turn the traffic light green. It just further cements our common bond of being of Texas blood, and more importantly, giving the other two a playful knock on their egos as they struggle to support each other on why they are right.

The beauty of the argument is that it has logical roots on both sides. My giddy smile reminds me of being youthful and exploring what the world has to offer and taking sides on logical, and illogical, arguments with your peers as you establish your intellectual superiority, or lack of it! But a logical argument does not mean it is correct, and simply stated...the light turned green! In our youthful enthusiasm, the mistake we made was taking the approach that our argument was solid. The fact was that our deduction proved right, because the light turned green. We should have made them prove our argument was false!

Don't Walk on Logic! and Don't Mess With Texas!

http://www.wikihow.com/Trigger-Green-Traffic-Lights

Family - Part One

My father turned 67 today, which takes me back to one special birthday, my most memorable birthday. On my twelfth birthday my father, 38 years old at the time, gathered my closest friends to see the Los Angeles Lakers at the Fabulous Forum in Los Angeles.

The rain came down hard, all day, as it did every year on my birthday. Which I look back and realize how special that was. Rain in Southern California is so rare, and such an event. Most Californians do not own an umbrella, and every news station south of Bakersfield had a rain-slickered news correspondent reporting from a city street corner where the storm drains are not wide enough to handle the sudden flow of water.

This day, the rain was even harder than usual. The Lakers were the champions of the basketball world, and in the past 12 months, after Magic was drafted, my father and I watched many Laker games on television. Channel 9 had Chick Hearn putting game after game in the refrigerator. Up until now, I just saw the mustard yellow and pumpkin orange seats of the Fabulous Forum from the old television console. This would be my first trip to see the World Champion Los Angeles Lakers.

I am turning twelve years old and my father was taking me to see my favorite sports team for the first time. How cool was I to have a father take his son and his friends to see the champs in person? I vaguely recall the game being on Friday night. The sky was dark and the freeway was dancing with water. We didn't notice or remember much because as twelve year-olds we were too busy frolicking in our infinite world of wisecracks and naivety.

When my father parked the car, I became anxious. We were there. Across the street the colossal white and orange Fabulous Forum stood alone. The Green Walk light stoked my engine and I burst like a sprinter across the street. We all did! I almost reached the curb on the other side when in full stride I lost my footing. I went from running to swimming in to 6+ inches of rain. I was soaked.

The Forum was fabulous, just as were the Lakers. I sat in my seat and rooted my team, and felt the itch and discomfort of rain soaked clothes in a crowded and hot arena. The night was special and the rain made it extraordinary!

I love my dad for taking me to that game and making that such a wonderful event. I called him tonight to give him good wishes and he thanked me for his gift: A Rain Jacket! Happy Birthday Dad!

Free Throw of Thought - Part One

My On/Off switch on sports, and many aspects of my life, is as devise as a black and white. I do not waddle in the gray area. Kobe Bryant is my off switch on the Lakers. Quite simply...I do not like him.

I loved the Lakers, from the Spring of 1979 when they drafted Earvin Magic Johnson, until the end of the 2003 season. I never knew the Lakers much before then, but the arrival of Magic, the title the won with him being a rookie, and all of the greatness that followed the Lakers in the 80s, made me a fan.

Kobe represents today's Generation I (as in me). Feed me the ball, I score all the points, I won 4 titles, I can not play with Shaquille O'Neal, etc. Magic's very nature was to distribute the ball and allow his teammates to score. It was not unusual for Magic to record double-digit assists, and he rarely was the leading scorer on the team. When Magic won a title, he did not hold his hand in the air with the number he won, but rather celebrated the team victory. Magic made a highlight reel with a great pass, or his infamous baby-hook shot...not a dunk!

Magic played 12 years in the NBA and went to the finals 9 times (won 5). If it were not for a miracle shot by Ralph Sampson and injuries to key players, that would have been 11 out of 12 years. He lost championships to Dr. Julius Erving, Larry Bird, Isiah Thomas, and Michael Jordan. He accepted his role as second fiddle in the early 80s to Kareem, and then gracefully took that mantle from him in the late 80s.

The disparity is greater when you look at when they were rookies. Magic ended his rookie year "winning one for the big fella" as he stepped in for Kareem at center and played the greatest game a rookie has ever played enroute to his first NBA Championship. Kobe came in off the bench in a playoff loss to Utah to fire up three straight airballs from the three point line without making a pass.

The sad reality is that Magic set the table for the next great Laker, and Kobe has come up with nothing but "Air".

Serenity - Part One

It was cold that New Year's Eve of 1984. Jackson, Wyoming had a week of sub-zero temperatures, and all of us teenagers scurried from our hotel to the town's restaurant and back with the buzz of the bus engines that stayed on all night, for they would not start in the morning otherwise. The frigid night set the stage for two feet of heavenly white the next day.

Jackson Hole was the epitome of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. The right half was nicely groomed, with carefully placed chairlifts and just the right elevation and grading to create a world-class ski resort for most. The left half was a untouched beast, serviced by a one-at-a-time red tram.

My body ached from being squeezed inside the miserable, humid, cramped gondola that made 12 minute trips from the base to four-thousand feet into the sky. I was alone which suited me just fine. At a young age, I was fortunate enough to recognize White Carpe Diem, while my colleagues trotted away to comfort. The ride up must of been spectacular to see, but the early morning sunshine made a sauna in the gondola, to which the windows fogged.

I exited the gondola to a frigid cold. If you have never experienced it, nothing is colder than the top of mountain in the dead of winter on a beautifully sun shining day. Perhaps it is in the mind, but it is much colder than a cloudy, snowy day. The goal is to leave the top as quickly as possible.

I did not know until I planted my boots into my skis and looked down that I was fortunate to be on the first gondola of the morning. There were NO tracks. This is so rare. As a former ski instructor, I can attest that just about any other day during the winter, the ski patrol, ski instructors, ski personnel, whomever associated with the resort, would get first crack as such a wonderful field of snow. Not today! They must of gotten up slowly this morning after staying up all night.

I fell many times, laughing and carrying on like a little boy. It was glorious! Halfway down the run, I soared over a drift and sank to my chin to which I tumbled over and over until I stopped in a squatting position, skis still in tact. I unbuckled my boots and pulled out a granola bar. I could see for miles from the south-facing rocky mountain top. The scene was beautiful, a cloudless sky, and not a sound from anywhere. Nothing. I imagined that this is what heaven would feel and sound like.

I peered down at the vast valley below and spotted movement in the perfectly smooth white surface that was probably a 40-acre field. For 20 minutes I watched a snow cat tractor write Happy New Year in the snow, as if it was written just for me. To this day, I have not experienced anything more serene.