see as i saw

American flags seem fitting today, watching the U.S. women's gymnastics team win gold and Mr. Phelps setting his all-time winningest record.  I'll admit that I got chills watching the U.S. women stick their vaults cold.  Unfortunately tape delay and social media led to a leaked result before I could watch it with my own eyes.  That dampened the anticipation significantly.

I was happy for the giddy teenage girls and felt a natural flow of patriotism, but I can't say it measured up to the Magnificent 7 in Atlanta.  Granted, I was heavily invested in each of those gymnasts' careers and the sport in general at that point.  But the drama was also so much more intense until the last minute.

It was amusing to hear the ladies interviewed about their earliest Olympic memories, which don't go back any earlier than 2004.  This is the first Olympics where I've repeatedly realized just how old I'm getting.  There are fifteen year olds winning gold medals; I need to step up my life accomplishments.  Although, according to the campaign that Nike is running, greatness is in all of us - not just reserved for a cadre of elite athletes.

There is no doubt in my mind that I am an introvert by nature.  In my various perusings this summer, I've been coming across a fair amount of writing on this topic.  There tends to be an emphasis on extroverted traits in the United States, making them a sort of golden standard - especially in job-related situations.

After several rounds of literature from the best of all time lists, my mind needed a cool down lap.  I found some fictional light reading; I might even go as far as calling it chick lit.  Not a standard in my reading practices.  To make things even more unusual, one of the main characters had my name...and somehow her life path looked eerily similar to mine in several ways.

Well, actually I was walking up to hydration station number three about fifteen minutes before the sun even managed to creep over the horizon.  As painful as a 4:30am wake-up call is to my body's equilibrium, there's something awe-inspiring about sunrise and early morning - seeing the world wake up, seeing the city before it wakes up.  I actually recommend a little jaunt down Lake Shore Drive at sunrise if you can manage to find the motivation.

So dawn found me mixing and pouring Gatorade, and the following three hours were spent handing them to runners representing their various Big Ten schools.  Clearly I was representing for the green and white, cheering on Spartan runners.  But I was benevolent enough to provide Gatorade to thirsty Wolverines, Buckeyes and Badgers (among others).

I can't help but be revved up for the start of football season.  It's like you put that many alum in one place, throw a fight song on the speakers, and you can't help getting infected by school spirit.  I didn't know a single person there, but we all smiled and yelled "GO GREEN!" at one another with the utmost familiarity.  Yes, part of me chose a college based on academics, but a decent portion of my decision was based on selecting a "pseudo-family" that I was excited to be a member of for life.

Am I the only person who is nostalgically pining for the days of back to school shopping?  I'm not necessarily the most enthusiastic clothes shopper, but throw in school supplies and I'm sold.  There was focused effort put into choosing my notebooks, folders, assignment planners, pens, and oh so many other necessary instruments for success.  Sometimes the excitement of school supplies even rubbed off on clothes shopping.

Although I loved summer, there was always excitement in returning to the daily agenda of academia.  At least for me.  I've just never been able to hate learning.  There was the anticipation of awaiting class assignments, comparing schedules with friends.  Such innocent and simple joys.  How could we replicate that in the "real world" for adults?

Once upon a time, back in the beginning of this journey/experiment of mine, I set a "yes" rule.  The act of saying yes to whatever opportunities and situations presented themselves was supposed to aid me in making discoveries and decisions.  Although I've followed through, I'm realizing that there's a major flaw in my logic.

Much like anything in life, you're likely to miss out on the majority of possibilities if you're waiting for them to come to you.  So, it's great to be open-minded and jump on any train that passes by, but my realm of discovery will remain limited.  If I really want to open up the floodgates of possibility, it requires being proactive.

The new rule requires me to go after things with gusto, even if I'm not 100% sure that I want them.  How often is something going to be a point of no return?  How much harm is it to go full throttle and adjust when I realize it's the wrong direction?  In my opinion, the point of no return in this context is rare.  And the risk of harm is no higher than it was in the career 180 that I pulled in January.

It's a few days early yet, but I have Olympic fever.  In fact, it's quite possibly as severe as the Grand Slam fever that I get four times per tennis season.  The kind where you want to be glued to not only the TV screen, but also any available computer monitors, ensuring that you catch as many pivotal moments of athleticism as possible.

I vaguely remember the 1992 Summer Olympics in Barcelona.  Without a doubt, I was obsessed during the 1996 Atlanta games though - mainly with gymnastics and the medal count by country.  Honestly, I was essentially keeping a spreadsheet on a giant whiteboard, which was updated daily.  During my free hours, I was also penning a rather well-crafted Olympics newsletter with the assistance of Microsoft Publisher.  I'm pretty sure there's still an issue of that floating around somewhere in my parents' basement.

In the sixteen years since then, my interest has spanned further into other sports.  Gymnastics still holds the softest spot, even if I don't follow as avidly as I once did.  No doubt that tennis, played on the hallowed grounds of Wimbledon, will have my attention.  I couldn't conceive of missing any Phelps/Lochte drama in the pool.  Throw in a dash of track, diving, beach volleyball...it's going to be a busy time.

Here's to hoping that the games can go off without a hitch, staying a celebration of athleticism and not a demonstration of politics.  I was in London when things got scary in 2005, luckily remaining unscathed, but that's not a scenario that I wish on anyone.

Just over a week ago, I decided to give my eardrums a break.  My comfortable earbuds crapped out a couple months ago, so I downgraded to the spare set that you always keep but would rather never have to use.  Besides the general discomfort, I actually started experiencing some inner ear pain and ringing on the left side.  That's when I realized just how much I was filling in hours of solitude with my iPod's company.

I imagine that I've been wearing headphones of some variety since the early nineties, and my parents have been admonishing me about going deaf over that same span.  And I only use a moderate volume on my personal music devices.

A little digging turns up a 60/60 rule - keeping your earbud time to 60 minutes a day at no higher than 60% max volume.  I guarantee I was breaking at least half of that rule nearly every day.  But, I'm rather averse to permanent hearing damage.  Supposedly the first thing to go is the middle ranges, those required to hear conversations in noisy restaurants.  There's nothing but noisy restaurants in Chicago and who wants to be that girl on a date?  "Huh? What?"

What kind of daughter would I be if I was in Michigan, fifteen minutes from my parents' home, and failed to visit?  It helped that we got into town from the cottage at 10:00pm and it would've taken me three more hours to drive back to Chicago.  Odds were low that I could've stayed awake at the wheel long enough to make it to Chicago.

And what kind of parents would send their daughter off with an empty stomach and hands?  Not mine.  Dad always has the coffee pot prepped for when I wake up: coffee canister on the counter, spoon beside it, filter in the machine.  A slice of pizza and a frozen yogurt at Costco before I hit the road may not be gourmet, but suits me fine.  And Mom threw in some last second gifts of produce, including some of these glorious Michigan blueberries plucked at the peak of sweetness.

They had a few to spare, seeing as they invested in 60 lbs.  You just can't find these beauties in Chicago grocery stores.

Oh, and do you know what else Costco sells?  A Nikon D5100 dSLR camera kit for $899.  It took immense willpower to walk out with only pizza and frozen yogurt.

This is more of a "work" than "play" weekend in cottage land (although there's never a deficit of entertainment), including the successful execution of a bridal shower.  Officially starting off my participation in the 2012 wedding season.  

What struck me last night and this morning was the beauty in simplicity.

The ability to experience awe in the abundance of stars in the night sky.  The city blots out their brilliance.  It's amazing to take a deep breath and marvel in the vastness.

Walking down a pitch black street with your only real concerns relating to hidden potholes or mud, instead of keeping your eyes, ears and intuition alert for shady characters and situations.

Sitting alone with a book, a light breeze, and the sounds of cicadas and birds in the trees.  No TV, internet or traffic to drown it out.

Then I realized why these things were resonating with me so deeply.  About six months ago, these were the only sensations I knew, deep in the soul of Costa Rica.  Sometimes life sends you a reminder, now it's up to me to understand what action to take.

I feel a sort of nakedness leaving for the weekend without my computer. When you travel to cottage land in Michigan's thumb, you leave internet connections behind. That includes this smart little phone of mine. So, I shall be writing my updates and taking my photos, but the actual listing will be on delay. That counts, right?

In reality, it can be nice to disconnect from the constant digital web we live in. As long as my phone's camera still works, I'm good.

A perk of being an artsy crafty type having the ability to create without having to go out and purchase.  That comes in handy when the spontaneous urge for creation kicks in.  That's what I encountered this afternoon.

Sometimes you have to follow your whims.  I woke up to 100% humidity in my apartment this morning and couldn't fathom spending another consecutive day sitting in this 550 sq. ft. box, staring at the computer screen, searching for the holy grail (a.k.a. the perfect job).  I waited for commuters to leave the highway and headed for the land of Ikea.

Although going on this particular day was a whim, there was a purpose and a plan.  I have a tendency to dream up apartment projects and wish lists, but never execute on them.  Why?  Because it never seems particularly urgent when it's rare that anyone besides me sees the interior of my place.

Which brings me to a habit that I need to break.  If it will make me happy to purchase a wall-mounted wine rack, then I should make the effort to do it.  So, I did.  I added some curtains to the haul, too.  The 100 inches of mini-blinds could use a little more pizzaz.

Thanks to the budget-friendly options I can dig up at Ikea, I didn't exactly break the bank.  There was still a glimmer of guilt in my head though.  How could I validate spending money on non-essential items while I'm not making a full-time salary?  I did receive birthday money back in March that never went to a particular use.

This goes back to another non-indulgence habit of mine.  When someone writes me a check as a gift, I have a tendency to deposit it and most likely contribute it to my landlord or energy company.  Happy birthday to me, I paid the electric bill!  So, instead, I'm using a few of those dollars toward Mission: Home Sprucing.

And you know what?  I haven't even hung the curtains yet, but already my space is feeling refreshed and that's infused me with a little extra vigor as well.

My 200th post, cue the virtual confetti. The number seems nominal and huge at the same time. Quite a bit of time and thought has gone into those 200 posts. Sometimes I start worrying about how I'll possibly have content or a photo at least nine hours before I sit down to post them. A labor of love.

Interestingly enough, I was reading an article today about writing.  It happened to be from the mind of Stephen King, who happens to have a little experience with writing.  He referred to the immensity of new ideas stemming from opening new doors.  When you feel like there's nothing left to say and nowhere else to go, it's because you're not opening doors.

I've mentioned before that it can feel like a struggle to come up with inspiration.  As recently as yesterday, I referred to my restlessness in this current routine.  Today, with the assistance of Stephen King and the blogger that posted the excerpts, I tied those two thoughts together.  I don't struggle for ideas because they've all been used, but rather because I've let the well of my mind run dry.

It's up to me to change routine and discover the novelty and inspiration.  Reading.  Seeing.  Doing.  As long as it's something different.  You can leave a rut only to end up in another routine that becomes a rut.  That's not where I want to be, in my blog or in my life.  So, I'm opening doors and taking a peek.

Most of my daily wanderings (or runs) take place within a one mile radius of my apartment.  Multiplying that by seven days a week, you can imagine how many times I've seen everything in this neighborhood.  The new tactic is taking the alleys.  I reserve this activity for daylight hours, to be on the safe side.

It's interesting to see the backs of homes that I've only witnessed from the front or to be perplexed by the creative solutions for maximum parking in limited space.  And although I'm not a trash picker, I am intrigued by trash gawking.  As it is, my window is a vantage point for the trash bins belonging to the row house across the alley.  I can always tell when they're redecorating or one of their kids is a year older.  Maybe that's the urban equivalent to stopping at yard sales?

When I boil this new activity down to it's root cause, though, it's clear that I'm restless.  Taking alleys instead of streets isn't exactly going to satisfy my brain's need for stimulation - not for long, at least.

It's official, a weekend that I generally avoid even being within city limits is likely to become a reality of overpopulated proportions.  The Chicago Air & Water Show, which my parents would like to attend.  They find a thrill in watching the Blue Angels and the Chicago show has the perk of being free.  Although I know about the crowds by local rumor, that's the end of my knowledge base.

So I've started digging around.  Dates: August 18-19.  Time: No clue.  Central viewing point: North Avenue Beach.  Where I won't be viewing from: North Avenue Beach.  From what I can tell, there's still pretty decent views of the show from as far north as Diversey Harbor.  I don't want to give away my secret plan or anything, but I'm thinking that maybe (a big maybe) we'll have a chance to retain some breathing room if we park ourselves under the trees at Fullerton.

Shade and a lack of overcrowding sounds too good to be true.  I still have a month to try to discover a better option.

Whenever we head to the Chicagoland suburbs, "we" meaning city dwellers, there is always an interesting dichotomy of sentiment.  On one hand, the ease of loading everyone into a car at the exact moment you want to leave, then arriving directly at the door of your destination, is a luxury that seems to fall into the recesses of your mind.  So, it's much enjoyed and appreciated.  Until you take into consideration that urban to suburban commute...and vice versa.  The daily bus and train rides seem less menacing.  At least you get to listen to music while you ride or drive in a car.

It's also a refreshing change of pace to recall the singular convenience of a mall, where all stores are located in one place.  And every store has room to walk and breathe, instead of resembling a mosh pit.  But when you're in mall land, retail therapy completed and the hunger pangs starting, the options for food and beverage start to feel very limited.  Urbanites are spoiled by the sheer quantity of options within walking distance, let alone a bus or train ride.

After spending 25 years as a borderline rural/suburban type, I can see both sides of the argument.  I hate waiting outside for a bus at 11:00pm, but I love not having to worry about safely transporting myself home when I want to have a few glasses of wine with friends.  Just as I still harbor some of my suburban preferences, I imagine that leaving the city would not rid me of all of my urban biases.

In addition to re-committing myself to working out, I'm on a kick to continue refining my food and drink choices.  Some days, I'm successful without a struggle.  Often, though, I finish eating my healthy meal or snack and the urge for Oreos continues to lurk.  Sometimes it's cheese.  Or ice cream.  You get the point.

The other factor in this equation is being at home versus traveling or visiting someone else's home.  Somehow there's this invisible barrier of self-control that ends when I leave my own residence.  For some reason, I doubt that affliction is mine alone.  If only my mom and grandma would stop trying to feed me every ten minutes...or I was capable of practicing restraint when cookies are dangled in front of me.

(Disclaimer: This does not imply that I'm dieting, merely trying to form healthier habits.  I'm currently sans health insurance, so we'll call it preventative healthcare.)

Parents want what's best for you, but they can also get anxious when you're talking a path or stance they don't understand.  That's why I'm not surprised by the consistent advice and coaxing that I receive in regards to my next move in life.

The resounding message has been, "Just try things and see what sticks."  Translation: apply for a lot of jobs, go on interviews, then decide if it's right for you.  The problem is that I have a sneaking suspicion that the right role for me may be one that I don't even know exists.  So the traditional seek and apply method is likely to continue leading me to the same opportunities that I've moved away from.

This is why I'm about to employ some multi-tasking.  My natural element has never been large groups of people that I don't know.  Although I've become more at ease with it during the first phase of my career, it's still one of those areas that I have to push outside of the comfort zone.  So I've started seeking out opportunities to volunteer or events to attend where there is a high likelihood of being surrounded by similar-minded people.  The added value is the possibility of encountering new ideas and roles that a traditional job search would never uncover.

And, of course, there's always that old adage of "It's not what you know, it's who you know".  I can't foresee a downside to knowing more people.

At some point during this afternoon, I hit upon a topic that I wanted to write about.  Instead of making a note, I felt assured that I would remember.  But, of course, I haven't the slightest idea now that I'm sitting here.  So, here we go, off the cuff.

Sometimes life gets crazy or circumstances change.  When you find yourself in a different place than those who have been playing a major role in your life, it can become disconcerting to feel a growing distance.  Despite distance, those that matter and truly care will rise to the top.  Maybe the frequency of time together will change, but the connection will remain.

In my life, I've had a tendency to befriend people with independent spirits.  Many of the people that I consider my close friends have spread far and wide across the country, and many of them have never met one another.  It can take effort to maintain connections with people that you rarely see.  But when you reconnect and there's that easy feeling of never having missed a beat, there's no doubt that you'll continue finding ways to create a presence in one another's lives.

So far this has been a week of reconnecting and/or making plans with these long-distance friends, and I'm just reminded of how thankful I am to have these great individuals in my life.  And how worthwhile it is to put in the effort.

Staying true to form for my curious nature, I've been spending some time looking into resources on chronological versus skill-based resumes.  I consider it a valid topic, because 1) I'm starting to put some of those documents out into the wild again and 2) the positions that I'm interested in are more like second cousins to my previous job titles.

For a while I was doing so well with my routine of working out, learning to code, practicing Spanish.  Trips to Michigan interfered with my scheduling flow and the hottest summer days ever made me listless instead of motivated to work out.  One thing that stuck was the Spanish, maybe not every day, but most days.

Today I reset the counter.  The workout didn't exactly feel great, but I completed it.  Tomorrow I'm going to attempt to go out for a little run.  Hopefully two miles.  That doesn't sound like much, but I haven't been able to nix this nagging foot injury from my surfing adventures in Costa Rica.  (I unofficially dubbed it turf toe.  If it can take down NFL players, I had no chance.)  My last attempt was during those glorious spring days in March, but ended badly in shooting pains before I could go a mile.  Four months later, I'm ready to give it another try.

If all else fails, I'll just veer off the Lakefront Trail and plop down in the sand.  Call it a beach morning.  Then it's back to this computer to throw my name in some hats and explore my return to the world of full-time employment.

I have a confession to make.  Sometimes I form opinions and cling stubbornly to them.  I know, it's not exactly an earth-shattering confession.  In my younger years, I generally refused to even consider changing my mind.  Maybe it felt like a weakness or I didn't want people to believe I could be swayed.  I'm not implying that my will has softened with age, but rather it has matured.  My opinions may still be cast with the same passionate furor, but I'm willing to concede some ground when solid arguments are raised.

Why am I thinking about this today?  Because I spent the morning hoping that no one would win the men's Wimbledon title today.  There's no denying Federer's greatness, but I hate seeing all of Sampras' records tumble down.  And I've always had a hardened heart against Murray.  From unwarranted arrogance to his dinky dropshot style of play, I could never get behind him.  To top it off, he's essentially tennis' version of a flopper.  You know, those soccer players that take dramatic falls of their own accord then try to convince a ref it was an opposing player's fault?  Murray blames external objects and circumstance: the balls, the court, the sun, his pockets.

Today, though, after watching him play a real and solid match against arguably the greatest of all time, I conceded a little bit.  His post-match interview was genuinely emotional, tear-filled and heartfelt.  I couldn't help the flow of compassion.  This guy, despite the usual bravado, is throwing his heart and soul into an endeavor and continually being stopped just shy of the goal.  My polarized stance hit neutral ground while watching him unsuccessfully attempt to keep his emotions in check.

Unfortunately, he didn't leave the flopper antics at home; his on-court demeanor still irked me.  My passion runs deep when it comes to tennis, positive and negative opinions alike.  He's still not going to be my favorite, and I'll continue to root against him in most match-ups.  But I respect his emotional investment in his dream.

This is going to be short and to the point. And I'll tell you why. You know how people will say they need a vacation to recover from their vacation? I bet there's a high likelihood that anyone reading has said or thought the same thing. (Maybe it was a wish for more weekend to recover from your weekend.)

That's how I feel after the past four days. It wasn't really a vacation, but it was still an event. With my brother and his girlfriend in town from Texas, activities and gatherings never ceased. We had plentiful food, drink and fun...but I think we would all like to hibernate for a couple of days now. Does this mean we're all old?

Do you remember the awkward adolescent years? If you don't recall having awkward years, you're most likely delusional. It's not something I think about often, for good reason, and I doubt that I've thought about those years in quite a while. But the youngest of my cousins are in that awkward stage right now, and seeing them over the past few days brought it all back.

Changing dynamics of friendships. Braces. The opposite sex. Self-consciousness.

Some of the awkward memories merely make me laugh or shake my head. During my middle school years I weighed somewhere between 80-90 pounds and probably measured around 5'3". There wasn't much of me. Yet, I insisted on wearing my shirts in a size large. Other memories are less amusing, but have given me insight into my personal development. I can see aspects of my personality that began taking root back in those seemingly innocent middle school and high school years.

To be completely honest, I've never longed to return to those years of my life. I can see how people might say that things were so much easier back then and they'd gladly go back. The way I remember it, the challenges and emotions of those days felt big when you were in their midst. Today's challenges in the adult world may be of a different nature, but our enhanced (hopefully) personal development is equitable to their heightened gravity.

Sure, I saw plenty of beautiful scenery in Grand Haven today.  White beaches, Lake Michigan, the pier and lighthouse.  This all pales in comparison to one thing.  The highlight of my day can be pinpointed to about 40 square feet.  Pronto Pups.  I can only grace you with a visual representation and written ode, but that's not nearly representative of the goodness.  After nearly a year of impatience, the cholesterol bomb made its way back into my life.  If I ever happen to end up with a "last meal" request in this life, a Pronto Pup is required.  No question.

The lake was actually a perfect respite from the 100 degree temperatures.  Despite racking up my first sunburn of the year, I'm ready for day two tomorrow.  As much as I'm tempted, I'll keep my cholesterol craving in check though.

Words that I would not use to describe my family's gatherings: quiet, dull, mundane, proper.  Despite having to yell to be heard and the occasional need to escape to another room and recalibrate my hearing, there's a certain comfort in the chaos.  It keeps things interesting.  Today's individual topics of conversation ranged from cars and Elvis to toilet paper and my aunt's scarring episode with an unrelenting clown at the circus.

In the traditional sense, the heat chased us from a lot of the Fourth of July fanfare.  Our picnic was indoors with the air conditioning, we watched some fireworks from the living room window, and no one brought sparklers.  But the American flag flew from the back patio all day and we celebrated the independence of our nation through the togetherness of our family.

I can't even imagine being an outside individual (i.e. boyfriend or girlfriend) showing up to one of these gatherings for the first time.  Even being born into this family, I find it difficult to get a word in edgewise most days.

Honestly, I have nothing insightful, sage or deep to express today.  When most people say that they're taking a mental health day, they mean they're using one of their paid time off days to relax.  Since employment is a little more of a fluid concept in my life currently, I changed the definition.  Today I took a mental health day, a day of letting my overanalytical processes rest.  They've been in hyperspeed for several months, practically 24/7, and enough to interrupt a few good nights' sleeps recently.

I spent part of my mindless day watching Wimbledon, another chunk at the beach, packed for tomorrow's trip to Michigan, then dinner and the most mindless movie of all for ladies' night.  It's always good to go into a movie about male "dancers" with low expectations; I'm glad that I held to that rule.  But, hey, the joke's on us.  It doesn't matter how bad the movie is, they're making a tidy little profit off of it and I can't imagine production costs were all that high.

If you looked at a timeline of every place that I've been employed, there's a strong undercurrent of customer service and client-related jobs.  Starting with restaurant and retail work, continuing through the advertising and marketing roles, and right up to the organizing jobs that I undertake today.  For every job that fits in the customer service category, I can also recall an individual telling me that they wouldn't peg me for the type to have a job like that.

I'm not arguing with the appraisal.  By nature I'm more of an observer, a thinker, a problem-solver. Admittedly, my first customer-facing role was a bit of an internal battle to convince myself that I could do it.  Over the years, that trepidation started to fade.  And while I may still more naturally embrace the "think and solve" role, taking the reins in customer-related scenarios isn't an internal struggle anymore.

My conclusion: you don't need to be a natural at something to do it successfully.  And not only successfully, but well.  Instead of trying to mimic those who are natural extroverts, I opted to interpret customer service in the way that felt most natural to me.  It probably also helps that I'm stubborn and determined to succeed.  If I'm bad at something, I want to get better (although I prefer to hone the skill without anyone looking over my shoulder).  Finally, I've learned to accept that I'm not always smooth, but I like to think that my occasional lapses are more endearing and genuine than awkward.

A different employment path may have been easier and less nerve-wracking, but this goes beyond professional development.  I truly believe that this unnatural path was vital for my personal development, starting as a shy child and learning not only how to interact with the surrounding world, but ultimately that determination a handy tool for success.

The day started pleasantly and promising enough.  By 10:00am I had already worked in a three mile walk by the lake, a shower and breakfast.  I made a command decision that today would be a Starbucks coffee day, thanks to a few bucks remaining on my gift card.  After navigating the crowd in my tiny neighborhood coffee joint, my iced coffee and I traveled to a park bench.

It was more than an hour before the sun started to fade out and the dark sky rolled in.  I was making such great progress on The Grapes of Wrath, only five pages left.  Determination to make that book a part of my past instead of my present (it's been a struggle to read a book I'm not enjoying) allowed me to convince myself that I could easily make it home before the rain.  I was partially correct.

Finally finished, I started toward home, a mere three blocks away.  The sky was ominous and intriguing, so I saw no harm in stopping for a photo.  Then the dust started gusting into my eyes, leaves were pouring out of trees onto my head, and I could hardly walk forward or in a straight line.  Garbage bins were crashing and burning onto the path one or two steps behind me.

It became unclear whether I should duck into a doorway or try to make it home.  Part of my mind was flashing through scenes from Twister, anticipating an F5 in the next thirty seconds.  Ultimately, I decided that I'd rather be in my own building should it come to that; there was comfort in the idea of a secure underground level.  As I started crossing the street, my mass of hair whipping in front of my face, there was a sound of metal screeching on concrete.  Sure enough, a large metal sculpture on the sidewalk corner had just tipped into the street as easily as a chess pawn.  If that wind was taking down ten feet of metal, I had no business being outside.  Time to pick up the pace.

I jogged the next block and a half, noting tree branches on cars, people cowering in alleys and doorways, other people jogging toward wherever, metal torn away from telephone posts, dislodged signs.  These winds had been in effect for no more than three minutes and I was clueless about what else was coming.

Once I stepped inside my building, and checked that my car was debris-free, my heart rate slowed, but I noticed that there was a little tremor in my hand.  Checking out the weather radar quelled any worries, seeing that I was on the northernmost edge of a front heading southeast.  Of course, that made me wonder what the center of the storm looked like.  A few highlights, according to the National Weather Service: "damaging wind in excess of 60 mph, large hail, deadly lightning".