California to Downtown Chicago to Mississippi Delta

It was nearly two years ago. I was sitting at Shaw's Crab Shack in Chicago. I'd planned a sales team dinner and I was, as usual, the first to arrive. Having been to this particular location in the past, I knew to ask for the private room in the back. I arrived at least 30 minutes prior to the event starting, as is my habit, so I brought a book with me, as is ALSO my habit. I sat at the bar for a moment or two (long enough to order a glass of champagne for myself – again, habit) and then introduced myself to the general manager, who walked me to our private room.

I was sitting for a few moments … just me, in a room with 29 other chairs, waiting for a gaggle of folks that I did not know. I'd made a single friend on the team (Scott), and there was a manager who seemed friendly enough (Cliff), but otherwise I was gonna have dinner with a whole bunch of strangers. I'm not good in crowds. I'm *great* one-on-one but, either due to my crappy hearing or my inability to concentrate on things I don't care that much about, I'm just not that comfortable in larger groups of people. So I wasn't looking forward to this evening, truth be told. I tried to calm my nerves by getting involved in my book … and found my foot tapping.

There was a jug-band-style song playing over their stereo system in the room. The waiter came over to me when I smiled and asked if he should turn the music down and I vividly remember my response: "Hell no man – turn that up!" He smiled and did so, and for a full two plus minutes, with doors closed, the two of us were in that room, big smiles across our faces. At the end of the track, I asked him to find out the name of the artist. My team started to arrive at this time, and unfortunately I never found out the name of the track, or the artist performing it. However, I had enough sense to write down several lyrics that I'd remembered and, the moment I was back in my room with my laptop, I did a lyric search and came up with Corey Harris – Fish Ain't Bitin'.

Corey Harris is a year younger than me, and he started recording in 1995. You could say he plays standard Mississippi Delta Blues … but you could say he plays Reggae … Gospel … Jazz … Caribbean and/or African Folk Music … and you'd be right.

And today, Corey Harris was named as a recipient of the 2007 Fellow of the MacArthur Grant, which means he's been given a stipend of $500,000, which he'll receive in quarterly installments over the next 5 years to allow him to continue to do what he loves and what he's best at.

Is it strange that a 5th generation Californian, Republican, old-money chick fell in love with the sound of a Mississippi Delta Blues artist while waiting for a dinner to start in downtown Chicago? Sure it is … especially as she hadn't set foot in the Mississippi Delta … yet.

Now? Hell, now it TOTALLY makes perfect sense.

If you’re ever in a jam, here I am. If you’re ever in a mess, SOS.

Part of the problem of being outgoing and outspoken is that everyone knows you well enough to either like you, or to not like you at all. Folks run hot or cold with me, usually for reasons that I cannot comprehend. From my end, I'm too bold to hide how I feel about people. I will likely not "warm up" to you as a human being … I'll either like ya' or I won't, again sometimes for reasons that I cannot comprehend. Today I thought I'd write about some experiences I've had.

The "not like you at all" people:
There's one particular individual at my company who is less-than-pleased by my existence. If I were telling the truth, I'd write that this person, a female, actually fears me. WHY, I do not know, as I pose absolutely no threat to her – physically-wise, job-security-wise, or any other-wise. I know the reason I'm not on her Christmas Card list is that I'm friends with an individual that she's attracted to … so I am, by default, the enemy. I continue to reach out to her just as I do to the rest of my list of work acquaintances – NOT to "rub it in" or anything like that, but because I'm not going to treat her any differently, which would likely only confirm her "fears" of me – and I continue to be ignored. Rather than be even remotely amused by this, I find it sad. I'm feared for being a friend to another person. Even more interesting to me is that she continues to ask other people about how I'm doing, what's going on in my life, etc … but again, never asks these things directly to me. *sigh* Just because I am a woman doesn't mean I understand them.

The "like you" people:
The CEO of my company is casual, rather goofy, has a terrific sense of humor about himself, is fallible, has interesting hobbies, is NOT all about work, is exceedingly bright, and treats me (and those that have known him prior to his current title) like a buddy. When I spoke at our company-wide all hands in January of this year, he pulled me aside afterwards and jokingly told me that he'd never let me address the company again, as I had scored higher than he had for the "best part of the meeting" poll that was taken as folks left. He has commented on lots of occasions that he's interested that his jokes are now, apparently, funnier simply because of his job. He knows that there are all kinds of people that will now kiss his ass simply because of his title. I, on the other hand, will not. In fact, on the day he was given the job of running our company, I passed him as I was leaving early. He paused and asked me where I was going, and I told him "it's 2pm and just too f**king nice out to keep working so I'm gonna go drive around topless for a bit and then go home". He laughed at my reply, partly because it's probably not what he expected and partly because he knew it was the truth.

Likewise we have a recently promoted C-level manager who, many years ago, transferred divisions. I was in charge of creating his "roasting presentation"; his wife gave me yearbooks, photos, stories and all KINDS of ammo to use for said-roasting, all of which I very happily used. Instead of cringing at the images and embarrassing stories, he will sometimes remind me of that evening when we run into each other.

Being an "all or nothing" kind of person has meant that I have, at times, made some bad choices when it comes to friends. However, it also means that I absolutely stand behind those people that I am friends with. If you need someone to pick you up at the airport at 11:30pm on a Tuesday, if you need a designated driver, if you need someone to laugh or cry with, I'm your gal. I *love* that I have the ability to surprise my friends with the occasional obvious nicety, and that they know that I'm not going "over the top", I'm just bein' me, and that's enough.

I think I can I think I can I think I ... did.

Each year, for my birthday, I challenge myself to do something unusual – something to stretch myself as a human being. Some challenges have been self-serving, some dangerous, and some have been really goofy. My challenge this year was to complete a half-marathon, in under 8 hours, without puking on my shoes.

The day started at 4:45amCT. That's when the alarm went off, and I knew that I wouldn't have the luxury of hitting "snooze" at all. I am, sickeningly, one of those folks that can sit upright and start walking straight out of a deep sleep so I got going right away. Put on gear that I figure I'll likely NEVER wear again, running hat, hair in a ponytail, packed some cube stuff called "Goo" which tastes like strawberry jam and has the consistency of undercooked pork, filled up the water bottle, and was ready to go.

The race started at 6:30am, 'tho Scott and I didn't cross the start line until 7am. I've told him from the get-go that I would NOT be running, so we wished each other luck and off he ran. I was able to keep my eye on him for about two minutes and, after I put on my ipod and started my playlist going, I looked up and he was gone.

Miles one through three went pretty fast. There was lots to look at, and the groups were still in blob-form, so while I knew no one around me, we all made the same observations, cheering each other on, and such. It was shortly after mile three that I realized I needed to take off my rings while I still could. My hands were bloating … so I suddenly had inverse knuckles … the hands of an infant. Making a fist felt tight and strange, and I figured that it was blood was going everywhere to keep up with my oxygen needs. My feet and legs felt fine, so onwards I went.

At mile six, we passed a firestation. "The boys" were all out with their coffees, watching us, and I gave them a bit of flack for not having a pancake breakfast out for us to grab. The carb need was starting to hit me, which was when I remembered the "goo cubes". We were directed onto Highway 370 and, looking ahead, it became clear to me that this would be the part I'd like the least. We'd be crossing a bridge. Not a significant bridge, but significant enough. At this point, as tho' I had planned it (which I hadn't), a song came through my headphones to help distract me. So I crossed over, humming along, and continued along the path.

I wanna point out too that all along the way were coaches, cheering stations, random groups of people and very little kids just screaming their lungs out – for total strangers. It's a little weird, to have folks applaud you for doing something like this, but I'd be lying if I said that it didn't make a difference. It made a HUGE difference – my steps became easier, my stride longer, my smile broader.

Right around mile nine, we passed a Waffle House. This, as far as I'm concerned, is grounds for cruel and unusual punishment. Not that Waffle House is the end all and be all of breakfast joints, but again – carb load. A short stack would have been worth $40 to me at that point.

I also realized at mile nine that I was gonna do this. I could tell that my heel on the right side was gonna have issues, possibly blisters – tho' nothing that would be unmanageable – but regardless, I really was going to accomplish this.

At mile 11, we were cheered on by Jared. Jared looks to be in his early 20s, if that, and is holding a sign specifically for the group I'm racing through. "If it weren't for you doing this, I wouldn't be here." He is a cancer survivor, and the drugs he was given has helped him live. Those drugs were funded via the training company I'm partnered with. I ask him what time he woke up. "4am, but it's totally worth it" he says.

Just before mile 13, I'm greeted by Scott's ex-wife and daughter, all smiles. Scott is, of course, long done and getting food but has admitted that he'd be far less sore if he'd trained more. I decide to admit to him when I see him next that I've done NOTHING to prepare since June. I'm not proud of this – it'd be easier for me if I had trained too – but that we are both still standing (and neither of us got sick) is nice to know. If I HAD to put my body through this, I could do so.

I cross the finish in under 4 hours. Now, obviously, 4 hours for 13.1 miles is NOT a blistering speed, but I walked it – strolled at times, actually – and it's more than I've done ever before, and CERTINALY more than I usually do on my average Sunday morning.

We take photos when Scott returns, with our medals and gear still on. We call Todd, our co-worker, who is currently running his own race. His finish will be to go into remission, and no matter how sore I am as I lower myself into the bathtub for a well-earned soak, I'd do this again tomorrow if it meant getting Todd to his finish line.

Each year, for my birthday, I challenge myself to do something unusual – something to stretch myself as a human being. Some challenges have been self-serving, some dangerous, and some have been really goofy. My challenge this year was to complete a half-marathon, in under 8 hours, without puking on my shoes. I'm happy to report that I met all my goals. I intend to do all I can to help Todd meet his.