Running from the waves

My favorite morning walks of late is from the Pacific Beach Grand Ave. lifeguard tower to the jetty in Mission Beach, then taking the #8 back to my car. I meet so many interesting beach goers, especially the ones with families. Nice talk with a Denver dad (about the popular marijuana laws in his state) at the beach with his daughters for their first visit.

I found a stainless steel ring in the sand, and it was a little too big for my right hand ring finger. (I know silver and this ring was much too heavy.) Earlier I met Zee and her husband, Frank, both from Croatia, who were scanning the beach with metal detectors. He had collected at least $20,000 in jewelry and cash in the years he has patiently walked the shore, carrying his detector just above the sand. Zee said she was going to retire soon, as the sand was hard on her ankles and she looked forward to sleeping in. Every day they visit a beach, arriving soon after 4 a.m. Frank sells the detectors, too. At 10 pm they meet fellow treasure hunters for breakfast and share their stories of adventure. In my case I was just looking down and found my ring, which has been relegated to a bowl of other beach finds (shells, a colorful rock) for future investigation.

One mum had her four kids playing in the water, but her two preschool Ethiopian adoptees were afraid of the waves, while their siblings frolicked. The unpredictability of the water rushing in, and the effect it would have, must have been disconcerting. One wonders if they or someone in their family have faced past similar circumstances, making them naturally wary of the unknown.

Do you work here?

One of my Warwicks' colleagues used to feel aggravated at customers who asked, while he was in the middle of stocking books on the shelf, whether he worked there. It is difficult to know if a person is a store employee when there isn't any identification as such, or a smock, or company tee shirt. 

When I'm at Vons or CVS I, too, wonder if the person works there when I see the guy loading eggs into the cooler, or restocking cans, because it can often be the vendor who provides that service. But usually the store has a colored smock that helps. 

Instead of responding to a customer's request with something like "No, I'm a volunteer" or something equally snarky, a pleasant "How can I help you?" is a sufficient answer. If an employee is behind the counter, it's a pretty sure bet that they do, indeed, work there. 

But I've been in stores in which I'm dressed business casual and customers will turn to ask me questions. If I know the answer, I will tell them (where is the restroom? what time do you get off?) without identifying myself either way. Or I will suggest they check at the front counter. If it's a pretty fancy store I might say "I wish," or something equally profound. 

It used to bother me at the book store when a customer would turn to ask for help finding a book, and another customer turns and takes up the conversation. "Oh, my husband read that book and loved it. I'll show you where it is." Other customers have interrupted me to give their opinions, at which point I stand back and, if they become engaged in a conversation, I quietly walk away.

Not winning the lottery

I know that my chances of winning the lottery are as good as getting struck by lightning. But taking that argument a bit further, one must stand in a lightning storm to have any chance, yes? So that's why I regularly play the lottery.

I recently checked at "Are Your Favorite Numbers Lucky?" and entered my birthday as my but came up dry. Rather than fill out the paperwork, which I have yet to comprehend at the 7/11, I choose "quick pick" which selects numbers at random.

I have heard some miraculous stories about serendipity in which one fellow, who only wanted a hot dog, asked the cashier for quick picks in change for his $100 bill."Man Stops for Hotdog, Wins Lottery"consequently won $150 million. Then there's the group of coworkers who split the $25 million jackpot, or the regular cafe customer who left his lottery ticket for his favorite waitress, resulting in her huge jackpot. (A true story on which Nicholas Cage stars in one of my favorite rom-coms, "It Could Happen to You")

I could always use the numbers on the back of fortune cookies, which garnered 110 cookie lovers with their portion of the winning pot, "Fortune Cookie Winners" .

When I would walk from my house to San Diego State I would often stop at a donut shop. Class started in 20 minutes, so I was in a hurry. Once the clerk rang up my purchase she asked if there was anything else I'd like to have besides a donut? No, thanks, I'm in a rush. She walked into a back room to presumedly talk to her boss, and when she returned I was red in the face in impatience. "Are you sure that's all that you want?"

After hurriedly handing her the money for my maple bar, the cashier explained that my receipt had come up with a red star (which happens to every thousandth customer, I assume) which meant I could have had anything in the store I wanted to buy.

Jeez. I should have at least ordered a dozen donuts and a thermos of coffee.

Well, I did enjoy my donut and I made it to class on time. I should have at least ordered a dozen donuts and a thermos of coffee.

Being a winner is possible.

On Facebook I come and go

Reading others' timelines on my FB page can be depressing. It seems ironic that the happy moments with friends and families, posted by the 170 "friends" listed, would have a deleterious effect on my psyche. It's tough reading about others' successes and looking at what I'm doing (watching a lot of TV, going to an occasional flick, long walks, surfing the web) as anything worth putting on a timeline.

My dear Warwicks friend, Adriana, has given me new hope. She likes to post pictures and videos of sometimes hilarious animal adventures, which it seems everyone enjoys and always "likes" whenever I post these. Movie and tv reviews must get a "heh" from my readers because there is NEVER any response to those. (That should be an available response so at least there would be some kind of response.) Oh, and forget politics. I've learned that taking any side in controversies only leads to unfriending. (At least that has been my reaction when someone posts a "Trump Hurrah!" on their timeline. Heartfelt debate is out of the question.)

Younger, more agile, more resourceful, and wealthier "friends" always have a multitude of postings. Good for them.

Forcing a smile for the sake of a real one

A popular adage is to "fake it 'til you make it." Going to parties if you want to be outgoing and charismatic, you act that way. At least that's the adage's lesson.

One thing I do when I go for a walk or go shopping is I smile as wide as I can, and then hold that pose for at least five minutes. Many times it counters my true feelings. That time grinning is spent looking at the ground; otherwise it would be a bit weird. After this exercise, I find it much easier to come up with a pleasant smile through the day.

This especially helped when I worked at Warwicks. I would want to coach other staff members to try my exercise before they arrived for their shift. Forcing a smile when you haven't used those muscles until then looks like the person is being pinched. Practicing beforehand makes it easier to smile with your eyes, which is a lot different from turning the corners up on your lips in a pseudo-smile.

Jumping rope among critics

I am really trying to get more exercise. Men's Health magazine said it's important to have activity for at least five minutes every hour when you are sedentary. A brisk walk around the block, a dozen pushups, or jumping rope can reinvigorate you within just a few minutes. If I took a nap I would be out for at least 20 minutes, but I WOULD have to walk to my bed, and the way I feel much of the time it might take me five minutes just to do that.

For the last few months I have occasionally stood on our back patio to relearn jumping rope. Considering I never really learned how to jump rope for any length of time, this isn't just a refresher course. But the patio opens to the canyon, where six homes' backyards leave plenty of viewing room for activities.

So when I'm trying to jump rope at least four consecutive hops I imagine all the neighbors watching me and giving me a critique of my lame style. Needing to jump higher is pretty much a given.

"The jumprope is too slack so it never makes it passed his toes. No wonder he can't get over the rope; he's not holding it wide enough. If he wants to do more than three spins he needs to twirl the rope faster..."

I take all these ideas in and make the rope tighter, wider, and faster and maybe I do five hops before the rope comes up behind me and slaps my backside. I do make sure I'm wearing shoes so the rope doesn't hit my toes, reminding me that I need to jump higher.

I wish my neighbors would go into THEIR backyard and jump rope. Then I can be their imaginary critic.

Quantity or quality?

My electric toothbrush needs a new brush head so I went to Amazon and was confronted with dozens of choices. My favorite was the "20 for $25.00" ad, compared to the Six for $60 ad nearby. The collection of 20 isn't the brand name, but a knockoff. But the accompanying ad for the brand name variety is pretty off-putting when you have to pay $10 for each brush.

And looking at the reviews for the cheaper brand didn't help much. Most of the 30 were posted in the last two months, which seems suspiciously like the manufacturer's family posted how wonderful the brushes were, despite the five disgruntled reviews, one of which says about  how she had to pick out bristles from her mouth. Another said the  brushes were too hard for his gums, and yet another said the brushes were too soft.

Meanwhile, I will just keep brushing with the brand name I'm using now, even though the color blue, which disappears when it is time to get a new head, was gone a few weeks ago. At least the bristles aren't stuck in my teeth.