Shawn's friend Michelle successfully deciphers Sundance signage and finds the restaurants. Or is it the screening rooms?

by Shawn Underwood

Every time I run into Scott (slave driver) Schaefer he inquires after a ‘bit’ for The B-Town Blog—like I have nothing else to do. Note to self—do not post fun excursions with stupid pictures on Facebook. Scott will come calling…

Last week I was in Utah at the Sundance Film Festival. By happenstance Sundance coincided with a therapy trip for me. Seriously. I have lymphedema in my left leg and well, it’s a long story but if you are interested in medical stuff, you can follow up on my lymphedema blog. My surgery and follow up treatment are documented. But I digress.

My friend’s husband scored several premiere tickets for us. The one and only Sundance Kid made an appearance before the movie and can I just say, HANDSOME, HOT AND SUPER HOT!!! You get the picture, and oh yeah, he said something too but I was distracted. Go figure.

The first movie we ‘premiered’ in Park City, was suitably named; ‘The Queen of Versailles’. It detailed the rise and subsequent fall of the King of Time-Shares, Mr. Segal and wife, Jackie, a former over-exposed, Mrs. America. The documentary/reality show is a testament to waste and bad taste, with the opening scene documenting the construction of the ‘biggest house in America.’ It ended as a riches to rags story. Mr. Time –Share’s final line, ‘are we done here?’ Very telling. Theater gossip says Mr. Time-Share is suing Sundance and the movie producer for defamation. Coincidentally, this was also one of the first movies sold at Sundance, where none of the movies (for the first time in Sundance history) had distribution before being premiered. Mrs. Segal sat near the front of the theater. Her husband, very noticeably absent.

Luckily, the second show we had tickets for took place at the Sundance resort. Let me just say—LOVE what Bob’s done with the resort. No messing with the masses in order to board a shuttle bound for a high school posing as a movie theater. Sundance Resort houses the original ‘screening room’. We lined up for Monsieur Lazhar, a Canadian film that appears on the recently announced Oscar shortlist for foreign language films. The film has also been nominated for a Genie award—the Canadian Oscar. Based on the play Evelyne de la Cheneliere, Monsieur Lazhar walks unannounced into the principal’s office to apply for a recently vacated teachers position. He is unaware the teacher has committed suicide. The principal—nearly undone by the act of the well-liked teacher, hires him. Eventually we discover the Algerian immigrant, Mr. Lazhar is battling his personal demons yet he is able to move past this and bond with his students. There are moments of lightness in the film—a relief in an otherwise very emotional story. Well worth seeing, however we didn’t SEE anyone famous—that happened later in the evening during dinner.

Mr. Chris Rock attended Sundance to preview his new film, “2 Days in New York.” Chris and I split a steak and Caesar salad at a great steak house in Park City. Well sort of – I split a steak with my friend and Chris sat across from us. It’s like we shared a dinner together. Really.

So as I was saying, later in the evening at the Canyon Resort VIP big deal party I ran into, oh you know…Jason Ritter, Jesse Eisenberg (the Facebook dork dude), Hercules aka: Kevin Sorbo, Entertainment Tonight guy and Bare Naked Ladies lead singer guy (close second to Bob in HOT category). For some reason, I had a sudden attack of shyness and talked to ummm, nobody. Nobody famous anyway, but I got my groove on and learned a few new dance moves from the mostly twenty-something guests.

And finally, Mr. B-Town Blog (super famous) wants to know how Sundance Resort and Park City compare to B-town. Well we have the Tin Theater in Tin-sel town also know as Burien, the Hi-Liners put on a fine show, AND I hear Mr. B-Town Blog is starting his own radio station…

Twenty-five years of living in Burien gives Humorist Shawn Underwood much fodder for her writings.

All of her stories are true, or at least have a grain of truth with no added embellishments.

Or something like that.

And have you bought her new book “Mommy Are We French Yet?” yet? Buy it here.

Read more of her humor at her website here.

by Dave Markwell

I had the unfortunate experience of passing a mirror the other day. I did not look as good as I felt and it made me mad. I felt like the mirror was tricking me, because in my head, I looked much better. I had witnessed myself looking better many times. I was sure of it. What was this stupid mirror’s friggin’ problem!?! I wondered. After some soul searching and kicking my dog, I came to the conclusion that mirrors are both criminally deceptive and warmly reassuring. They are both tremendous liars and unbearably honest and it really depends on the day as to which I prefer. It depends on whether the lie or the truth makes me feel better. Usually, I suspect, it’s the lie.

This mirror passing incident inspired much thought about how we look. I mean how we REALLY look. It seems that how we look changes all the time. Some days, I look in the mirror and think, “Not too shabby, Markwell. Not too shabby.” Other days, I see a thin-haired, rather Shrek-ish creature unworthy of even a cross glance in my direction. I don’t know if my looks really change that dramatically or not. However, I do notice that sometimes other peoples’ looks do indeed change. I can look at my son one day and see a fine, handsome, and intelligent kid capable of capturing the heart of the fairest maiden in the kingdom, otherwise known as the hottest chick in class. Other days, I look at him and see a creepy, hairy, little rodent complete with the big teeth and yellow eyes and I am sad with the understanding that he is going to die lonely. I love him either way, so don’t judge me here…and it’s unlikely that he’s really that ugly anyway, even on a bad day, but here lies my question: What do we really look like? Are we our best or our worst vision of ourselves? And what determines which look we see? Many factors, I’m sure, shape our perception, but I think the most urgent one is simply how we feel. When we feel good we look good, even to ourselves. It is impossible to look bad, feeling good. I have known plenty of average, if not outright ugly, people who look beautiful, because they are happy. Likewise, I have known many of pretty, but ugly folks as well. Beauty is an illusion. It is a magic trick. It is not a “look” and cannot be seen. It is felt. Beauty is a personality and has its own life. It lives in an easy smile and a kind word, a hearty laugh and a genuinely concerned frown. It is that which connects us as human animals on our deeper levels.

Our judgment of beauty is sometimes primitive, largely banal and usually involves unseen elements of character which sway the eyeball one direction or another. I believe, though, that we will always recognize and appreciate a truly beautiful soul, sometimes even our own. With this in mind, I will not call my son ugly just because he invents, on a daily basis, new ways to shave time off of my life. I know, more than anyone, how truly extraordinary he is. And if the mirror is unkind to me, I will simply shine a casual middle finger in its direction and move on with my day. A mirror can’t feel the minute variations in a heartbeat or see inside a soul and that’s where everything important and truly beautiful resides.

[EDITOR'S NOTE:"Feel Good Friday" is a regular column written by Des Moines resident Dave Markwell, who extols to all neighbors: "Enjoy where we live. Put your feet on the pavement and truly feel how great it is to live here!" Also, you can "friend" Dave on Facebook here. Or work out with him at his new exercise company Waterland CrossFit!]

by Dave Markwell

“Dad, you need to make my sandwich”, my twelve year old son, Aden, informed me this morning. And so began our daily dance. Every single day, we both don’t want to make the sandwich, so every single day we bob and weave trying to avoid it. His strategy is to dink around and stall for twenty minutes collecting his school stuff and falsely searching for his shoes and socks until I have to make the sandwich. My strategy is less sophisticated: I sit on the couch drinking coffee and yell at him to “hurry up”. This doesn’t work. He screws around until I am faced with the choice of making his stupid sandwich or wasting a half-hour of my valuable morning time driving him to school because he missed his bus. I always make the sandwich. I hate making his sandwiches. I have made hundreds of them. I used to enjoy it. I used to feel dutiful and loving and proud while making his lunch. I don’t feel this way anymore. In the past, I would sneak a secret treat into his lunchbox to surprise him. I would imagine him finding my gift and declaring to all his classmates seated near him in the school cafeteria that he and he alone, had the best Dad ever! I don’t care about this anymore. Now, I just want him to make his own damn sandwich.

I’m not sure when this changed, but I suspect it has been a progression. I recall no definitive moment standing as a benchmark between times. It just happened. Somewhere along the way, things changed and the doting, ever-concerned father was replaced with a somewhat indifferent and passive man bearing a rather eerie resemblance to my own Dad. It is happening. I am becoming my Dad. I swore I never would, but it was inevitable, I suppose. We become our parents, just as they become theirs. And so it has been since time began.

As I ponder this phenomenon, the only conclusion I can draw is that all kids possess a diabolical power to transform their otherwise reasonable, rational, thoughtful and intelligent parents into mindless and shameless servants. They need things that only we can provide and we have a duty to provide these things. They know we have this duty and so, they manipulate our sense of this duty to turn us into resentful, yet still compliant lackeys placed on this earth to serve only their needs. We are mobile, but beaten robots. We are the defeated.

Since the dawn of parenthood, kids have been screwing over parents exactly this way. It’s what they do. Our job is to take it. It’s what we do. I say this without ill regard or malevolent intent. It is just so. It doesn’t bother me all of the time, just most of the time. I have become a servant, a serf, whose purpose is serving my kingdom’s masters. The masters happen to be a lovely, slightly snotty, eight year old girl and the aforementioned too-smart-for-his-own-good twelve year old boy. They direct my day, hour by hour, minute by minute. They own me. I say this without complaint, only somber resignation. It is what it is and I signed up for it.

“DAD!! DAD!! DAD!!, Diego threw up in my room. Come quick!!” my girl bellowed from the hallway just as I sat down on the comfy couch for an afternoon snack. I didn’t want to clean up dog puke. But I did. I didn’t want to scrape the still warm and soft, half-digested Purina off the carpet. But I did. I did this and I will do this for some time, I suspect. I am here to serve whenever and wherever directed, including and probably especially, on the super nasty jobs. So it goes.

“Hold on, Sweetie!! Let me get a towel!” I replied to my little gal… with a much better understanding about why my Grandma and Grandpa always looked so happy watching my parents serve their masters…

[EDITOR'S NOTE:"Feel Good Friday" is a regular column written by Des Moines resident Dave Markwell, who extols to all neighbors: "Enjoy where we live. Put your feet on the pavement and truly feel how great it is to live here!" Also, you can "friend" Dave on Facebook here. Or work out with him at his new exercise company Waterland CrossFit!]

Burien resident and hunk o'burning love Tom Nelligan during last year's Elvis Invitationals.

We have a lot to be proud of here in B-Town, and local resident Tom Nelligan is no exception, especially since he’ll be channeling ‘The King’ at the 15th annual Seattle Elvis Invitationals this Saturday, Jan. 14 at the Experience Music Project in Seattle.

Nelligan, owner of Nelligan Painting in Burien, is returning to defend his title of Seattle’s best Amateur ETA (Elvis Tribute Artist).

“This performance is the culmination of a life-long dream to channel the King of Rock and Roll,” reads an email release.

Here is Nelligan from his performance last year, pictured with “Priscilla”:

Tom plays guitar and placed in the top 10 last year, and here’s a video from his performance last year, doing ‘Big Hunk O’ Love’:

Click here to view the embedded video.

Soon, we’ll all be saying things like “Tom has left the building.”

As many of our Readers may recall, we’ve covered previous events extensively, and we’re asking everyone to email us pics (or video) if they’re going to participate and drop trou.

We sent our crew out in 2010, and here’s a video we produced of the event (read our coverage of previous year’s events here), starring the frequently-pantsless Bart Bryan along with numerous other whimsical locals:

Click here to view the embedded video.

Click here to view the embedded video.

Click here to view the embedded video.

Click here to view the embedded video.

Here are the event details:

WHAT: 3rd annual No Pants! Link Light Rail Ride.

WHEN: Sunday, Jan. 8th from 2:00pm – 4:30pm.

WHERE: Most are meeting just before 3pm at Westlake Center in downtown Seattle, but that’s not a requirement; in fact, we discourage our Readers from starting there, as you will have to wait to board the trains, plus, you’ll be stuck with dozens, if not hundreds, of other “No Pants!” riders.

If you board from the SeaTac or Tukwila stations, we think you’ll most certainly garner a stronger reaction from unsuspecting riders.

This event is sponsored by Emerald City Improv, and is an annual global event started by Improv Everywhere in New York in 2002 (find out more about them at www.improveverywhere.com and more about Emerald City Improv at www.emeraldcityimprov.org).

According to the event’s Facebook Page, here are the requirements for participation:

1. Take your pants off on light rail
2. Stay in character and don’t say what’s going on (keep a straight face- or at least try!)
3. Wear non-offensive underwear
4. Pay your fare
5. Bring a small bag or backpack to put your pants in during the event.

WHERE TO MEET:
MEET AT WESTLAKE PARK at 4TH AVE AND PINE ST, across from Westlake Center. We will meet here at 2PM, and the event will run until 4:30pm. Then, at 5pm we will meet at Fox Sports Grill for a No Pants after party! Fox Sports is at 1522 6th Avenue (on 6th between Pike and Pine). The past couple years they have been really cool and have let us use their event room in the back.

IMPORTANT NOTE:
You may NOT wear any revealing or “skimpy” clothes. If deemed too revealing, we will ask that you put your pants back on. This includes thongs, jock straps, ass-less chaps, whitey-tighties that can be seen through etc. Please use common sense. You are responsible for obeying the law.

ABOUT PHOTOGRAPHY AND VIDEO:
We know it’s super tempting to take tons of photos of you and your friends and your new friends and the guy wearing the cute pirate boxers, but please try and refrain from doing so. The event works so much better when everybody stays in character. There will be plenty of people taking pictures. If you’re a photographer or videographer and would like to volunteer to photograph or film the event, please contact kelsey@emeraldcityimprov.org

Previous No Pants Light Rail Rides:

• 2011: https://www.facebook.com/events/112901408778534/
• 2010: https://www.facebook.com/events/245032682628/

 

by Dave Markwell

After a 14 hour travel day, I am too brain-fried to trust the column I have written. I can’t tell if it’s good or if it sucks. When this happens I will pull something from my quiver and hope it strikes a target. This piece was written as a “speech” for my friends, Eric and Michelle’s, wedding last summer. It felt good to write and felt good for me to read it again. Happy Feel Good Friday!!! -Dave

While preparing for today’s presentation, I looked around a bit to see what others have had to say about marriage. I looked to the sages and philosophers from the ages and discovered many beautiful, gushing, flowing and important words; Words that inspired and affected and sang to me. Words that made me want to marry my wife over and over again every day. As impressive as some of these words were, they in large part lacked a fundamental element important to me when saying something: they lacked truth. They were not necessarily untrue. Their words simply didn’t tell the whole story and they were, I think, likely written by people who had never actually been married and understood that a real marriage is not all candlelit kisses and longing looks. Real marriages, invariably, involves bad moods and bad breath and at some point bringing the other person a new roll of toilet paper as they sit needing more toilet paper. I think these experiences are more common than the sentiments expressed by the smart people. A real marriage is more complicated. A real marriage involves varying amounts of conflict and frustration and concession. As human beings we are all flawed and we carry these flaws to a marriage. On a daily basis, our own goofy baggage muddies the waters and raises eyebrows and sometimes the voice of our spouse, who tries to make sense of the senseless. A real marriage is not a clean and tidy business. It can get messy.

In evaluating the countless ways I have made messes in my own marriage, I have come to understand that while my messes may not be avoidable, the impact of these things can be somewhat offset by doing good things, too. Being flawed individuals, we are going to make messes. We are going to say and do some profoundly stupid things. However, these things need not completely undermine an otherwise good relation. By consciously involving our better demons on a daily basis, we can, on some level, shave the sharp edges off of our bad choices. These involve deliberate and intentional effort, but they are worth it, every time. Things we can do include sharing, giving, understanding and doing, even and maybe especially, when you don’t feel like it. I’ve found that doing something when you don’t really feel like it, is perhaps the most important time to do anything.

First, share: share ideas and hopes and dreams and the last piece of bacon. Share the parts of yourself that are awkward and uncomfortable. Share your fears and concerns. Share a true laugh and a true tear. A certain emotional nudity is vital to creating a marriage of substance. When we strip ourselves bare and trust that the other will not point and laugh, a deeper connection is built and a foundation is laid for a relationship of meaning. This relationship makes both people better.

Next, give: Give what you have. An element of service exists in a good marriage. From doing the dishes to mowing the lawn to putting away your shoes to putting the toilet seat up-or down-whichever the case requires, marriage involves doing things that prevent tension. We don’t always want to do these things, but that doesn’t matter. Doing things we don’t want to do is called giving. And doing these things says “I love you” better than the words can.

Closely tied to giving is understanding. Understanding what to give involves understanding where the other person places value. What matters to them are the things we need to be aware of: How do they like their coffee? What’s their favorite flower? What do they think about and care about? Understanding these things makes appropriate giving possible and appropriate giving makes a happy day possible.

To have understanding is very simple: one must PAY ATTENTION. People are subtle. Preferences and trends involve nuance. Being tuned into the other’s heartbeat is the cornerstone of a successful marriage. What’s important is, unfortunately, rarely obvious, thusly, we must pay attention to the gentle shifts in a look or a tone of voice to direct us. Being distinctly different animals, men and women struggle for this understanding, but by watching and learning and caring to understand, an imperfect balance can be attained.

After the “I dos” come the “I wills” and married life begins. Here lies the challenge of carrying on the wedding day bliss. Beyond the “I do” come other words that are just as valuable. Words like “Thank you” “You look nice” “Can I help?” “What do you need” and maybe most importantly the words, “I’m sorry” and “It’s OK.” Forgiveness is necessary. Given our aforementioned flaws, mistakes will be made and forgiving and moving on is the only way to have a marriage that can sustain the inevitable bonehead moves.

We live a life of days. Each day consists of moments. Some are breath-taking and some are eye-rolling and these moments make a life. Any life and certainly a married life is the sum of the moments we create. Life is not a single event. It is an anthology of moments. We have absolute control over these moments. With these moments, we humanize and encourage and support each other. With these moments, we make the other person feel good and we become better. These seemingly innocuous, anonymous little moments, a delicate touch on the back of her neck when passing in the kitchen, an unrequested, but very welcome snack, a head on the shoulder while sitting on the couch watching bad TV, these moments set the stage and a tone. Acknowledging and recognizing that these small moments matter and indeed may be the biggest moments there are, is elemental. The gentle, yet vital moments of loving being in a moment with the person you love changes us. They connect us and bind us and are the place where our truest smiles live. They are important in the ways they shape a life together. All of the beauty and magic of a married life live here. Having, making and enjoying a life of moments is the surest way to having, making and enjoying a married life together. As the sun rises and sets in a brief moment, so does life, and nothing is more majestic, powerful, or important to a good day and a good life than appreciating the significance of a single moment. Nothing matters more than a simple and fleeting moment.

So Eric and Michelle, I wish you both a life filled with a vast and wonderful collection of these simple, loving moments that will enrich you and enliven you and make it all worthwhile.

[EDITOR'S NOTE:"Feel Good Friday" is a regular column written by Des Moines resident Dave Markwell, who extols to all neighbors: "Enjoy where we live. Put your feet on the pavement and truly feel how great it is to live here!" Also, you can "friend" Dave on Facebook here. Or work out with him at his new exercise company Waterland CrossFit!]

Defending plunge champ Bart Bryan was there of course, jumping in with everyone else while wearing the exclusive B-Town Blog Waterproof Point-Of-View Splash Cam.

Here’s a video of today’s wacky event as shot and edited by Scott Schaefer, with help from Bart, Patricia Schaefer, former Sales Diva Janet Grella, Photographer Michael Brunk and a cast of 40+ (be sure to try and watch full-screen at 720p for best viewing experience):

Click here to view the embedded video.

by Dave Markwell

Sitting aboard Delta Airlines flight 822 heading east for a plane change in Detroit while traveling on a holiday “vacation” to Rochester, NY to visit my wife’s family, I glanced across the aisle and saw my daughter seat-dancing to a song I’m sure I hate, listening through the ear buds of her mother’s I-Pod. My wife sat diligently underlining words in a book. I noticed that she underlined a lot of words, so many, in fact, that I contemplated that she might have saved some ink by simply highlighting the words she DIDN’T want to remember. To her right, sprawled my son, Aden. He wore big headphones, while drinking a Coke. The crown jewel of his outfit were the “Elvis” sunglasses perched on his face, complete with poofy, black sideburns. These glasses are perhaps the finest or perhaps the worst gift I have ever bought him. The jury is still out, but he wears them without shame, all the time. He gets a lot of attention, which is probably something any good gift should deliver to a 12 year old boy.
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In a couple of days, the dog-eared, much scribbled on 2011 calendar will be removed from the nail in my kitchen and replaced with a clean 2012 one. I love New Years, not the holiday itself, which I think is grossly over-hyped, but the event. When the clock strikes 12:00, a page is turned and a new and promising future begins. I love this part. I love the idea of a fresh start and a new beginning. I love another chance to do and be better. I love an empty highway, free and bright with hope. Some days, I wish New Years would come more than once a year.

As I reflect upon my life’s past year and game-plan the year ahead, I need only look across the much too-skinny aisle of flight 822 to find inspiration. Most of the time, I am uncomfortably aware of the ways my life could be better. Unfortunately, these sentiments are powerful and can sometimes over-shadow all the things that are pretty great already. I think this year I will spend a little more time remembering all that I already have instead of pining for hollow and disposable trinkets.

A wise man, whose name I cannot recall, once said, “Nothing matters much. And few things matter at all.” I already have what matters. With this in mind, I will carry the image of my family across the aisle throughout the year. I will remember my happy, butt-dancing eight year old girl. I will remember my goofy and glorious “Elvis.” I will remember my kind, beautiful and magnificent wife engaged in her constant quest for self-improvement.

As a resolution, I will dance with my little girl any time she will let me and occasionally make her when she won’t.

As a resolution, I will NOT tell my son to take off his stupid glasses. The kid’s got potatoes for wearing them through the crowded holiday airport. I will not peel them.

As a resolution, I will keep a hearty stock of pens handy for my wife because, God knows, she’ll need them. I will support her in simple and honest ways, so she will know she’s important to me.

My New Year’s resolutions sat right next to me on a long plane ride to Detroit and sit with me every day of my life. These are the “few things” that matter at all.

[EDITOR'S NOTE:"Feel Good Friday" is a regular column written by Des Moines resident Dave Markwell, who extols to all neighbors: "Enjoy where we live. Put your feet on the pavement and truly feel how great it is to live here!" Also, you can "friend" Dave on Facebook here. Or work out with him at his new exercise company Waterland CrossFit!]

I spotted the words written with crooked vinyl letters in a giant picture window of a ramshackle house. Those two words that not only caught my attention, but commandeered my thought processes.

Displayed proudly in a house that had seen better days, decorated haphazardly for the season, they invoked the magic of hope. The house and those who lived within its walls seemed to challenge the status quo while demonstrating that what they already had was, at least on some level; working for them. It was humble. The driveway was half gravel, half weeds. Cars were parked askew, and with no particular order. The paint was weathered in some spots, bare in others, and the lawn (such as it was) was dead. The entire viewable property announced a lack of regular maintenance, and an absence of a Homeowners Association (Bless them!) But in the midst of all the imperfection was unmistakable celebration.

The festooned twinkly lights were uneven and dangling precariously in a couple of spots, as if the lightest breeze could take them all out. The Christmas tree was prominent, and enthusiastically adorned with tinsel. Lots of tinsel. Tinsel that would at any other time, be sufficient to use as reflective markings for the third runway at SeaTac Airport. The visual assault was unmistakable. These folks were ready for Christmas, and they were not afraid. They were prepared to ask for and receive abundance, and in the meantime  stayed steadfastly grounded in the reality of their surroundings. They inspired me. Their words triggered an unexpected mental analysis. For the rest of the day and well into the night I pondered the implication of that brief missive: Wish Big. What was my wish? Should I even be wishing for myself? How big is “Big?” Are we talking monetarily, or otherworldly? I have already been blessed with more than I deserve: a home, a healthy loving family, a job that I love, supportive friends…the list goes on. Sure, this year has had its share of ups and downs, but whose hasn’t? Where do I get off wishing for anything? But if I dared to, how ‘Big’ would I wish…?

• World Peace. Hmm besides being cliché, it’s terribly unrealistic. If I could wish for and achieve peace on any level, it would be for my teenagers. Siblings still living together are fighting factions under parental governance. Yet, there is seldom an agreeable treaty, and almost never any honoring of a cease-fire.  I need to get it local before I can go Global. Wishing for it anyway.

• A Cure. Whether cancer, AIDS, or (insert another disease or disorder here); I wish that we as humans did not have suffering. That ought to just be a  given. No pain, no agony, no hurt. With the exception of gas and hangovers; because both serve as reminders for us not to overindulge. Wishing for it anyway.

• Love. I am very fortunate to have found it with the person whom I share my life, and also with so many friends and family. It is a reassurance to me when I feel sadness or self doubt. No matter what sucky thing may happen, I know…I know…that I am loved. Not everyone experiences this. Wishing for it anyway.

As for anything else…I’ll keep an open mind…right alongside an open spot on my Big Wish List.

As for everyone else I wish you a wealth of Wishing Big!!

by Dave Markwell

Through the various trips and travels of my forty-two years, I have learned many things. Some of these things have come through very deliberate efforts, but probably the majority of the “knowledge” I have gained and carry with me today has largely been serendipitous or just plain accident. Gratefully, I seem to stumble into people and experiences that educate me in ways that I could not buy and would not trade. My eyes are always open to these people.

For example, at my Rotary club lunch this week, we were treated to some Mt. Rainier High School choir kids singing some songs. It was great. The fact that I enjoyed it speaks to it actually being pretty great, because I generally do not like “glee” ish stuff much at all. Exaggerated and dramatic singing tends to make me wince and curls my innards a little bit. I leave the room when “those” shows are on TV. Nonetheless, I truly enjoyed watching these young adults do their thing. I did not fiddle with my food or wish I was someplace else during their performance. I paid attention and was happy doing so. When they finished, I applauded enthusiastically and loudly. A valuable lesson was in action here.

A couple of years ago, at another Rotary lunch, I sat next to my buddy, BJ, idly chatting. I don’t remember the exact context of our conversation, but it involved our weekly program speaker and he intimated some important words shared with him many years earlier. These words were at the heart of my lesson. He said that he always claps excitedly for any performance or speaker he hears. He got this advice some time ago and it changed his perspective. Understanding that every person or group of people standing up in front of an audience is vulnerable and is sharing something of themselves makes every performance worth applauding. The simple act of standing there is worthy of appreciation. Whether one agrees with or enjoys what is being said or sung doesn’t matter. It takes cojones to say it or sing it and this should be rewarded with a hearty clap. I took this insight to heart and as I was enthusiastically applauding the nervous teens sharing their songs, I looked over at BJ and saw him, too, clapping like a madman. I smiled a thankful smile. This was a great lesson to learn.

Another unintended lesson that has resonated throughout my life came from my Mom. As a kid, I was a little high-strung and prone to some anxiety about fairly innocuous circumstances. One morning, before school, I was stressing out about something no doubt unworthy of my over-reaction. At this point, my Mom looked at me with the deep concern that only a mother holds and said, “Just relax”. As elementary as this idea seems, it had avoided me until this moment in my life. Surprisingly my Mom’s subtle, yet brilliantly powerful words worked. I just relaxed. I changed my mind and even today I remember this lesson whenever I’m faced with a situation where relaxing is helpful, which is basically all the time. I shared this lesson recently:

A couple of week’s ago, a client at my CrossFit gym worried her way through the workout, distracted and tense. Following her efforts, I gently inquired what the hell her problem was. She was stressed out about some work stuff and it was affecting her ability to focus and truly function at her normally pretty high level. It is worth noting that she is a high-achieving young doctor with a tremendous mind and spirit. She is not a whiny complainer with a perpetually half-empty glass. She told me her dilemma. It was a deal, but not a big one. I told her my “mom” story and suggested that she “just relax” and take care of the issue, no biggie. She felt better in that instance when she gave herself permission to relax. It was a moment of clarity. Her reaction was visceral. She did not know that she could actually make herself relax. This is a tremendously powerful tool and we all have it, always. We always have this power to change our mind and how we think about things. Knowing this makes the whole of life easier and more fun. And if this insight can help even one of the best and brightest, it can help anyone.

So, during this wonderful holiday season of miracles embrace all of the head-shaking and neck-hair rising experiences that it has to offer. Keep your eyes peeled for new ideas and perspectives. Share your own with others needing them. These ARE the miracles. This year, RELAX during Christmas dinner when the screaming kids knock over the gravy boat and the dog barfs up a turkey neck….and always…CLAP like crazy every chance you get!! Lessons learned….

e given every single day. It can be a kind word, a smile, a wave, a bad joke. It can be a gesture that says something or says nothing. Sometimes saying nothing, says something. It can be a flower or a book or a meal. In fact, a meal, I know from experience, is a good gift, especially if it is a deluxe and delicious, super-bitchin’ omelet served in bed.

[EDITOR'S NOTE:"Feel Good Friday" is a regular column written by Des Moines resident Dave Markwell, who extols to all neighbors: "Enjoy where we live. Put your feet on the pavement and truly feel how great it is to live here!" Also, you can "friend" Dave on Facebook here. Or work out with him at his new exercise company Waterland CrossFit!]