women

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Mars or Family? Which Would You Choose?

mars-one-colony-astronauts-2As I was driving to work, listening to the antics of Heidi and Frank, this question was posed on KLOS 95.5, a radio station in Los Angeles, CA.

Would you? Could you? Is an unexpected-fantasy-come-to-life more important than the fate of your stable family union?

Mars One Project, a nonprofit organization, has been taking applications from anyone interested in establishing a permanent settlement on Mars, 10 years from now. In other words, applicants could be the winner of a one-way ticket to the red planet, establishing a new world. 200,000 people applied. 1,058 have made the final cut. 24 people will eventually be sent.

Among the 1,058 chosen is a 38 year old man from Utah. Problem is, he forgot to mention his desire to travel far and away to his wife and four children.

A light-hearted discussion ensued between Heidi and Frank, about the pros and cons. As I was listening, thinking about if it was me, and the husband was Rudy, and our children would be affected by their dad taking off forever, and while Frank thought it wasn’t that big of a deal, that the guy is just following his dream, and what is he supposed to do, not go?, Heidi stated, “…divorce him…”, just as I made the same claim out loud to myself in the confines of my car. The wife would need to begin thinking about her future without a husband, or maybe with a new one, someone she hoped to grow old with, hold hands with, share the end of her life with. The guy basically told his wife and family they are not his priority, so why stick around with someone whose choice is another life, a different path?  Frank considered the fact that it wouldn’t even happen for another 10 years, and that he may not be among the twenty-four finalists. So why punish him for a dream?

Would  you? Could you?

Mars or Family? Which Would You Choose?

(By the way, the wife did, or is planning to, divorce her husband, stating she didn’t want to stand in the way of his dreams.)

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And, well, I Walk because That’s What I do.

IMG_2045Long ago I joined the gym, stayed for several years, then realized it was outdoor, not treadmill, walking that I preferred. So, I quit. Didn’t worry about the machines anymore. I mean, seriously, when I was somewhere around two years old, I’d walk. My mother told me so. She said I’d walk all over the place, up and down streets, without a word of complaint.

I’m older now, much older than two, and I still prefer to walk, generally as exercise, but, hey, take me somewhere where walking is involved, I’m game. I will walk, and walk, and walk. Well, until my feet are so sore I just wish I could sit, take a load off.

Like today, when I left the house, planning to walk through the hills behind our neighborhood, into the wild blue yonder, with the idea of pumping some heart, strengthening some muscles, I veered off my path, instead walking up the boulevard, up a steep incline, turning into the ticky-tacky row of houses, you know the ones that all look the same, and continued up, up, and away, and not in a beautiful balloon. I just walked and walked, up and up, until the street ended, right at a point where a locked bar stopped car traffic from entering, but not foot traffic, and I continued to walk, up, until I reached a herd of cows, grazing, resting, and enjoying their sunny California day.

My feet were feeling it, they. were. sore. But, I had no choice, or, well, I guess I did, I could have called Rudy to drive up and give me a lift, but no, I am a walker, and I simply turned around, walked back down, and continued my journey, returning to where I had come from.

Home.

Fresh, much needed, water-bottle in hand, I walked down the long hall, to my room, and plopped my fatigued self onto the bed, and breathed, deep, feeling the bulk of my phone inside my pocket, calculating the duration and the miles I embraced. 2:12:31 hours/minutes/seconds, 6.74 miles. Long time, long miles, and those miles sure wrenched my side and reddened my feet, but hey, I’m not complaining, I’m just saying, I walk. That’s what I do.

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whoa! or woo!, which one are you?

liz's butt in jeansOkay, so you’re walking down the street, or along some path in the park, or maybe you’re at the mall, or the grocery story, or it could even be that you are working out at the gym, entering the movie theater, maybe you’re at work, or at your child’s day care and it’s in the afternoon and your walking back to your car, kid slung on your hip, or you’ve just walked outside your place of residence to grab the mail, or maybe you’ve knelt down to pick up the cell phone you just dropped, or….. well, let’s just say you are anywhere and a guy looks at you, a girl, a woman more like it, and he says WHOA!… as you walk by. Or, rather, instead, he says WOO! 

For some odd reason these expressions sparked some interest during a sit down dinner, or maybe it was just a casual conversation, with the ratio of men higher to the total women in attendance, when a light-hearted debate ensued trying to decipher the meaning of both seemingly quick assessments. No one really was able to define each compliment (it is? isn’t it?) but rather gave their – lot’s of laughter issued here – opinion. Most assumed whoa! was when a guy was likely responding to the girl, or woman, wearing something tight, like a skirt, any length above the knee, but that is snug on her round rear-end, and cinched in, making the waist small, the butt rounder. The hot girl. Whereas if a guy says woo! – the cute, or pretty girl – she’s still looking good but in a more comfortable way. Someone who’d be wearing jeans, perfectly fitted, not too tight, not too loose, with a basic t-shirt, or a pretty blouse and sandals or some other carefree type of shoe, with hair flowing loose, free from the binds of bands or pins.

Well, now, not that these expressions are even relevant, or as some might say, maybe they are just stupid sexist hoot-and-hollers that men make, but our conversation about them did produce a fun and lively conversation, and tons of laughter. So worth it!