Traditional Traditions

Three years later…
This will be the third year in a row traveling to Indio/Palm Springs for a week and playing golf on Thanksgiving Day with my parents. I’m thankful we’ve created a new tradition.

LaLa Palooza

When holiday season rears its head, it feels like an annoying splinter I can’t seem to wriggle free.  The actual holiday itself isn’t the issue, but rather my expectations or perception of how the time should be spent.

Since I am an only child, don’t have children, and come from a small family, the stressful cooking and shopping serpent doesn’t loom overhead.  I feel like I’m dust slowly gathering on the outside of a fishbowl—everyone else is frantically swimming around gift buying, dessert baking, and holiday decorating, but I’m stationary—on the outside, hoping to be wiped free.

All of those actions haven’t made it to my to-do list or calendar and I don’t foresee it happening in the near future.  Does that mean I somehow feel left out?  Yes and no.  In some respects, I’m relieved I don’t have the same stress or anxiety as others.  However, there’s a part…

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Sunday Reflection Quote, 11/1/15


Sunday reflection quote…Almost a year ago, a series of events shattered my life as I knew it triggering depression, despair, and fear.
Nonetheless, I chose to grind it out to be an overcomer, rather than be overcome. I couldn’t have done it without MM, JC, and RP who saw my strength and light when I thought there was none.
This journey isn’t all unicorns and rainbows. There are still moments of uncertainty, occasional sleepless nights, and random tears. However, my determination to reset my life, mind, body, and spirit has brought me out of the darkness and into renewed light. Eyes are open, mind more focused, and heart ready to receive. I’m hopeful, motivated, and grateful. My future is bright.

#Sunday #reflection #quote #perseverance #tenacity #grit #determination #strength #bringiton #reset #focus #purpose #goals #mindset #health #fitness #golf #choices #friends #connection #syncronicity #forgiveness #grief #depression #thistooshallpass #babysteps #bright #future #myownstory #keeponkeepingon

Sunday Reflection Quote, 9/27/15


Sunday reflection quote…Although I’m proud with my progress regarding my career change, health/weight loss, golf, and poker (though not lately) I’m not quite where I want nor can be.  Sometimes I think I’m a saboteur either fearful of success or thinking I’m not worthy. This is such wacko-bazingo bullshit thinking!!

It’s time to ratchet it up a notch and get out of my own way with self-discipline:
1) Hit the gym BEFORE work, no matter how much I hate getting my ass out of bed. It’ll energize me for the day, ramp up my metabolism for my last few pounds, and free up time for golf in the evening.
2) My short game sucks and always has. Practice short game BEFORE the range. Get out and play more. Being a “range pro” doesn’t yield results.
3) Only play poker when I’m present and focused. Study raise/shove charts and quit playing like a chicken shit girl.

Game on for realz yo!

#louholtz #holtz #sunday #reflection#quote #goals #success #selfdiscipline#health #weightloss #gym #girlswholift#golf #shortgame #girlswhogolf #poker#focus #girlswhoplaypoker#keeponkeepingon #myownstory

Looking Back…Football


Gasping for air in a silent panic, I look upward scared for my life.  Players huddle all around, murmuring words I can’t discern.  After what seems like an eternity, I am gently ushered off the field by Coach Burns.  I realize the air was knocked out of me from an opponent’s forearm to my throat, slamming me to the ground.  From the stands, I see my father’s steady blue eyes, coupled with worry and encouragement.  His look is all the assurance I need to keep going and shake it off.

I have no idea what in the world I was thinking when I joined the boys seventh grade tackle football team at Nisqually Middle.  Somehow my experience playing co-ed intramural flag football in fifth and sixth grade led me down the adolescent path of no return.  I was the only girl on the team creating a big “to do” for all involved.  Dad, in his supportive way, said, “You can do anything you set your mind to.  If you want to play football, have at it!”  Mom, on the other hand, wondered why I wanted to play, was shocked dad was giving the okay, and quietly resisted.  The school administrators, Mr. Bykerk and Mrs. Hendrickson, held a special meeting with my parents “to discuss my safety.”  I was mortified when they brought up an even more personal topic, “how I was going to protect my chest?”  They assumed it was an equal rights issue.  That wasn’t my agenda at all!  I just enjoyed the sport, thought I had some skills, and simply wanted to play ball.  How was I to know the decision would create turmoil on many levels?

Someone, I don’t recall who, came up with the plan that I could be the kicker.  I’d be part of the team, but avoid any real contact.  Mom liked the idea, since this seemed like the only way for me to avoid getting hurt.  That weekend dad and I went to the field at Timberline HIgh to practice punting and placekicking.  I couldn’t figure out how to kick the ball at the correct trajectory nor any reasonable distance.  Dad would say, “You give 100%, so will I.  You give 5%, so will I.”  The implication being I wasn’t trying very hard.  In reality, I couldn’t kick the football to save my life!

Practice and tryouts started the following week.  I remember the endless drills of wind sprints, jumping jacks, push-ups, sit-ups, drop downs, and the like.  What was I doing?!  I thought I was going to die.  Immediately, I desperately wanted to quit.  Dad said, “You started it, you finish it.”  Dammit, I knew there was no way out.  It was as if my decision set in motion a row of dominos, one bumping into the next; unable to be stopped, out of control.  I’d have to suck it up and stick it out, no matter what was in store.

Towards the end of the week final tryouts and cuts were made.  Due to my lack of kicking skills, it was obvious the “safe” position of kicker wasn’t going to be mine.  If I were a boy, I probably would’ve been cut.  Basically, the coach had to keep me, which at the time, I was completely unaware of.

Since I was just as tall and big as the boys, I wound up being assigned the position of offensive right tackle.  Granted, I had no clue what that meant or what I was supposed to do.  Here I was, an ignorant, passive spectator now required to be an active participant.  Really, I was oblivious!  I had no idea what the function of the positions were, nor how to execute plays.  I distinctly remember Sauceda, the running back, yelling, “Make a hole and get out of the way!!”  I finally got the message when he literally ran over the top of me, his cleats digging into the back of my calves leaving a trail of square indentations.

I was officially part of the team, number 38, offensive line.  Ironically, I didn’t know the line of scrimmage I was supposed to hold, drew another line in my life.  A line of separation.  Being the only girl on an all boy team created a divide that couldn’t be explained.  The girls treated me differently, because I was now one of the guys.  While I was putting on shoulder pads and cleats, they would be dressing down into shorts and t-shirt for volleyball.  Degrading comments such as “where’s your cup?” often permeated the locker room.  Their cold words had the stench of a skunk, which lingered with me even though the source eventually went out of sight.  To the boys, I was like a sister.  At the start, they hesitantly welcomed me.  In the end, protected me like their own.  I was officially a member of their circle.

This intangible division continued into high school, as the only girl on the golf team freshman and sophomore year.  I felt like there was something different about how I interacted with my peers; a disconnection I couldn’t explain.  I now realize the words and actions of my peers weren’t directed at me personally, rather towards the unique situation.

Looking back, I believe playing football paved a specific path for me.  I’m able to travel with a quiet internal strength and persevere.  The lines of scrimmage are either held strong or broken through.  In this unpredictable game called life, I’ve learned how to play and determine my own victories.

My Dreams


I dream about leading a group of wide eyed, fear filled people through the jungle.  Sometimes I know them well, my dearest companions.  Sometimes they are random strangers sprinkled with an essence of familiarity.

As we trounce through the jungle, I have a golf bag on my back; bow and arrow or machete at the ready.  My arms are muscular, posture strong, and a layer of grime covers my skin.  There are deep gashes on my legs with blood rolling down.

We run through branches, trample through streams, and climb up embankments.  I slash green foliage out of the way, take out a tiger mid air, and assist people up as they stumble.  I press on with urgency, determined to get them to safety and willing to take out anything in my way.  We must make it before it is too late.  


Blood runs down my chin and I spit teeth into the sink.  There are twenty-seven.  The front of my mouth is all gums with a random tooth here and there.  What will they think?


The outside is sound and strong.  There’s character and a sense of history.  The inside warm, welcoming, and comfortable.  There are architectural nuances making it one of a kind.  

As we settle into our new home, I slowly discover rooms and closets.  I keep them secret.  Some are small, dark, and cold. Others are lavish and seem to expand for eternity.  I wonder how many there are and why we weren’t told.  Each space contains belongings of The Others.  There are garden tools, sports equipment, a chest of lace, and boxes of black and white photos.  

The old neighbor man comes storming over yelling at me with his finger in my face for moving his tools.  He states his tools must stay in their designated spot and I have no right to move them to the garage without permission.  We get into it as it is my home after all.  I’m informed he has access at any time and there isn’t anything I can do about it.  This is the agreement he’s had for a lifetime.  I throw my hands up and walk away in defeat.

Mom starts bossing me around for not keeping everything clean.  The purple velvet comforter in the back room is crooked and there’s lint on a black coat hanging in the closet.  Apparently, she expects me to keep things clean, even if I don’t know the room exists.  I mope down the hall with lint roller in hand.


I slayed the spitting dragon.  It was the final thrust and twist with my silver sword that ended him.  I was exhausted from the battle.  I had to maneuver around the car sized turtle with projected claws.  Then, there was the eagle shredding a cow’s side with its talons.  

But, I got it done.  They kept running away and gave up.  How could they possibly think of giving up?  I refused to let this fucking dragon take over.  The virus infected mucus will no longer burn skin off little kids.

The blood splattered on walls will be a chore to remove.  Where are the damn gloves?


Can a molar possibly be that big?  When I picked up my car keys that fell on the ground the molar that fell out was the size of a golf ball.  I ran upstairs to the bathroom to take a look.  Sure enough, there’s a gigantic hole in my upper right jaw and slow trickles of blood making it’s way towards my lips.  Guess stuffing it with toilet paper will have to do for now.

~D. Thompson