run on sentences

4 am musings

2012-02-02T06:48:00.087-07:00

I couldn't sleep. My dreams weren't necessarily bad - work dreams, taking Advanced Cardiac Life Support Classes, people I knew from work who were all nice to me, and therapy dogs I had known who licked my hand in greeting and seemed to have missed me. Amazingly I did not dream about my income taxes which I have not completed or the one sock I have almost completed.

one almost completed sock - for Donna Mae

I got up finally at 4:30. Mornings are my best time anyway. Jack followed me into the kitchen, hopeful for his breakfast and maybe a run later. I put the coffee going, as my mom used to say and settled down in my chair with a heating pad on my shoulders and drank that first cup. I usually drink 2 or 3 more during the course of the day, but none taste as good as the first one. Jack gets breakfast after my first cup and still looks hopeful for that run even though it is only a little after 5...and lightly snowing.

My mind goes to my mom. Next month it will be three years since she died and I feel the sadness already hovering over me if I let it. You never know when that hard to describe feeling of loss will grab you and squeeze tight until you have to blink away the tears- it is so unpredictable. I want to call her and ask her about the socks and about people only she would remember and about her grandmother years. My sister and I talk about her most of the time when we have our evening chat. I bet Barb gets grabbed with the same feelings - maybe even more as she sits in my mom's chair in her old house sometimes. Maybe my brother thinks of her too - but mostly I think he kills the thoughts with beer. My mom probably contacts him and says "did you eat today, Ray?" My sister and I always joke about that because every time he came over to her house, that was the first thing she asked even though he is a grown up - 3 years younger than I am. Barb also jokes that my mom's cat jumps from her lap when my brother shows up and meows "did you eat Ray"?

Jack the dog cheers me up as I type, peeking around the corner with a hopeful look "Are we going running"? he asks?

Are we going running? Jack's look says.

"Not yet" I answer. Jackie is 12 and groans a lot. But the joy he gets when I tell him we are going to go is worth it for both of us - I groan a lot too. I am convinced that just as it is good for me, it is good for him, but I have cut his runs a lot shorter than they used to be. He has done up to 12 miles with me and a few times this year we have done 7. Mostly though I limit him to 3 or 4 miles and I let him stop wherever he wants to - to pee, sniff, or read his "pee mail". I tell him I won't ever forget about him or give up on him either although we both know the limits of his life span. We will make the best of it and he is the best running buddy, listening to my incessant babble and being eager to do whatever I want. I talk to him as I go about the morning and he follows me around - licking my arm when he needs his ears scratched. We could all learn a lot from our dogs.

Jack looking excited when I tell him we will go running

I worked on my taxes and decided doing taxes is like anticipating going to the casino. You have high hopes of winning, even though in the back of your mind you know you won't - but it is the hope that is fun. I have high hopes of getting big returns but once again the government wins. I should have more money in capital gains, like Mitt Romney....damn him and his lack of understanding about poor people (he is not worried about them...there is a safety net he says....but it is this very safety net he plans to decrease funding to....sorry I don't mean to get political but it is early in the morning) and dogs.

My new favorite t-shirt. Check out http://www.dogsagainstromney.com

I know the incident with Mitt's dog, Seamus, happened 30 years ago. But it is symbolic of his lack of understanding or depth in compassion I feel.

I find this quote that my daughter used on one of her New Year's cards - beautifully made with her talented art of letterpress. Check out her beautiful work here.

The sun rises in spite of everything
And the far cities are beautiful and bright
I lie here in a riot of sunlight
Watching the day break and the clouds flying
Everything is going to be all right.... Derek Mahon

Somehow I feel better. Everything IS going to be all right. I will sleep better tonight.

the sisterhood

2012-01-18T16:12:00.002-07:00

It has been a year since I retired/retreaded/revised myself. At first it was so weird to be out and about in the middle of a weekday afternoon.   I felt like I was playing hooky. What if someone saw me from work? But wait, I wasn't working. It didn't matter who saw me. And it seemed as if I was invisible - maybe because I slunk around like I was committing a crime, shoulders hunched over, making my frame even shorter than my 5 feet 1 1/2 inches.   No wonder my shoulders ached.

So used to being productive and having to rush, I got up every morning and felt guilty if I read the paper. Maybe I should throw in a load of laundry, vacuum or scrub the kitchen floor.   Or start writing a novel? Put all my pictures in albums? Run? Do yoga? Lift weights? Watch a movie? I always thought it would be cool to watch a movie in the middle of the day....so far I haven't done it yet but I feel it happening soon.

Slowly over the past year I have relaxed a little - my shoulders still hurt but that is from knitting socks, I feel. I have stopped feeling guilty when I do see people from work and they ask me, "So what are you doing? Do you have a job?" This question used to make me feel bad, that I wasn't being productive. But dammit, I was "productive" for 35 years.

Now, when people ask me "What are you doing?" I smile and say "Whatever I want!" I notice the brief look of jealousy that peeks out on their faces. I have come to appreciate my favorite jeans and yoga pants even more.   I love that I can wander around in stores at 1:00 in the afternoon if I want. I loved that I was ready for Christmas the week before and did not feel rushed.

I also love having time to read stories to Desmond! He doesn't care if I just got back from running and am stinky and sweaty!

I think I am finally being identified as one of the sisterhood of stay at home grandmas, retired ladies or ladies of leisure. When I am out looking at after Christmas sales or the latest deals at T.J. Maxx, I no longer feel invisible. Ladies "of a certain age" talk to me like we are in some sort of conspiracy of women who are smug because they are no longer living the life of the stressed, hurried, and worried. We can wander and look at deals.

"I have all the frying pans I need" one grandmotherly woman confided in me. "But I always look at them. Even though I can't lift the newer ones....I am not 20 years old any more!"

"Not many of us are", I say back to her with a conspiratorial smile. I surprise myself by realizing I would not even want to go back to being 20 - well, maybe I wouldn't mind if parts of me still looked 20. I still have nice hair though that hasn't yet turned gray.

Another woman, alone and wandering, whispered to me, while I was looking at on sale Christmas dishes "We don't need any of those, do we?".

"Nope", I said.

"But we are going to buy some anyway, right?" She responded.

"Oh yes". I laughed as I gathered up 8 plates that, before Christmas, would have cost me $104, but I got for $35. Nope I didn't need them but they would be so nice to have our Christmas night fondue on next year.

The woman cheered me on as she also purchased some Christmas cups and saucers - they were almost free because they said "Christmas 2011" on them. I had the urge to invite her out to coffee and find out about her life and maybe knit her some socks or something! She seemed like she had deep thoughts about life in general and I wanted to know them.

It took almost a year but I am free of the guilt that surfaced from time to time because I was "no longer in service". Oh and I am going to apply for another job and the beauty of it is that I will work part time at something I wanted to do for a long time....at least I hope I will be hired despite being a woman of a certain age.

But I still have to do something about my sore shoulders.

the similarities between knitting marathons and running socks

2011-12-30T20:28:00.001-07:00

So far I have knitted (knat?) two pair of socks. I gave both of them away to people I love. I will give away many pairs of socks, but only to people who I know will appreciate them.

I wrote about my first pair of socks already but here is a picture of my second pair:

It occurred to me that making socks is as addicting as running marathons (or half marathons or 5ks) can be. You make one pair after gathering up your courage to tackle the turning of the heel and the picking up of stitches for that so called gusset, or as I call it, "gasket". Then, encouraged, you race to the toes and maybe slow down a bit - but the end is in sight so you keep going. When you are done, for a while, you don't want to do the other one, but you do, because you can think of a million different things to do that will make the next pair even better....like knitting tighter (or looser) or doing the toe in a different way or making the ribbing longer and the sock come up higher on your leg, etc. So you want to finish the pair and start on the next one, maybe using different yarn, smaller needles and a different pattern.

When you run a marathon, you start out slowly for the first few miles (the ribbing). You are happy when you get to the half way point (the heel) and you settle in to the second half (heading to the toe). But it seems so long getting to the toe. You get tired of just knitting. You want to put it away for a while, but you keep on knitting because you know if you quit now you will never finish. Then when you see you have just a few more rows till you start decreasing you can see the end in site and you get your second wind and keep going.

Me in St. George (my 34th marathon?), at mile 24, "the final toe decreasing"

finishing up the heel flap on sock pair number 3 - onward to the long stretch of knitting the toe

After you finish the sock, and tie up all the loose ends, you sit back and look at your nice pair. Maybe you take a picture of them. Then you start thinking about the next pair you will make.

And the next marathon you will run. And how you can do better.

the things we never had

2011-12-10T13:17:00.069-07:00

My sister and I talk about how we never realized we were poor growing up. Maybe it was because there were a lot of other people who had less than we did and no one was really rich. Or maybe it was because our parents loved us and never let us forget it. Our house sounded like the "little house on the prairie" show. Every night we would say "Good night mom, I love you" or "good night dad, I love you" several times - maybe to make sure they were still there or maybe for reassurance that they really did love us.

Christmas was always a special time. Once one of the neighbor ladies who was of the proper shape and girth, dressed up as Santa Clause and peeked in the window at my sister. My sister, who exhibited sleuth like qualities at a young age, followed the footsteps to the neighbors house and figured it out. I was too little (or "still walking in front of my father" as my dad always said) to remember this one but I do remember when my uncle Booie dressed up like Santa and looked in the living room at us. I also remember how Santa Clause would come to the Community building, riding on the fire truck and we all got candy canes, peanuts and an orange in a brown paper bag. I am not sure who that Santa was. The community building is still there and a beautiful old building.

The community building from the side

We didn't get our Christmas tree until around the 20th of December but we kept it up until after New Years. My brother used to go out in the woods with my dad and get a tree - back when you could just go out and chop one down. They usually weren't the best looking trees (more like Charlie Brown trees) but we always put it up anyway and my mom would try to cover the bare parts with ornaments or icicles. It was always good enough.

On Christmas eve, we always had new jammies and went to bed - or tried to, at 4 in the afternoon. My sister and I would lay on the bed and she would tell me that she saw Santa Clause in the sky. I always believed her. It was so cold in our upstairs bedroom and we often had frost on the inside windows so had to scrape them off to look outside.

We believed in Santa for longer than most kids because we knew our folks didn't have much money and how could they afford all those presents? They must have sacrificed a lot for us. In those days, a person could "run a tab" at various stores - they didn't have credit cards back then either - or at least my parents never had one. We never lacked for presents and I don't remember ever feeling disappointed because I didn't get something I wanted. Before Christmas we would spend hours looking through the "wish book" from Sears, Montgomery Ward or J.C. Penney.

When my dad was still a drinking man, many people stopped by for a Christmas drink around the holidays - usually on Christmas Eve.    There were a few mishaps when someone fell on my sister's new sled and dented it or knocked over our fake fireplace.    People stopped by the entire week between Christmas and New Years - my mom would fix something to eat or drink for anyone that showed up - it was a kind of impromptu open house at everyone's house in my little town and no one called first. I am sure our parents really appreciated us waking them up at 4 or 5 am on Christmas morning to open presents, after they had been up most of the night.

I thought of all these Christmases past because my sister has been posting old pictures of our Christmases on Facebook. I also was reminded of it when I heard a song by Paul Simon Getting ready for Christmas Day. One of the lines in the song is "If I could tell my mom and dad, the things we never had didn't matter, we were always okay".   Neither Barb nor I could think of anything we wanted back then, but didn't get or didn't have. Okay maybe for me it was a girly bedroom with a pink canopy bed, which now I can see would be impractical in a house where we burned wood.

We didn't want much and we really didn't have much, but we had what was important. The best gift our parents did give us was the appreciation for what we have and the realization that "some people have it a lot worse.    I wish I could tell my mom and dad how much I appreciate that and all the great Christmases we had as kids.

Every Christmas I long for the magical feeling I had as a kid.   And my sweet mom and dad - it's true, the things we never had, didn't matter. We were always and are still OK!

Here are some Christmas pictures

love the black and white photos. Christmas 1958

Christmas dresses - Barb was not too happy in hers

Christmas 1963 - look at those curls

My little town today. That's my brother walking down the street. I feel like I could climb right in this picture

and what, before my wondering eyes should appear....

2011-12-03T15:24:00.001-07:00

....but a pasty, lying on the sidewalk so clear.

a pasty. On the sidewalk. In Salt Lake City?

Okay it is not the best poetry, but I am still puzzled over how this seemingly perfectly baked pasty showed up on the sidewalk, a block below the high school? No one, or at least not many people in this city, beautiful as it is, knows what a pasty is even.

Jack and I were running along yesterday on a cold but sunny day, minding our own business. I could see something lying on the sidewalk ahead of me, which isn't too unusual...sometimes there are bagels, old french fries, or bags from the many nearby fast food joints...but a pasty? Never. As I approached it, I stopped and stared. Jack wanted to sniff it and eat it of course. I got off the sidewalk and circled it suspiciously, wondering if I was going crazy or just so homesick that I was hallucinating? Maybe my wild college days finally caught up with me and I was having flashbacks?

I thought it might be an empanada, which is a Latin American pastry with meat or fruit in it, but it looked too big for one of those. It didn't look like one of those pizza things either. It looked like a pasty, and a good one at that - the crust looked perfectly browned and nicely crimped on the edges - just like my mom used to make. I had my camera with me because I thought since we had such a wind storm the day before, I might see some trees in the road or something. With one hand pulling Jack away from it, I took a picture. I half expected it would not show up on the camera - like something from the spiritual world.

Part of me wanted to take that beautiful pasty and bring it home with me, heat it up, add a dab of butter and some catchup and eat it. But I just left it there, by itself, in all it's nostalgic and mouthwatering beauty. I couldn't bear to mess it up, even though I wanted to open it and see if it had rutabagas in it - then I would know it was bonafide. I wanted to keep the dream alive so I left it undisturbed. And today I kept thinking about going back to see if it was still there.

If you are wondering what a pasty is, it is a meat pie, originating from Cornish miners. A good description and definition is at this link. You can find a bunch of recipes for them here if you are so inclined. Some of my friends thought about the little things some dancing ladies wear on their girls....but that is not it at all!

Maybe it was a sign of some sort, from my mom, who comes to me (very rarely) in dreams but doesn't say too much. If it is a sign, I am not sure what it means, but it sure has me hoping that Santa brings me a pasty for Christmas!

random acts of good vibes

2011-12-01T07:18:00.077-07:00

Yesterday I knew I had to run because we were going to get a bad windstorm that afternoon. I was actually looking forward to it and felt good. Jack could sense we were going to go so kept coming in and nudging me as if to say, "Now?"

Jack's favorite "waiting" pose"

I got dressed, primed the ipod with some good Christmas tunes and we headed out the door and up the hill, listening to Barbara Streisand singing "Raindrops on roses...etc"...not one of my favorite things, but it seems if I skip a song I am not fond of, my pod gets back at me by playing it more often.

I was just doing the usual 5 mile loop and Jack and I, both of us having a good day it seemed, ran along, enjoying the familiar scenery. It amazes me that even though I do this route a lot, I often see things I have never seen before or at least noticed.

It is Christmas tree season (began about two weeks ago) so the neighborhood Smith's Marketplace has their Christmas trees out - all of them hoping to be resuscitated briefly, before they are all the way dead, in some one's living room, adorned with decorations and LED lights. I always keep Jack away from the trees because I am sure he would love to leave some "pee mail" on them, which would result in other dogs doing the same. As I run through this parking lot, I always look down because once I found a $100 bill. Usually though, it is anything from a penny to a quarter. Whatever it is, I pick it up and throw it in the jar on my dresser and it becomes my Michigan casino money eventually.

We ran past what my friend Sid calls "the mascara house" because it is outlined in black trim and headed to our turn around point just past the high school where all three of my kids graduated. A woman ran towards me and I noticed the big smile on her face so of course, I "gave her one of mine" as the saying suggests one should do in these situations. As she got closer I was able to see by counting the wrinkles in front of her earlobes, which is my unofficial method of guessing approximate age, that she was of my vintage. We both stopped and she spontaneously, gave me a big hug.

"Do I know you?" She asked? I was wondering the same thing.

She did look familiar so I asked her if she ran a lot. It turns out that she runs the St. George marathon every year and often runs in this neighborhood. Before I retired I ran this same route but it was usually way before dawn so I never got to see anyone and certainly never got hugged by strangers. It is not unusual that I didn't see her before.

Her name was Barbara. That's my sister's name so I knew I would not forget it. It's also a name that is only owned by "women of a certain age". Not many name their babies Barbara anymore. Or Donna, for that matter. We talked for a minute, she petted Jack and complemented him on his running ability and then we ran off in opposite directions.

I was left with a good feeling. I wouldn't hug just any stranger but this woman seemed so warm and kind. She made me realize how brief encounters with someone you don't even know could make your day better and give you faith that there are a lot of good people out there.

And her name was Barbara - how could a person go wrong running into someone with the name of my good sister who really exemplifies someone that makes other people's days a lot better just by her many random kindnesses - she might not be big on actual hugs but she gives them in the form of home made jam, sauerkraut and anything else she knows some one might want or need.

The world would be a better place if there were more Barbaras!

challenging the comfort zone, #3

2011-11-23T16:36:00.011-07:00

For some reason I wanted to knit a pair socks. My mom was a great sock knitter (and a great knitter in general) and I wish I would have appreciated her homemade socks, mittens and hats more than I did. My sister also could knit socks.    I always thought that I would be unable to master using all those knitting needles at the same time, so never tried. Until recently. Ironically, my sister, my daughter and I all decided we wanted to knit socks. I didn't tell my daughter (Kseniya) that I, too decided to take up the challenge, because I wanted to surprise her with a pair at Thanksgiving.

I found a pattern and some yarn. The pattern called for 5 knitting needles, which surprised my sister, who said she and my mom only used four. But I was determined. I watched a You Tube video on how to cast on to five needles. I still ended up starting several times, tearing out my stitches and starting over - swearing a lot! I was not having fun. I went to bed and dreamed about the socks.   I had a hard time manipulating 5 needles at a time and my shoulders got sore. I had a bad attitude and decided I must somehow make myself like this knitting on 5 f*** ing needles and embrace it!

Actually, making a sock is not that hard. You just follow the directions no matter how weird it seems. However the needles kept getting caught in my shirt sleeves. I kept pulling the stitches off the needle and then I lost track of how many rounds I had done.   It was just not very relaxing.

When I got to the part about turning the heel, I was paralyzed with fear. "You can do it", my dead mother encouraged me. I text messaged my sister and said "I can't". She sent back "You can do it, Donna Raye!" So I turned that damn heel with encouragement from the dead and the living and you tube. I was so proud of myself. But I still had to face the gusset... (I kept calling it a gasket). After I asked Bruce what a gusset was anyway, I finally understood I picked up the number of prescribed stitches and proceeded to the toe of the sock. I could see my mistakes - for one thing I found out that I had knit the entire sock inside out but learned from my friends on the internet t that was OK -and my sister in law always makes one mistake on her quilts on purpose because "only God is perfect".

I asked my sister in law who is one of the most talented people I know, how to not knit socks inside out. "I can't knit socks on four needles", she said. I was astounded because this is a woman who can make sweaters, can crochet and has award winning quilts. She can build bookcases, and put down hardwood floor, make great grits and home made soup. I bet she can churn butter too! I guess I am not the only person who is afraid of the sock. I also asked a woman in my church knitting group, who makes cable sweaters, baby hats, blankets and many other things. She said "Well I knit one sock once just to see if I could do it". She too, was intimidated by the sock. This made me more determined to master the task.   Why are socks so challenging even to the experts? What, philosophically speaking, does this all mean?

When I finished one sock, I was elated. But alas, I had one more to do. I thought about finding a person with one leg to donate it to or using it for a Christmas stocking for the friend of Dan's who was coming for Christmas. However the knitting of socks became somehow symbolic to me of not giving up...of proving my worth. I was part Finnish, dammit and I had SISU!

So I cast on, knit, undid, cast on, knit, undid for an entire evening till I got that damn second sock going.   I vowed I would never knit a pair of socks again...you can buy nice smart wool socks for less than the yarn and my time had cost. The second sock did go much faster although "mistakes were made"....but only God is perfect, right? I dreamed about this second sock too and got up at 430 one morning to make the gasket - or gusset. But I could see the end in sight!

I finished them today, at around 9 AM. I was happy and felt accomplished. Knitting socks made up for many of my other inadequacies - not being assertive enough, not being able to dance, being short and stubby, not having what it takes to take people into the future, etc, etc...everything I have failed at in my life was erased! I was able to knit socks!

Holy shit, I made a two socks!

Just know, if someone makes you socks, they really, really love you!

Anyway, I determined that sock knitting is like marathon running. You get done with one and you never ever want to do it again. But no sooner are you done, then you start thinking, "next time I will use smaller needles, make the toe shorter, train harder, etc.

Just know how much someone loves you if they give you home made socks. And know that you should persevere against all obstacles Nothing is impossible - it just might take longer. And not every sock is perfect.

what is, is.

2011-11-21T08:26:00.002-07:00

My father in law died about two weeks ago. Bruce and I headed to Wisconsin on my birthday and I felt honored to be able to share the day of my birth celebrating my father in law's life. What a great life he lived and what a great example of living he was to all of us. His children, grandchildren, and great grandchildren will carry on with a part of him.

The minister who conducted the funeral was, as she put it, "the minister du jour" and did a less than optimal job of eulogizing him. I bet he would have smiled at her mistakes (such as saying he was born on Christmas day, December 5th) and not wanted his children to exchange looks and shake their heads at her inaccuracies. I thought I should give it a try - eulogizing him. He deserves at least my attempts to describe what he meant to me. I know all of us had different memories of him.

My father in law, William Gilbert Thomas, was born on Christmas Day, December 25th, in 1914, the oldest of several children. I wish I would have asked him more about his growing up years. I know he was always a hard worker. He had a great sense of humor which he passed on to his kids - and his grandkids. He quit school in 8th grade to help out in his father's florist business and despite not finishing school, he was one of the smartest men I knew. He went into the army during WWII and was stationed in New Guinea where he ran into his brother Ervin. Ervin worked in the florist shop "Thomas Floral" with him for many years till they both retired. He married my mother in law, Jeanne on August 28th, 1948, and they were devoted to each other for many years even after she needed to go into an assisted living place because of her Alzheimer's disease. I think he lived in the same town his entire life and was always active in civic affairs and volunteered a lot of his time to many causes. He loved to hunt in his younger years and had many stories of going to the hunting camp.

On his wedding day

The first time I met my father in law, I commented, at breakfast "So, you eat liverwurst on your toast too?" His response "Doesn't everyone?" He always made me feel important and a part of his family and I am pretty sure he was like this to his other daughters in law and son in law. He was loving and fun loving and was always quick with his often humorous responses that sometimes elicited a punch in the arm from his wife along with a certain look or her comment "you better don't!" I admired how he was never judgmental and rarely had a bad word to say about anyone.

He and Jeanne visited us many times to see their grandkids. Bill always needed a project to keep busy. One time he helped Bruce put new cement in our driveway and another time he helped put in a ceiling fan...he needed to keep busy. He was always in a hurry to get back home to his coffee buddies and golf and probably his own routine. He read four newspapers every day and was my resource for the stock market. "Don't change anything", he would tell me. "They will go back up". From what Bruce's brother Dave told me, Bill was very knowledgeable about the markets and made many wise investments over the years. He was a planner and really never left anything for others to do. Once when Bruce and I visited, he took us to the cemetery and showed us the burial plot he had chosen for him and Jeanne. He had the tombstone set up and all that needed to be added were the dates of their deaths Later he told me that his funeral was planned and payed for. "All you kids need to do is pick out the music", he said.

On a visit to our house in 1991

October 1995 at our house

Their last visit here in June 1997 for Kseniya's graduation

One of his many birthdays...and one of the few pictures that his wife did not add the date on the back! Early 1990's I think

After a life of very hard work, Jeanne and Bill both got to enjoy many years of retirement, traveling, going on cruises and just enjoying each others company. They got to celebrate their 50th wedding anniversary with a big party with family and friends. After Jeanne became ill, he never lamented for what could have been - when anyone said anything like "it is too bad that you and Jeanne could not have had more time to enjoy life" his response usually was "what is, is". He said he was grateful for all the trips they had been able to take together. When someone commented about his age (almost 97 when he died), he said, "Well, I am no longer buying green bananas".

At their 50th wedding anniversary

My father in law, or Grandpa Owl, as my kids called him because Jeanne collected owls and had many throughout the house (and was Grandma Owl to them) loved to shop - his wife did not. I liked wandering the mall with him when they came out. He was always looking for a certain type of blue jeans that he liked. He loved talking to people too. He was a kind man - often driving children to the Shriner's Hospital in Minneapolis and other cities for needed treatment. Everyone seemed to love him. When we would go out to eat at his favorite places, the waitresses would immediately bring him and old fashioned with extra mushrooms and cherries. I think people sensed his grace and acceptance of everyone no matter where he was or who they were.

Grandpa Owl taught me a lot about "for better or for worse". He took over cooking and cleaning as much as he could when Jeanne could no longer do it. It was so hard for him to have to agree that Jeanne needed more care than he could give, but after she wandered off in his pajamas and her bunny slippers and had to be brought home by the police, he understood, I think, that it was necessary. While he was able to, he visited her every single day, sitting next to her when she could no longer even remember who he was. He got to know the ladies that worked there and sometimes pretended to be feeble so he could get one of them to escort him his car. They all loved him too. Some of them came to his funeral.

Jeanne and Bill - "for better or worse", 2007

I really think his heart was broken when he no longer had Jeanne at home. He played golf for a few more years, and went to coffee with his friends. Often when he called us, another of his friends had died so after a while he quit going for coffee. When we visited him, he took us on tours of the town and showed us the new houses and businesses. He was proud of his town.

Bill really took an interest in my running, often suggesting new routes for me to try when I visited him. I got lost once out in the country and ended up running ten miles by the time I found my way home, but when I told him where I had been he knew exactly where I was. I was always trying to get him to drink more liquids - older people tend to get dehydrated really fast and never drink enough. Once when I got home from running I was drinking gatorade and I asked him if he wanted some. "Only if you put something in it", he said. So we started a tradition of having gatorade with a shot of whiskey in it.

About four years ago, he had a stroke, which made him unable to swallow and he had to be in a nursing home with a feeding tube. We all held out hope that he would get better and come home and join us for an old fashioned at Phil and Eleanors, but that was not to be. I don't think he complained much about being there. It seemed that he retreated further into his mind of "better days" but he was lucid at times and always kept his sense of humor.

My father in law died, just as he lived - not wanting to make any trouble for anyone. I think he decided it was time and left gracefully in his sleep. For some reason, while I was extremely sad at his passing, I was happy for him - it seemed like another accomplishment and another thing he planned just so. I don't think it will be long until he convinces Jeanne to join him. How lucky I was to not only have great parents but a wonderful set of in-laws - and to have had them around for so long.

What is, is, but I sure enjoyed what was. We all did and we all are better people for having him in our lives.

there's less shade on main street

2011-11-08T16:14:00.001-07:00

The main street of the little town I grew up in once was lined with fine maple or oak or maybe elm trees on each side. Over the years, many of them grew victim to old age, some tree disease, or to the power company because they were interfering with the power lines. One lone oak tree stood proudly across from the post office - all that remained of those old trees that used to shade the lovely main street....until a few days ago, when it also met it's fate. I wish I had a better picture of this tree but you can see it in the picture below, on the left side of the street.

My sister had heard rumors that this tree was going to be taken down by the power company. A home owner feared that it would fall on her house. The tree looked healthy and did not appear to be dying. I don't know...maybe it was interfering in power lines and was a potential hazard. But if that was the case, it was not apparent. A few people in the town threatened to chain themselves to the tree and try to save it, but the power company came without warning. My sister took all of these photos. It was painful to look as this beautiful, living tree being destroyed.

My sister left this fitting tribute to the tree

Why is it that we get rid of things that are old? What stories this tree could tell, if trees could talk. It certainly witnessed a lot of progress from dirt roads to a paved highway, and the advent of electricity in the town. Maybe it witnessed Hank and Sally's first kiss, and Ingebar and Myrtle Fredrickson walking home from school. I am sure it could tell stories about Andy Bartanen who lived right next to it, and also repeat gossip heard by people collecting outside the old post office when the post office existed on this side of the street before it moved to the other side. Many children over the years probably stopped under it's shade and collected it's leaves for a biology assignment.

Anyway, it reminded me of this poem that I memorized one time in grade school. I had to look it up, I only remembered a few words of it. I was wrong in thinking that it was written by Emily Dickinson.

I think that I shall never see

A poem lovely as a tree.
A tree whose hungry mouth is prest

Against the earth's sweet flowing breast;
A tree that looks at God all day,

And lifts her leafy arms to pray;
A tree that may in Summer wear

A nest of robins in her hair;
Upon whose bosom snow has lain;

Who intimately lives with rain.
Poems are made by fools like me,

But only God can make a tree.

By Alfred Joyce Kilmer (1886-1918)

sometimes the best things are in your own back yard

2011-10-29T15:48:00.001-06:00

"Fall is such a beautiful season. It really is my favorite time of year. But sometimes it is also the time when I feel very sad. Everything is dying. I find myself missing every person I have ever known that is gone. It is almost painful, that missing".

My elderly friend, Enid made this comment a few days ago when we were driving back from lunch. I thought she described it very well and found myself thinking about it a lot for several days after that - including a few days ago when I got up in the morning feeling very blue. It was the first freezing cold day of the year at 29 degrees. Jack followed me around the house anxiously waiting for me to signal him, by putting on my running clothes, that we would go for a run,

I wasn't in the mood to go out in the cold, but Jack's hopeful old eyes, now rimmed by white eyelashes, made me realize we had to go. I knew if I put my running clothes on I could not break my own rule "If you are dressed, you gotta go". Jack never cares if it is cold or not. Life is short for a dog and they try to squeeze as much out of it as they can. He is 12 years old and groans when he gets up or lays down. Still he is a great runner and is always eager for our run. He hasn't noticed that I have made our runs shorter and leave him home more often than I used to. He is just glad to go out whenever we can.

Fall is also my favorite time of year, but I was feeling like Enid, and missing what I didn't have anymore. This was getting me nowhere, so I said "Okay Jack, you win". Let's get our butts out there (I do talk a lot to Jack - and he is a great listener)".

We got out there in the crisp, cold air, this the first day of wearing long pants, a hat and a shirt and jacket. It didn't take long for the hint of winter smelling air to make me glad we were out there. My head cleared and I was no longer blue. I lost ten pounds of emotional baggage almost in the first mile.

As I ran, I thought of a few friends who were always unhappy. I thought of how some people really keep searching for things to make them happy - things outside of themselves - like fancy clothes, a bigger house, or a nice car - or a job that gives them more money to buy more things. I have friends who do this yet still are not happy.

Sometimes we don't recognize that the things that will make us happy are there all the time. They aren't material things. Usually they are our friends who stick by us, our dogs who will run with us no matter what, and a beautiful cold fall day that in our haste may go unnoticed. We live with so many beautiful things and experience so many beautiful moments but we often don't notice them because we are too busy being unhappy and searching for something that will make us look younger, skinnier or make us look successful.

I thought of the wizard of oz and Dorothy's quote:

Well, I... I think that it... that it wasn't enough to just want to see Uncle Henry and Auntie Em... and it's that if I ever go looking for my heart's desire again, I won't look any further than my own backyard; because if it isn't there, I never really lost it to begin with.

We have a pretty maple tree in our back yard. I don't always notice the changing leaves on it - mostly cause I don't pay attention and look. I went out one night and took a few pictures.

Our beautiful maple tree...and Jack

and this pretty flower peaking out for one last hurrah


Some of our plants look their best in the Fall - right before they die away till spring

We look too far to find beauty and happiness in our lives. Sometimes it takes a nice cold run with Jack to make me realize how much already exists around me - despite all that we lose over a lifetime.

bumbelina

2011-10-26T18:44:00.000-06:00

When I was a little girl, I got a Thumbelina doll for Christmas. I can remember getting up at 4 a.m on Christmas morning that year, as we always did. My mom made us go back to bed after we opened presents and Thumbelina lay next to me on my little twin bed that my mom got at an auction. I can still remember how she smelled - that new doll smell that is so distinctive - a mixture of rubber, plastic and some petrochemicals, I suppose, but it was a "new" smell and one that brings back memories any time I catch a whiff of it.

Thumbelina - not mine but she looks exactly like this

I think I received her in the early 60's. Thumbelina was one of the first very "lifelike" dolls and she had a big pink knob in her back. Later after I became a pediatric nurse I called the knob a myelomeningocele because that's what it reminded me of. A myelomeningocele is when part of a baby's spinal column and nerves, etc, remain outside the body at birth.

Thumbelina moved when you turned the pink myelomeningocele like knob. The doll on this link is a later version of mine, but you get the picture. She actually made that "whirring" noise too. I thought it was neat when I was just a kid and a mama wannabe, which is what all of the girls my age aspired to be as grown up ladies. Later I thought the movements a little obscene - was she writhing in doll like ecstasy? Or maybe she was having a seizure.

Thumbelina was rejected by my children. Kseniya didn't find her endearing and she (Thumbelina) was relegated to the basement on a bookcase, wearing kseniya's old baby clothes. I changed her into a pair of Christmas PJs every year at Christmas and she became sort of a Christmas decoration. Sometimes I would cover her up and give her an affectionate pat to let her know I hadn't forgotten her. Both boys were rather frightened by her and I often found her face turned toward the wall when they were in the same room as she was. Billy called her "bumbelina". Somehow her pink knob/myelomeningocele disappeared - probably Dan, at a young age, removed it - his first hint that he would someday be a doctor - and maybe a neurosurgeon. So she no longer whirred and writhed.

When we moved into this house, Thumbelina came with us...she, after all was my age or a bit younger. She lived on a chair in the corner of the office for many years - pretty much ignored. But I could not give her away.


Jack seems to think Thumbelina is okay. She has on Kseniya's dress from her first birthday

Desmond discovered Thumbelina when he and Scarlett were here in September. At first it seemed like he would share his father's disdain for her. But then he took her doll hands and put them on his cheek and kissed her. He carried her around by the hair - and he would give her "un besito" when requested. Finally she found acceptance.


Des, Scarlett and Thumbelina

When Des took a nap, sometimes I would lay down next to him and just stare at his perfect little self. I was reminded of those Christmas mornings with my new dolls. Des smells new - but not like petrochemicals.

is anything sweeter than a sleeping baby?

too windy to haul rocks

2011-10-19T14:37:00.115-06:00

My mom in her youth. She was a beauty!

Today is my mom's birthday. She would have been 83 years old. I was more sad last week thinking about her, but today I just smiled at some of the good memories and made it a good day remembering the good times we spent together.

Me and my mom when I was about ten months old...I sure didn't have much hair!

My mom had many sayings - Some of them were handed down to her by her own mom and who knows where they originated....

Might as well, can't dance. And it's too windy to haul rocks. (I have no clue what this means).
It will be better in the morning (any time we were sick, or felt bad about anything).
They're just jealous! (any time someone was mean to us. She didn't say what they were jealous about).
People come to see you and not your house.
I'm broke flatter than piss on a platter (when she didn't have any money).
Oh well (her version of the more popular version of today "it is what it is").
Why would someone buy the cow when he can get the milk for free? (Her cautioning to us about premarital sex).
Jesus Christ Ray! (Her frequent terms of endearment to my dad)
Pig shit and cabbage! (what she said when we asked her what's for dinner)
Throw it in the cart! (what she told the grand kids when they liked something in the store when we were shopping).
He/she is OK in their place - but their place burnt down (a favorite of my grandma's as well).

My mom liked to have fun. She preferred anything that was fun over doing stuff like housework. She had her priorities straight I think. I did a lot of things with my mom that most people don't do with moms...like smoke pot and swing on the swings in the playground at the old school yard, laughing hysterically. She discovered that marijuana was good for her allergies and grew it in pots in her bedroom.

We also worked together in two different restaurants. One time on a night shift we bought some beer, drank it and closed the place early. Yeah maybe not the best mother daughter activities but no one got hurt. We never went and got our nails done together and we didn't go on vacations, but we had a lot of fun and my mom gave all of us her unconditional love. She always worried about us - every time I went out of town on a trip, she would say "Stay in your hotel room". And she repeatedly told me "You are getting to old to do all that running!" She worried about my dog and called me at work once to tell me to not let him play with tennis balls. She had read in the National Enquirer about a dog who once choked on a tennis ball.

Sometimes when we were kids, and she was "broke flatter than piss on a platter" and couldn't buy any groceries, she made us one of our favorite dinners: baking powder biscuits and milk macaroni. She was always so apologetic about it. We loved it though and my sister still makes it. Milk macaroni is easy....just boil some macaronis (pasta I suppose is the appropriate term today) drain, add some butter and milk, salt and pepper and heat it up again.

My mom enjoyed watching Lifetime Movies and I would try to stay awake and watch them with her...they were always about men who had done some woman wrong and the woman getting revenge. I used to call it the man hating channel. She had every cable channel available I think and a few times I caught her watching "soft porn" on the Showtime channel. She was always amazed at the antics - "I can't believe people can actually do that stuff" she once said.

One of times Kseniya and I visited in the fall, Barb and Siggie kept coming over with different hats. I don't know why but I have a ton of pictures with my mom, dad, Barb and Siggie and Raymond, in weird hats.

Barb and Siggie

Kseniya and I

Me and my mom

We really had a lot of fun doing nothing in particular - just all being together. As my sister and Siggie were leaving this night, my sister whispered to me, "I think we will have a few more good years".

We did and I am thankful to have had my mama for all those years! I would sure give anything though, to watch one of those Lifetime Movies with her, wearing a goofy hat!

Happy birthday Georgetta Bernice! You were the best!

up, up and away....

2011-10-17T16:58:00.098-06:00

I was kind of surprised at first, that my son Bill and Scarlett got Bruce and I a hot air balloon ride for Christmas. He knows I don't like heights or even flying all that much - what was he thinking? When he was little, he and his brother used to tease me by leaning over the railing on the second floor of the mall we used to visit. Not that this has anything to do with this story, but I also hated when people looked cross eyed or stuck their finger in their belly button. Bill and his friend used to stick their fingers in their belly buttons and look cross eyed at the same time - just to irritate me - which it didn't; it just made me nauseated. So I guess the balloon ride made sense in some way.

Anyway it took almost a year for us to go on the ride with Park City Balloon Adventures . I thought about it a lot all summer and at first, I said I wouldn't do it. I really shouldn't have to do it if I didn't want to, right? I mean Gretchen Rubin in her book The Happiness Project, decided that one way to be happy was to be herself. And being myself means that I don't like heights and I want to die with both my feet on the ground.

I started thinking about how disappointed I would be if I didn't do it. Several of my friends told me how great it was. I had felt the same way about Kayaking - I didn't want to do that either, but did and enjoyed it. I think completing that trip made me realize that I needed to step outside my comfort zone. My comfort zone has seemed to shrink the older I get and I think it is because part of me thinks I am getting old so should be more cautious. What fun is that though? Cautious people still die - maybe not in hot air balloons or kayaks, but they do die. So what the hell? I made the appointment and started to look forward to it and be grateful for my children who never treat me like I am an old lady or let me wear mom jeans. They often give me the push I need to get going. They do sometimes remind me though, that they will be the ones picking out our nursing home.

We tried to go on Saturday but the ride was cancelled because it was a little too windy. Strangely I was disappointed. I thought I would be relieved, but the drive to Park City was so beautiful in the early morning that I wanted to see it from above. Yesterday (Sunday) we tried again. I even wore my "Road ID" bracelet in case we crashed in the mountains, so I could be identified - or the parts of me that weren't liquified could be identified.

When we got up to the Starbucks in Park City, everything was looking good so we got in vans and were taken to the parking lot of the ski resort and the balloons were inflated. It was a perfect day and the sky could not have been bluer. The leaves were still at their peak.


our balloon getting inflated with propane

There was a woman in our group who had had a stroke. She was pretty nervous but I think a lot of it was just being uncomfortable about getting into the Balloon. She was helped in along with her husband and having her there inspired all of us, I think.

There were a total of 11 of us in our balloon counting the pilot. One of the docs I used to work with was there with his wife and two kids - a coincidence for sure that someone we would know would be in our balloon - let alone someone I used to work with.


Bruce and I just before we lifted (lofted?) off

The balloon lifted off and I was reminded of the wizard of Oz. You couldn't even tell we were going up - I felt like a helium balloon must feel - if one could feel at all. No sensation of moving at all, but the scenery sure changed. I thought of my mom and how she would have loved this. Somehow I felt a little closer to her - being closer to heaven and all.

this was a balloon that at the time, was higher than we were. The colors were gorgeous

Shortly after our lift off

We were pretty high here

whoa...I can't believe I wasn't scared!

coming down....

.....safe, and mostly sound on the ground

When we landed, after the balloon was deflated and the crew had put it away, we all got to have a champagne toast and hear a little bit about the history of ballooning. Here's the toast that is traditionally read after each ride:

A Ballonist's Prayer

The winds has welcomed you with softness.

The sun has blessed you with his warm hands

You have flown so high and so well

that God has joined you in your laughter,

and He has set you gently back again

into the loving arms of Mother Earth

With that balloon ride, I let go of a lot of things that I had been clinging to. My comfort zone is probably the most obvious, but I also decided to let go of some of my self-deprecating behavior (pretty deep). Oh and I am not going to be bothered by people putting their fingers in their belly buttons and looking cross eyed at me!

even pollyanna gets the blues

2011-10-14T20:35:00.053-06:00

I am going to confess to something. Yeah I know I am always positive and uplifting in my blog posts. This will be the one time when I probably reveal something personal...my Achilles tendon so to speak.

I have been called a "Pollyanna" because of my usual positive outlook on things   Or an "eternal" or "terminal" optimist.   Ever since I was little, when I complained about something, I always was told by my mom, dad, or Ernie (an adopted family member) "Some people have it a lot worse". That is always true - I have never had it as bad as others. I grew up poor and I didn't even realize it till I got older because I was loved. But there were poorer people.    Even if things are not going well for me, my motto has always been "never let them see you bleed". I have been, under most circumstances, able to live up to that motto. The only problem is that sometimes the pent up stuff boils over all at once when you least expect it. Sort of like perimenopause when I would have what my spouse would call "fits of spontaneous menstruation. Sorry if that is too much info...I said I was going to be honest!

People have asked me "Are you always this happy?" Of course I am not. But I put on a face "to meet the faces that I meet (?T.S. Eliot in The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock). I just see no reason to whine about my perceived troubles or to share my sadness with other people. It's better to spread positive things (there's the Pollyanna side of me). It is harder to be happy all the time though and I understand that being sad takes a lot less energy. But I still choose to be happy and work on making myself happy instead of burdening the world, this blog, which only 8 people might read, and Facebook with my woes.   I don't want to be part of the growing negative energy in this world. There's already enough people cultivating that because it is easier than realizing that you are the sole person responsible for your happiness. Not your spouse, your kids or you parents. And not your job or your boss at your job!

On the rare occasion that I have my meltdown, I am not always sure at first, what triggers it. Usually it's when I am alone or with Jack the dog who never tells on me and is a very empathetic listener. Sometimes I am out on a great run and get teary for no reason at all.

Last week I read "The Grapes of Wrath" by John Steinbeck. I cried at the end It was the best book I have ever reread in my life. I loved all the characters in that book. I cared about them and I wanted to know more. But the ending was what got me. I won't give it away but you, the 8 people who may or may not be reading this should read that book! Amazing how it parallels with the world today.

So thinking about that book made me sad this week. Thinking about work made me sad. I had a job I loved for 35.5 years.   I am not going to share everything that led to my retiring, but it hurt and I got through it and took it like a man. No one saw me bleed.   It is what it is and it all worked out for the best and I have been able to do so many things that I would not have been able to do...but damn I miss all the people I worked with - some days more than others. You can't just turn off 351/2 years of your life abruptly and go on without some adjustment.   It does me no good to harbor ill will though and I try mostly to look at the good side. I know I did a lot of good things and was lucky to have worked with such great people who taught me so much.

Some days it really hits me between the eyes. All the hate in the world gets to be too much. Obama hating especially. I am sorry but I view it as all about race . I don't agree with everything he has done but I don't think he can do anything right in some people's eyes and everyone opposes whatever he suggests. I am tired of all the stupid stuff that I get on emails saying he is Muslim or he wasn't born here, etc. I don't understand how anyone can NOT support the millionaires paying their fair share of taxes. I don't understand Orrin Hatch's one sided thinking - he alone is enough to make me cry. Some days it all combines into one big sadness for me. I am tired of politicians on both sides just looking out for themselves. I am tired of people who don't care about anyone else - who have no idea how other people live.

And that day was yesterday. I heard the song "From a distance" by Nancy Griffith, on my iPod. (You can hear her sing it by clicking here) and I sat by my computer and cried. Jack came in and licked my hand and sat down by me offering his silent support.

Someone once told me if you are feeling blue, you should look at the calendar. So, after my ten minutes of indulging myself, I did, and noted that next Wednesday is my mom's birthday. She would have been 83 years old.

Lucky for me, I cried for a bit and then did what any Pollyanna eternal optimist would do. I pulled up my bootstraps or my brastraps or whatever was handy and tried to figure out what I needed to do to get out of my funk.   You can laugh all you want but the things they tell you to do really do help....if you can make yourself do them. Like counting your blessings and being grateful for all of them, sending a nice email to something or doing something for someone else or calling a friend or going out and getting some exercise....it works. You have to act the way you want to feel or "make the motion, and the emotion will follow" as one of my good friends once told me.

Maybe women do these things. Sorry for the generalization. Reminds me of my favorite quote in "The Grapes of Wrath" spoken by Ma Joad:

Well, Pa, a woman can change better'n a man. A man lives sorta - well, in jerks. Baby's born or somebody dies, and that's a jerk. He gets a farm or loses it, and that's a jerk. With a woman, it's all in one flow, like a stream - little eddies and waterfalls - but the river, it goes right on. Woman looks at it thata way.

So there you have it.   I do bleed, but mostly in private. Mostly, I choose to be happy and be responsible for my own happiness. I believe that life truly is good, and won't apologize for all my t-shirts with that sentiment on them. My mama always said "It will be better in the morning".

And almost always, it is!

letting go (of socks and other things)

2011-10-02T18:36:00.197-06:00

Yesterday I completed my 17th St. George marathon and my 30 something marathon overall. It was great as usual - easy to say now that I am done. But it really was great. It was St. George - the best, the most scenic, and most organized marathon ever.

It was really hot... maybe hotter than any of the other 16 I have done. When my friend Suzanne and I got on the bus to take us to the start it was already 80 degrees at 5 AM. When we got to the start we didn't need to put on our extra clothing to keep warm. Usually we have to wear long pants, gloves, jackets and a hat because it is about 30 degrees up past Veyo, which is at an elevation of around 6000 feet. The race starts at 6:45 so we had over an hour to wait in the dark with about 7000 other people.

We did our usual pre race rituals - hanging around in the porta potty lines and then sitting on the pavement drinking a last Gatorade and eating a banana or an orange, quietly observing other runners and listening to their stories.   When we figured it was time, we headed back into the porta potty line. Unfortunately we waited too long and the lines was filled with other people making the last pit stop. Usually we try to find a line with mostly guys in it because guys are quicker in the bathroom than women. With 10 minutes till start time, we decided to just go behind a tree instead of missing the start - we squatted in the grass with many other women trying to be discrete. I know it isn't good for the environment and all but you gotta do what you gotta do.

We made it to the start and tossed all of our clothing into the truck that would haul them to the finish line where hopefully they would be waiting for us. I had decided to use my ipod and had made a nice playlist for the run - this was a first for me. As the gun went off, the first song I heard was "I want to ride my bicycle" by Queen - and then "Thriller" by Michael Jackson. I only put one earphone in so I could chat easily with Suzanne.

We cruised together in the coming dawn for about 3 miles. We discussed our mile dedications. I had a card listing each mile and who I would dedicate that mile to - something I do every year.   Suzanne had to stop to use the potty and I kept going until I realized I needed to stop to pee too. She passed me as I stood in the line and I didn't see her till the end of the run.

Having done this marathon so many times, I can anticipate, but never grow tired of the beauty of the scenery - the hills of Veyo, which I cruised up without a problem, the flatness of Dameron valley and then Snow Canyon where usually a crowd of people gather to cheer us on. I didn't have any trouble noticing the scenery even with my music - it is just gorgeous. My ipod seemed to switch out of my nice playlist and play whatever it felt like, so I stashed it in my belt with my sports beans.

There were bathroom urgency issues though and I had to stop two more times before the finish line. You can't ignore nature calls if you don't want to have an accident!   One of the best things about the great organization of the St. George Marathon is that there are plenty of porta potties along the way and they never run out of toilet paper. You learn to appreciate these things and also being a woman and not ever having to look down while in the potty!

Around mile 15, I was feeling a "sock wad" problem. I stopped once and took off my shoes and straightened out my socks as best I could. They were a good pair of socks that had accompanied me on long runs before but today they were not getting along with the bottoms of my feet, causing my them to burn like crazy.

I kept on running. It was hot. I drank water and Gatorade at every stop (about every three miles) and dumped water on my head as much as possible.    I noticed a very striking African American man in front of me - shirtless. I wanted to tell him he was beautiful but figured I better not - he might consider it harassment. His skin was glistening and held not a blemish of any kind. He looked spray painted. He was muscular and seemed to run without any effort. Reluctantly I passed him - he would have been nice to look at the rest of the marathon but he was running slower than me and I have my pride. I didn't even see his face but from behind he was beautiful and I appreciated the lift he gave me.

I was looking forward to seeing my friends at mile 24. At mile 23, you can see the St. George Valley in the distance and it is all downhill. The damn socks once again attacked my feet.   For distraction I "high fived" all the little kids with their hands out on the sidelines.    I had to stop once again to fix my socks and then headed for mile 24.

In preparation for Alice and Lee, who I knew had cameras, I stood up straight and tried to looked like my feet weren't killing me. I smiled.


Me at mile 24. Despite my sock wad, and faking it, I did look better than the guy to my left

Just past the encouragement of my friends, I couldn't take the sock wad any longer. I moved to the curb and took off my shoes. Then my socks. I placed the offending socks gently on the curb, patted them and told them that while I appreciated their service all of these years, they did not have what it takes to get me where I needed to go. They would need to be replaced with a fresher pair. Then I put my sockless feet into my shoes and ran the last two miles pain free. It was kind of a cool feeling to feel the air on my naked feet through my shoes.

Crossing the finish line I teared up as I always do. After accepting my medal and a drumstick ice cream, I laid down on the grass in the park just feeling grateful. I felt bad about the socks, but I am sure they would land on someone else's feet. It was, after all, nothing personal. Just a decision that I had to make. A hard one for sure, but these things happen.

My time was 4:12. 13 minutes faster than last year. Yeah if I hadn't had sock wad, and I hadn't had to poop three times, I would have had a better time. The beauty of the marathon though, is that you never know how you will do despite your conditioning and your training. There's always the potty problem or the sock problem - minor problems compared to a heat stroke, heart attack or stress fracture. Some things in life you can control, and others you cannot. The goal is to finish and enjoy the ride. Control what you can, and just accept what you can't - that's the way it is.

I was so happy to be there (and here) for yet another year! I had what it took, even if my socks did not. Here's to next year.

sometimes the old things are the best

2011-09-30T07:19:00.001-06:00

The high chair sat on top of some old boards in our garage ever since we moved to this house in the early 90's. We had talked about giving it away but I just couldn't bring myself to do it. My mom gave it to us when we had Kseniya. Bruce refinished the wood and made a tray for it.

I think the chair came from Ernie's house but I am not sure. Ernie was a guy who lived with us for 30 years - we were his family as he had none. It's a long story and a different post for some day, but the short version is that Ernie came over one night and was too drunk to drive back to his farm - so he stayed. For the rest of his life. My mom and dad had a habit of taking in strays - people, dogs, cats, whatever. I learned from them to be kind to the underdog (human, canine or feline) and look for the good. When Ernie died, the only photo in his wallet was of my kids.

I am not sure how we got the chair. My mom never drove out here and when Kseniya was little we didn't drive back there too much. But somehow we got it and put it to good use for all of our kids. It was a nice sturdy wooden chair and we had to use a dishtowel to keep the kids in it because there was no seatbelt. It also folded into a little desk type thing that they could use to sit and read books or color.


Kseniya at about a year, in the chair - in our old apartment


Billy in the same chair at about 18 months or so


Dan at about 15 months or so

The chair continued to collect dust in the garage for 17 years. Even before Desmond was a gleam in his father's eye, or a hopeful egg making it's way down Scarlett's fallopian tube, I had plans to clean it up and put it in the kitchen to use as a plant stand. When Desmond was born, my plans changed to use it as it was intended.

Finally one sunny morning about a month ago, I got the chair out of the garage and cleaned off years of dust and cobwebs (and maybe some dried peanut butter) and scraped off the rusted hinges and it was ready to be of use once again.

Desmond in the chair, eating yogurt

This time I used a reflective running belt that attached with velcro to keep him in the chair.

Des in the chair in it's folded position

As I get ready to run my 17th St. George Marathon tomorrow, I think of this chair and how some things should not be given up on even though they have been shelved for a while. They still have the potential to be useful someday and we should not give up on them. The same goes for people. We should not give up on ourselves or others too quickly. Sometimes we might just need a little cleaning and scraping to get the rust out and we can be as good as new.

the cookie store

2011-09-23T20:27:00.052-06:00

When my kids were little, I worked four ten hour shifts so I had every Friday off. I started a tradition with Kseniya when she was a baby, of taking her to "the cookie store"on Fridays. It wasn't really a specific store, but any coffee house or bakery that sold cookies - mostly chocolate chip cookies. Sometimes it was the now defunct Cottonwood Mall where we got a Mrs. Field's cookie. That was Billy's favorite. Kseniya liked the hot dog on a stick place. Dan liked the pretzel place where you could get a hot pretzel slathered in butter. None of it was healthy stuff but I am happy to say it didn't ruin my kids and they all now eat very healthy diets and exercise as well.

Kseniya and I did this until she was in first grade and I no longer had Fridays off. By then Billy was born and he became my cookie store date. By the time we had Dan and he was old enough, he and I went to the cookie store every Friday until he was in school five days/week.

The kids grew up, as kids do, and I eventually had to work five days a week. I always missed those trips to the cookie store where I could sit with one of my children and give them my undivided attention and we would talk about whatever they wanted to talk about. Starbucks wasn't around then so it was basic coffee and cookies and nothing fancy. When my mom visited me, she would also come with us. I miss my mom's visits more than I ever thought possible.

This week, I have been lucky enough to spend a lot of time with our sweet grandson Desmond. I have been taking him for walks every day - first in the morning with Jack the dog, who walks protectively right next to the stroller, and then later on in the day to the park where we swing on the swings and play on the slide. I slide down the slide with him even though there are a bunch of young moms staring at me disapprovingly - or maybe they are jealous cause I, at my grandmotherly age, can slide down the slide without breaking any of my "fragile" bones - and enjoy it.

Today I thought I would take Des for the usual walk to the park. But I wanted to do something different and I suddenly remembered....it's Friday and Desmond should get his first trip to the cookie store. So we went to Pierre's Bakery and I got him the biggest chocolate cookie they had. We shared it and he wore more of it than he ate. It just made me so damn happy to take that sweet little boy in the stroller to the cookie store and not have anything else in the world to do that would be more important. How lucky is that?

Some things in life are just meant to be. Even if they seem unfair. I am so glad to be able to spend time with Desmond and so lucky to have a good relationship with all our kids. I figured I would be working till Des was at least 4 and then I could spend time with him, but I have been able to spend much of his first year watching him grow and learning how to become a grandma. I am lucky that Scarlett trusts us to watch him all day and that she and Billy realize the importance of grandparents in his upbringing. Des is one lucky kid because he had a lot of family on both sides who love him and enjoy spending time with him.

I feel so close to my own mom when I am around Desmond. I couldn't relate to her so much as a mom when I became one because I could only imagine and be grateful for all the things she did for us when we were growing up. However I saw the love she exhibited with my children and the sheer joy she felt at spending time with them...like when she came out for Kseniya's first birthday and pushed her 6 blocks uphill to visit me at work. And how she stayed with her when Billy was born and came and visited us and helped me with so many things from washing walls and learning how to make french braids. I wish I could talk to her about being a grandma and tell her what a good one she was and how I now understand how cool it is to have your job just be to play with your grand kids and just to love them. I understand her sadness every time she left and her excitement when we were coming to visit her - infrequently as it was. She taught me a lot about being a grandma. I wish she was here to see Desmond and be a great grandma. I wish my mom in law Jeanne could also enjoy him - and my dad and father in law too.

I would not trade the past year for anything - despite it's ups and downs. Time with loved ones and growing babies is more important than anything. .

clothing estrangement

2011-09-17T16:17:00.046-06:00

I have been alienated from much of my wardrobe this year - we have had a distant relationship at best. We get back together for funerals and sometimes to go to church but then we go back to our separate ways and separate parts of the closet.

When I was working, I wore what my daughter, when she was little, called my "big lady clothes". There's the nice dressy pants (I preferred those from the Gap because they seemed to fit me better), nice sweaters and shirts, and a great suit from Banana republic that they convinced me to buy by sending me a lot of emails - each one increasing the percent off and offering free shipping. There's also a nice J. Crew suit that my kids got me for Christmas and a pinstripe one from Ann Taylor Loft that I wore when I was on an Institute of Medicine Committee on Emergency Care.    That was a big deal (not the suit, but the committee) and was an honor to be on, but it pretty much went unnoticed in my work world. I didn't wear suits to work much because I felt sort of "unapproachable", but sometimes it was nice to wear them and feel powerful even though it was an illusion. I also loved the green skirt with the buttons sewn all around the hem - didn't wear that at all this year. This skirt was also a gift from my daughter who has kept me from wearing "old lady clothes" and outfits where the collars and cuffs match the print on the pants! Heaven forbid.

I also have the beloved, comfortable scrubs that I wore any time I wanted to be "one of the gang" or a "real nurse". I always hated when I wore them and someone would say "Are you going to be a real nurse today?"   I was and still am, a real nurse for sure.    Sometimes I wore them when I wanted to feel a part of my team and I always wore them with a lot of pride. I admit I always felt much better in scrubs - I didn't need big lady clothes to feel "in charge".

Now that I am retreaded, the "big lady clothing" lives in my closet, neglected most of the time. Today I went to a funeral and wore the nice Banana republic suit.   It looked good. All the estrangement from the suit (and the loss of 10 work related pounds) made it fit me so well I could actually tuck in the blouse I wore with it. I have lost weight but I don't brag about it because I know how easy it is to find it again. But nothing feels better than clothes that fit perfectly that once were snug. Take that, apron!

I found a pair of nice shoes that I hadn't worn in a while either and dusted them off. Like most women, I do love shoes, and it is amazing how long they last when you don't have an opportunity to wear them too much. These shoes have a little heel so I felt rather statuesque - and I think my legs looked great (I am practicing saying nice things about myself instead of being self deprecating - is that the right term?). All that running is good for something.

Most of the year I have lived in jeans and t-shirts. I often think I should wear other things - maybe a nice shirt with a collar on it or a blouse but the truth is that I feel more comfortable in t-shirts and shorts and jeans. And I love hoodies with zippers - not the pull over kind - it's all I need. I decided I will just wear what I am comfortable in so don't anyone send me to one of those shows where they make me get rid of all my clothes and tell me what I should wear.

I know I could give my estranged clothes away to some organization that provides them for women seeking employment. But I feel we might get back together at some point.   I think we will be able to work things out - maybe come to some sort of agreement or something?   Life is like your clothes - sometimes you don't exactly fit the part you are playing so you put that part in the back of your closet and wait a while till it fits you better.    Sometimes you take it out again....but other times you force yourself to move on.

some days are so good you can taste them

2011-09-15T13:57:00.048-06:00

Today I woke up at 5 AM and my first thought was "Oh man I have to do a long run". Then I got mad at myself and said "dammit you will do it and you WILL like it". The power of suggestion - you can laugh if you want but it works for me and sometimes if you act the way you want to feel (another tidbit from the Happiness Project book), you will soon feel that way.

Anyway I got up, got on my ready running clothes that were nicely splayed on the bathroom floor, made coffee, let Jack out, gave him milk bones and ate my chia seed roll (home made by me) with peanut butter on it. Then I sat on my little blue rocking chair with the heating pad nicely warming up my stiff lumbar spine and waited for round one of my 21 mile adventure. "Yay I GET to run 21 miles today" I told my dubious self. My imaginary friend Jennifer sat in the background saying "Oh that will be so hard. And you don't even have makeup on. Are you going to wear those shorts?"

Becky came and the Jack alarm went off. We went out to meet her in the dark 5:45 AM fall air. I carefully stepped over the divot in the driveway that caused me to break my leg 18 months ago. Jack got his usual milkbone from Becky. Becky had to go to work and would run the first four with me and Suzanne and Jack. Jack the dog, who is almost 12 years old would go all of the 21 miles if I let him, but his age and the groans he emits when he gets up and down lead me to believe that is not a good idea.

There is a "rule of the road" that we adhere to or at least try to "Never comment on how good or bad you feel until you run 3 miles or 30 minutes - whatever comes first". But after we met Suzanne by the church up the street from her house and we ran a bit, I could see that this was going to be a good run. All three of us, and Jack, seemed to be in sync. The Karma was positive and the conversation was light and friendly - we all kept up with each other both the speed of our legs and our mouths.

We ran the 4 mile loop, commenting on how much we liked fall, how dark it was and how the trees haven't started to change much and in no time at all we were at my house. We said goodbye to Becky and I put Jack in the house - leaving him to listen to NPR and keep tabs on the stock market while Suzanne and I headed off to the second loop which would be about 13 or 14 more miles - some of it on the beautiful Bonneville Shoreline trail where we could see all of the people in their cars heading to work - I was so glad to no longer be one of them.    This trail dumped us into a neighborhood where we continued through less traveled streets of beautiful homes and people waking up to their newspapers - and coffee if their God permitted it. It was uphill most of the way until we got past the zoo and headed down a steep hill, back to the shoreline trail. A smartly dressed man in the usual uniform of business men was getting in his Lexus and I could not help myself from saying smugly "Have a nice day at the office". He said, in what I read as an envious voice "yeah. sure".

I was amazed at how good I felt and Suzanne seemed to be on the same wavelength. The miles seemed to go by fast. I love my new Nike Free shoes and the way they seemed to get me up the hills and how they were so light on my feet, and their bright green and pink color. I kept envisioning the chocolate milk and coffee on ice, and the newspaper and Jack waiting for me when I got home. Oh and the heating pad. Suzanne had had a colonoscopy the day before and decided a bowel cleanout might be just the thing prior to going on a long run....no risk of having to make a dash to the porta potty! We chewed on sports jelly beans and drank our watered down gateraide and felt lucky to be out there on this beautiful day - and lucky to be healthy.

We got back to the start of the trail and headed for loop three which would give us another 6 or so miles - it's not an exact science. I mentioned something about "we could go to 45th south" knowing full well that my saying that would make it so.   More power of suggestion. We had planned to go just past 39th South but the park on 45th had a drinking fountain which was a plus.

I checked my watch when we stopped at our original turn around point and we decided on the 45th south distance - I knew we would do this. Our conversation turned to how running was so much a head game. Sure you needed to train, but all of the fancy training programs with increased mileage, speed work and hill work did not improve either of our times. A person just learns to do what feels good for them...and what works. Carb loading doesn't work for many of us but peanut butter and a bagel or muffin does. So you have to do what feels good for you. Running is a personal sport - and kind of a lonely sport too at times because no one experiences it the same way. I guess that is how life in general is too. We all experience it differently. Suzanne and I both have done so many marathons that we have the training down to a fine art. We pretty much run all the time and our training for marathons consists only of adding on the long runs. I am not bragging - we do it because it gives us a goal and a person must always have goals.

As we came up the hill to my house, I felt so good and accomplished. Not all runs feel this good. They are rare anymore and when you get one you savor it for sure. Last week during our 20 mile run, I was nauseated and the last 4 miles just about killed me.

I got in the house and Jack was happy to see me. I settled into the chair with my iced chocolate milk coffee. Life is so damn good! And as Goethe said "Nothing is more important than this day".

laughter yoga (ha ha ha for post # 200)

2011-09-10T15:36:00.002-06:00

Now that I am a woman with few responsibilities, I took the time to look through the community education catalog that came in the mail about a month ago. There were many interesting classes that caught my eye, but the class on Laughter Yoga seemed especially intriguing. Who doesn't like to laugh? Besides I had heard about it recently in a book I read by Gretchen Rubin "The Happiness Project" Her blog can be found here. This book outlines her attempts to make her life happier and she developed a year long project. One of the many things she tried was a Laughter Yoga class but she didn't like it. Not the best recommendation but it was enough for me that she didn't like it to tempt me to try it. I like the challenging of liking something that other people don't. I have always been for the underdog.

I had images of people doing the downward dog, laughing so hard they would toot, and then tip over - or pee their pants. I had no idea what I was in for until about an hour before the class. I googled "laughing yoga" . Everything you want to know about laughter yoga can be found here.

There were about 5 other people in the class. I noticed that everyone who entered the classroom looked like someone who would enjoy the class - happy people, positive people and people who I would like to know and hang out with. There was a lot of good energy in the room.

The instructor was a young girl from Jamaica who also worked as a stand up comedian. The first thing she had us do after various introductions was to lay on the floor with our heads on the stomach of someone else. What an icebreaker. Why didn't I think of something like this for my staff meetings back in the day? We were supposed to then laugh even if it was a fake laugh. The realization that I was laying with my head on the tummy (I am a pediatric nurse and forever will use the word "tummy" instead of "stomach") of someone I had just met was enough to make me laugh. Then I laughed because the person whose tummy I was laying on laughed and my head bounced up and down, causing my tummy to bounce up and down, making the person laying on my tummy laugh. We did this for quite a long time, it seemed but it only was about 3 minutes according to the instructor. She said our goal would be to do it for ten minutes by the end of the series of classes.

We did a lot of other similar games and it was kind of like being forced to be a kid again including
an exercise where we laid on our stomach and were supposed to scream out our frustrations and have a tantrum. I found that hard. Either I am very suppressed or I don't have any frustrations, which I find hard to believe. It was easy for me to flip over on my back and laugh hysterically though

It turned out that there weren't really any yoga poses in the class. We did use breathing and some stretching though. Despite that, I left the class feeling amazingly good. This class might not be for everyone and some might find it ridiculous but I think spending two hours laughing with other people is time well spent.

It is sad that one has to force laughter. Adults laugh only about 10 times a day while children laugh about 200 times a day.   We laugh less the older we get which is sad, but I guess understandable, because life gets harder.

Laughter has been called "jogging for the brain" - it increases good hormones such as endorphins and neurotransmitters, and decreases the levels of the stress hormones. Laughter has also been called "aerobics for the face".    It takes seventeen muscles to smile and 43 to frown. Using all of those muscles to frown just creates more wrinkles - and who needs those? And just think how many calories you burn when you have a good belly laugh! Your brain can't differentiate between a fake laugh and a genuine laugh. So even if you have to "fake it till you make it" it is good for you.

Babies have the most genuine laughter of anyone. It is too bad that they grow up and laugh less and less often.

This is my favorite video of Desmond - you can't help but laugh or at least smile after you see this.

So, on the eve of the tenth anniversary of 9/11, I am vowing to find more laughter in my life - mostly hopefully laughing at my self. I won't burden the world with negativity - there's already enough of that to go around.

baby double

2011-09-04T13:34:00.063-06:00

Last week I was flying to SLC from St. Louis, where I had been visiting Bill and Scarlett and sweet grandbaby Des. As I always do, I surveyed the crowd waiting to board the plane. I expect to see someone I know but I never do. Then I try to guess who might sit next to me.   It's rare anymore, that a person ever gets a seat alone.

It was hard to not notice the slender youngish mom trying to handle two children - one who looked to be about 6 and the other around 18 months - both girls. The younger one had this ear splitting, glass shattering, eardrum breaking scream - I am sure that scream could be heard all over the airport. I said a silent prayer for the poor mother and then another one to please God, don't let them sit with or near me.

God had better things to do I guess so when I boarded the plane, I ended up sitting across the aisle from the mom and the two little girls. I decided to be positive. I have kids. I worked with kids. Kids like me mostly. I have a grandson. I know how kids can be so I should be understanding and helpful. When my kids were little we rarely took them on planes - people didn't fly that much and we didn't have much money. I am sure if we had taken them on planes, they would have been good natured and quiet. I know my grandson is pretty good on a plane and has flown all over the country and even out of the country in his one year of existence. Scarlett and Bill even brought earplugs the first time they flew with him which they planned to present, with a note of apology, to anyone sitting near them if Desmond started to squawk. Turns out he slept the entire flight!

Of course as soon as the plane took off, the little girl began again, her unbearable, soprano scream - it sounded like she was being inflicted with the worst punishment in the world (and she certainly was inflicting punishment on the rest of us), or being possessed by some evil spirit. I expected to see her head start spinning around on her neck and that she would begin vomiting green stuff - like in the exorcist.   I worried that this scream would incite seizures or ventricular fibrillation in some of the older passengers - or suicide.

I really was trying to be patient and sympathize with the mom who was amazingly calm but oblivious, it seemed, to the older couple behind her and the other passengers who, one by one, plugged in earphones of some sort - trying to block out the noise. I feared for my twice ruptured left eardrum. The mom kept saying "don't scream" but of course that was a futile request. She even tried pleading in other languages. Then she put the little girl down in the aisle and she would toddle off and when the mom grabbed her, she would scream again...nothing seemed to help. I thought of offering some assistance but decided against it.   I wasn't that nice.

Maybe she had an earache or maybe she was tired, I tried to tell myself. Just be nice. The flight attendants even stayed away from her. The rest of the passengers, as if to compensate, were quiet. I expected the pilot to go on the overhead paging and say "Don't make me stop this plane. If I have to come back there I will give you something to scream about".

Finally, about half way through the flight, the little girl fell asleep. I settled down into my book. I heard another shrill scream and thought she had woke up already - but to my surprise, a man appeared from the back of the plane, holding a replica of the sleeping child - a clone, perhaps? This clone was screaming in the unfortunately familiar shrill of the now sleeping screamer.

Apparently this was the very identical twin of the sleeping child - right down to the pitch of the scream. Dad was kind enough to relieve the mom of the sleeping little girl - who looked very angelic in sleep and totally incapable of such shrill screams that were close to breaking the windows of the plane and sucking us all out. He handed her the screaming clone and went to the back with the quiet one. No exchange of words took place between the couple. I wondered if she wanted to throttle him? I sure did. Where was her backbone? Let him deal with a the screaming one - but no, she took the screaming child and we started all over again.

The twin proceeded to scream in the same manner as her sister, for the entire second half of the flight. But, the plane landed safely and that is what mattered. It was, however, one of the longer 2 hour and 20 minute flight I have ever been on.

running (or not) on vacation

2011-09-02T16:35:00.000-06:00

I love to run but I don't live to run. I like that about myself. This year I have had good runs in Michigan, Pennsylvania, St. Louis, and Austin, Texas - not to mention my home state. I have also had days where I chose not to run while on vacation in these places and it was okay. I don't think I lost any of my "base" or turned to mush or harmed my training. I never regretted not running because there was usually something else I wanted to do that was more meaningful to me. I suppose I could run later in the day but I am only a morning runner.

My most recent vacation involved a trip to Carlisle, Pennsylvania to visit Kseniya and CAJ. Yeah it is the time of year where I should be getting my long runs in for the St. George Marathon in October. Carlisle is a nice college town and I like to run there in the humid climate, past all the beautiful colonial houses and the college, but....it was also nice to drink coffee with Kseniya and CAJ and read the newspaper...there's always tomorrow. I ended up running twice during that visit - once before we left for Michigan and the Kayaking trip and once when we got back. Lewie the dog was happy to go with me and made it more enjoyable. I am used to running with my dog so it is nice to have other dogs when Jackie isn't available.

In Michigan I could have run along the shoreline of Lake Michigan, at my friend Sue's cottage. It would have been beautiful in the sand, with the waves, etc. I woke early to the sound of the lake from my bedroom window and my intentions were good. The lake beckoned me. Drinking coffee with Sue and talking about our wild college days and our current life took priority for that day and I was okay with it - in fact I preferred it. We all ended up walking about 5 miles that day and it was something all of us could enjoy rather than just me sneaking out at 6 am.

Sunset on Lake Michigan

When we got to Munising, Michigan, I could have run along Lake Superior's shoreline. Two different great lake runs in one trip would have been unique. I got up early but decided I didn't want to hurry through a run and then go kayaking. Besides, I had a food hangover from the greasy whitefish sandwich we had at the bar there. Bad sandwich but great beers and company. We did the ten mile kayaking trip and while it wasn't running it was certainly exercise for my puny arms. I also got the mental workout I needed.

Back in Carlisle, I ran with Lewie the dog for about 4 miles. I enjoyed running with him and his enthusiasm way more than I would have enjoyed running by myself at the War College along the track. Running for enjoyment is so much more fun than running for time or distance and it seems to have worked for me through all of my training for the 30 some marathons I have done. I need to run for my brain, but sometimes there are things that I deem to take priority.

From Carlisle, Kseniya and I headed to St. Louis where Billy and Scarlett and Desmond live, and Danny joined us there. Kseniya and I did run the first morning - about 4 miles. Running with my children will always take priority over any kind of "have to" training run. I knew I had a half marathon to do in a week, but I also knew I could do it without doing a long run on my vacation.

I ran about three of the five mornings that I was in St. Louis. On two of them I put Desmond in the jogging stroller and did three miles with him - again, a better way to spend my time than running to the beautiful park by myself near Washington University's campus. Desmond chattered away, made barking noises at dogs, and was really interested in the train that we we stopped to look at. I loved looking around the quiet neighborhood and feeling the humidity in comparison to the dryness of Utah. I even liked sweating and feeling my shirt stick to my back. Everyone smiles at someone pushing a baby so maybe I am adding something good to other people's day.

Dan and Kseniya - breakfast in St. Louis

Billy

Des my little running buddy and future 10 K runner

Scarlett cooking up a great breakfast in St. Louis

Yes, I love to run, but I am not totally defined by it. I need to run for my sanity, but it is not as important as spending lazy mornings with people I love and who love me. I know people who at all costs, would get up early and run their long runs according to a schedule no matter where they are. I am not one of those people. Sometimes I have better things to do. And that's okay by me.

comfort zones

2011-08-25T18:46:00.001-06:00

We all like to stay in our own comfort zone and yes I know I am generalizing. Staying in my safety zone involves doing nothing that will risk my life, any of my limbs, my dignity, and can be done with both of my feet touching the ground. Like running. It did seem pretty safe until I broke my leg last year in my driveway, but that's different. It is something I have to do to keep sane, so I will risk it. And usually one of my feet is on the ground.

When Sue, my college roommate from Northern Michigan University (class of 1975, and proud of it), posted something on Facebook about Pictured Rocks National Shoreline http://www.paddlingmichigan.com on Lake Superior, and suggested a girl kayaking trip about a year ago, I said "I'm in" even though I am not a big water person or swimmer. There were a few reasons that compelled me to do this risky thing that could result in my death, knowing that "Superior they said, never gives up her dead" (Gordon Lightfoot and the Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald). The first one was that it would be too easy to go my entire life without seeing my friend Sue again, and that seemed wrong - we spent four great years of college together and had only seen each other twice since then. Also, not experiencing something so beautiful and so close to where I grew up also seemed wrong. Besides at the time she suggested this adventure, it was a year in the future and it was easy to say I would do it.

After I retired in January, I was even more determined to make this trip - maybe I needed something to bolster my confidence in myself. Kseniya and CAJ agreed to go - they had never kayaked before either. It would involve a 12 hour drive from Pennsylvania to Michigan (the upper lower part) to Sue's cottage on Lake Michigan, and then another 4 hour drive to Munising in the Upper Peninsula.

Renee and I - see I don't look afraid at all!

So on Tuesday I found myself strapped into a kayak with Renee, a friend of Sue's, with a life jacket squishing the girls worse than my running bra, and snuggled into the belly of the kayak with a "skirt" around me to keep the water out, and pretty much keep me in. We were given instructions on how to paddle (and don't call it rowing or the paddle an oar), to not panic if the thing tipped over, and how to get the skirt off so we could pop back up to the surface. I was pretty sure I would panic, in fact I was kind of panicked just hearing about the possibility of capsizing. But if Sue's daughter Katherine, who had a broken foot could do this, so could I.

Here's what the skirts look like - CAJ, Kseniya and I from left to right

When one of the guides (who was from Austin, Texas) pushed us out into Lake Superior, I was pretty scared for a moment. All I could think of was the Latin phrase "moritui te salutamus" or "we who are about to die, salute you". Before too long though, I found myself relaxing, looking at the beauty of a place not far from where I grew up, but where I had never been before. I also felt a great respect for Lake Superior and my strength that allowed me to Kayak ten miles - even with my puny arms.

Kseniya

A view of the shoreline

It was a little windy for the first 5 miles before our stop on Mosquito Beach to eat our lunch. I have to admit to being a little concerned and it may have crossed my mind for one brief shining moment, to have someone pick me up in a car, and to forget about the trip back. But I didn't. My friend Sue, an experienced kayaker, told me the lake was a lot more rough than she thought it would be - of course all the pictures show people in the nice calm water.

good thing I didn't know it was this rough!

I settled down into the return trip and poor Renee in the back had to do the turning without the rudder, which kept slipping off its track. It was the first time I met her and I quickly discovered she is one tough girl! I found that I enjoyed the challenge of fighting the wind and the waves and used better form in paddling when I had to. When we finally got sight of the beach where we would end our trip, I felt like I do when I can see the finish line in a marathon - close to tears, tired, and exhilarated. It was amazing and I was so glad to have been there with my friends - so glad I took the risk to try something I had never done before. And life is too short to not connect with old friends.

Sue and I - the night before our kayaking - Lake Superior lurking in the background

Sometimes it takes a person a long time to experience things that have always been available to them. And sometimes that requires a bit of risk taking and being on unsteady ground or on rough waves.

My next risky endeavor is to go for a ride in a hot air balloon this fall. Take that comfort zone!

my visit to the guy store

2011-08-12T20:00:00.000-06:00

I have never had to frequent a guy store. Ever. OK once I had to go to Ernst Home Center (now defunct) to buy some wire to hook up our new oven. Bruce and our friend Lee were wiring our kitchen and were busy working on that, and sent me off in search of the needed wire. By the time I got there, I forgot what I needed - there were numbers involved like 15/2 (sort of like cribbage) or something. I told the guy store guy this and right away he knew what I needed, but not after giving me a smirk. I took out my brick cell phone and called home to verify that it was a 6:3 or whatever it actually was. He ended up giving me twice as much as we needed (at the single price) and I thought it served him right for smirking at me so I didn't return it.

old brick cell phone - it would never fit in my purse!

Up until this point, I have been protected from visiting guy stores solo, because I have a guy and that is what guys do - they go to guy stores. As Dave Berry said, they wander around with a part in their hands, looking for a matching part that they might need - sometimes they run into other guys with parts in their hands too and, if they can't find what they are looking for, they might swap parts with another guy. It seems that guys find guy stores fascinating and spend a lot of Saturdays wandering around with parts in their hand, searching for other parts.

Today I went in search of paint. It was 10 am on a Friday so there weren't as many guys wandering around as there might be on a Saturday. I had gotten several paint sample cards on a previous visit and decided on a nice mint green for our bedroom. I was so proud of myself. I was armed with the Glidden sample, and with the measurements to the bedroom that my guy had provided for me. I went in the store and I even knew where the paint section was from my previous visit.

I gave the guy the card and the meausrements and he said "I guess you need two gallons". Sounded good to me. "It will take about 5 minutes" he said. I guess he mixed the colors and put them on some machine that shakes them all up until the desired color, which happened to be "mint shake" interestingly enough, emerges. He even went and got me a cart, figuring my puny girl arms would not be able to carry two gallons up to the check out counter.

I spent my 5 minutes wandering around the guy store with the guys who were looking for parts they needed. I was amazed at so many things I saw. I wanted to become a handy man (woman) and work with power tools. Unfortunately that would not be a good idea because I can't even work with a sharp henkle knife without cutting myself. There were so many counter top choices, flooring choices and cabinet choices. I wanted to do a lot more home projects until I realized I was retired and could only afford paint right now.

And who knew there were so many kinds of toilet bowels? They aren't that expensive but there are those where the toilet seat never slams down (prevents little boys learning to pee on M. and Ms from hurting their little boy part when the seat slams down - seriously I have seen this in my 35 and 1/2 year career as a pediatric ED nurse many times - that and the penis stuck in zipper thing.

There were toilets that let you choose between a flush for number 1 or number 2. Any color of toilet you wanted was available as were those with high seats and those with lower seats and even those for kids. Amazing.

Dual flush depending on if you need number one or two...a square seat doesn't look very comfortable

I did see a lot of guys with lists looking for things and women too. It was impressive. I might even go back someday after we get this paint job done and maybe get a number 1 or number 2 toilet bowel - I like to have options.

the predictable ups and downs of marathon training

2011-08-07T12:34:00.017-06:00

On Thursday, as I prepared to run at 5:45 with my friend Becky and Jack the dog, I thought how crappy I felt. This thought alone violated one of my first rules of the road which is to "never comment, or let yourself think, about how good or bad you feel for the first 30 minutes or three miles of a run, whichever comes first". And here I was already thinking negative thoughts BEFORE I even was on the road.

It really didn't get any better on the road. I felt nauseated. My legs felt like lead. My head hurt, my feet stank and I didn't love Jesus (Old Jimmy Buffet song) and I hadn't even had any drinks the evening before. Unfortunately (or maybe fortunately) Becky felt tired and out of sorts too. We ended up walking much of the run which in my earlier running years, I never would have done because that was unforgivable. We also complained a lot minor irritations that, in the general scheme of things, were of little importance being that we are both fit, and have people who love us and, as far as we know. have no bad diseases. It had turned into a negative energy run.

Halfway through the run Becky (or maybe it was me) said "I don't see how I am going to run a marathon in ten weeks". I think it dawned on both of us at the same moment that, every year about this time, we say the same thing. And every year, we always are amazed that "It's only ten weeks away". We neglect to do the things like speed work and hill work that we promised ourselves we would do after the previous year's marathon. Every year, though - this will be 17 times in St. George for me and 18 for Becky - we show up and complete the marathon despite what we did or did not do. And sometimes we do well even if we haven't trained and do less than what we think we should if we have raced around the Skyline high school track one morning a week for 10 weeks.

I have run St. George in various states of training and health. One year I did it just 10 weeks after having an abdominal hysterectomy. It was one of my most enjoyable runs because I was just happy to be there and I got to run with my son Billy. Last year I ran after having broken my leg in January. I just have to run St. George no matter what. It's goals that keep us young, and goals that keep us alive so we can complete them! And St. George, being the first marathon I have ever run, holds a special place in my heart. I plan to run it forever. It has become a yearly goal that I have been successful at completing for the past 16 years. It's always beautiful that time of the year in St. George. It only rained once in all the times I have done it - and boy did it ever rain!

Running a marathon is pretty much a mental thing more than it is a physical thing. Of course you have to train, but the best training in the world won't help if you don't think you can do it. Your brain simply has no choice than to believe what you tell it. You have to believe in the power of your body and accept the days where your runs are not so great and celebrate the days where you feel like you could keep going forever. The older a person gets, the less days you have that you feel like you could run forever - so when you get one you really treasure it.

After the crappy Thursday run, we took Friday off. Saturday I ran 17 miles and felt pretty great. You just never know. I do know that I will be there in St. George, once again, on October 1 come hell or high water, for better or for worse, for my 17th St. George and maybe my 34th or 35th marathon. I also know, but seem to forget, that nothing is as bad as it seems in a bad day of running... and in life in general.

in came the doctor, in came the nurse

2011-08-05T07:55:00.159-06:00

Exactly one year ago today our first grandson, Desmond John, arrived - "he came to the world in the usual way" as Harry Chapin put it.

Desmond - less than one hour old - contemplating what's ahead for him

Bill and Scarlett - Des was less than an hour old

Me and Des - one day old

Grandpa and Desmond

I still remember how much (as weird as this sounds) I enjoyed sitting in the dirty little waiting room by myself, waiting for updates. Billy would come in every few hours or so and give me reports on how Scarlett was doing - she was one tough woman in labor, that's for sure. I went home for a few hours to sleep and he called me back when Scarlett was ready to push. Desmond was born 30 minutes or so after I got there. When Billy came in to tell me "It's a little boy", I won't forget the look on his face - he my second born, once my own newborn, now a father. I got to see Desmond all fresh and somewhat startled by his abrupt arrival into the world, the lights and his transition outside the comfort of the uterus and his early introduction to his parents. Nothing is softer than a newly born baby's skin - amniotic fluid must be the best skin softener - too bad women can't manufacture it at will to keep wrinkles away.

What a great year watching little Desmond go from a sleepy little baby who made his uncle Dan a little uncomfortable at first to a very active, and of course, precocious and the smartest one year old who is walking and will soon be talking. If we all learned and accomplished in a year, the amount of things Desmond has, we would be brilliant!


Uncle Dan with Desmond when he was about two weeks old


Aunt Kseniya - Des was about two weeks.

Smiling at Christmas time

Mother's Day

June 2011

Nothing is more peaceful or beautiful than a sleeping baby - July 2011

Desmond loved to play inside this cabinet, after first taking out all the magazines (July 2011)

I am so lucky to have had the time this past year, to have witnessed some of Desmond's milestones - smiling, learning to grab his toes, learning the pincer grasp to pick up cheerios, etc - things that if I had not been retreaded I would have missed. I got to see his first steps too.

I know humans must always find the good in seemingly adverse events or we would not survive, but I am so glad things worked out the way they did and I retired earlier than I had planned because I have had this time. Time is more precious than money or anything else - and it is so fleeting. We can never get the time back that we use on things that are not as important as what is happening right under our noses that we don't pay attention to. It's a lesson I learned and one that I tried to help others see - nothing is more important than your family - when you die, you will be remembered more by your family than you will be by the people you worked with. As Goethe put it "Nothing is worth more than this day".

I think it is even harder now to live in the moment because we have so many moments on hand - smart phones, laptops, etc....too many distractions from other people's moments, and too much multitasking. I am so glad that I could have the luxury to just sit and watch Desmond grow this past year - and read him the story about the Lady with the Alligator Purse. I think he loves the sing song way we read this story to him. It goes like this:

Miss Lucy had a baby

His name was Tiny Tim

She put him in the bathtub

To see if he could swim.

He drank up all the water

He ate up all the soap.

He tried to eat the bathtub

But it wouldn't go down his throat

Miss Lucy called the doctor

Miss Lucy called the nurse

Miss Lucy called the lady with the alligator purse.

In came the doctor

In came the nurse

In came the lady with the alligator purse

"Mumps" said the doctor

"Measles" said the nurse

"Nonsense" said the lady with the alligator purse

"Penicillin" said the doctor

"Castor Oil" said the nurse

"Pizza!" said the lady with the alligator purse

Out went the doctor

Out went the nurse

Out went the lady with the alligator purse.

I found this book and had to buy it because I remembered the rhyme from an old jump rope thing we used to recite. Turns out that the Lady with the Alligator purse had the right idea. Common sense is always best! I want to be the lady with the alligator purse from now on!

Anyway, Des, Thanks for helping me to remember to live in the moment although I am not always good at it. I will try to be the best grandma I can. Hopefully you won't think I am too crazy. I hope you grow up happy with a positive attitude, a good sense of humor, and remember to be nice. You have so much to look forward to - including that 10K we will run together someday! Happy birthday sweet baby!

Des and I - his first 5K - April 2011

first day of 17th grade

2011-08-01T13:47:00.070-06:00

Today my son Bill started grad school, working towards his Masters degree in business or MBA. He sent me this picture in an email titled "first day of 17th grade".

I smiled at his thoughtfulness in remembering how I always made he and his sister and brother line up together or separately, for a picture on the first day of school. I did this every year and even asked them to send me one when they went away to college. My mom did this when I was a kid and it drove us nuts. Like me though, my mom wasn't that great about putting pictures in albums, which I think is okay. There's nothing wrong with looking at boxes full of pictures with your family, maybe sipping on an adult beverage while reminiscing.

My brother and I on just before leaving for school - not a first day I don't think.

The older my kids got, the harder it was to get them to stop for a moment to so I could take a picture. Of course I planned to put everything in nice photo albums but all of the pictures didn't get there, and are still in various shoe boxes around the house. No scrap booking for me! Another reason I took the pictures was to send them to the grandparents who lived a long way away. Most of the time I did get those pictures sent to them. I was better at that than I was in writing on the backs of pictures too. I have vowed to do better now that I have retired but so far I have collected more pictures that haven't gotten into albums! Most of them haven't even got to pictures but remain on my computer.

I always made it a point to take the first day of school off when the kids were little. I wanted to be there when they got home and greet them with home made cookies or something (not sure I always had the cookies though). I wanted to hear about that first day because being a mom who worked outside the home, by the time I got home, they had already told their dad about their day and didn't want to repeat the entire thing again to me. When they got older, I didn't take the day off, just made sure I was home when they left for school so I could get that picture.

I remember each first day of kindergarten. Kseniya just said "drop me off - you don't have to get out of the car" and skipped confidently to the door of her classroom. I cried all the way back home. When Billy started, he was very excited until he got to the door and then he cried a little bit and hugged my legs, wanting to stay with me. After he saw how much fun it was though, he never had another problem. I had to fight to not just take him back home with me that first day. I again cried all the way home. But of course, you have to let go - and it is not ever easy. When Danny started school, he was eager to get going and I don't think he ever looked back...he was so excited to go off like his big brother and sister. I cried this time because he was the last one and was my baby. He was the hardest to let go of until one day when he was about 16, exasperated at my clinging to him, he said "mom, I am not 8 years old anymore".

Here's a few pictures of those "first days".

Bill on his first day of kindergarten, getting advice from his dad who was holding Dan

Kseniya - first day of school in 1987. She was almost 9 years old

Kseniya and Billy - First day 1994


Dan - first day 1994

There are many other first days of pictures that I have stashed away and looking through them brought back a lot of great memories. I don't think I will ever entirely "let go". In fact I am sure I won't but that's okay. I am so proud of all three of them and the people they have become.

Now I am going to go put some pictures in albums. And maybe write on the backs of them while I can still remember.

constants

2011-07-29T20:44:00.000-06:00

I have never ever taken my ability to get out there and run for granted. Running has gotten me through all of the ups and downs of my life, including the death of both my parents and other loved ones, bad diagnoses from friends and family and the letting go of the job I had for 35 years. it has been a constant in my life for many years, while other parts of my life have come and gone.

I started running when Kseniya was a baby, just to get out of the house because for a while I was a stay at home mom and I needed an outlet. I have been running ever since with a brief pause for the aerobic craze.

I have learned to love running for the sheer joy of it and not care too much about how fast I run or for how long. I have a rule to never leave anyone behind - if I invite someone along and they are slower than me, I stay with them. If someone is having a bad day, I stay with them too.

I have done about 35 marathons and many 1/2 marathons as well. Okay so I am always happy when I finish a 1/2 marathon in under two hours or a marathon in under 4 hours. I still smile when I think of my PR in a marathon in 1999 - 3:35:34 in St. George. Me, Paula and Billy completed that and when I got to mile 25 and saw the elapsed time, I cried. I never thought I could run that fast. The most memorable moment that day (besides mile 25) was when Paula dropped the F Bomb...."only two fucking miles to go" she said, much to the surprise of my son who must have been about 19 years old at the time, and an old man running along side us who could hardly believe that this thin, innocent looking blond could use such language. We talked about it for a long time afterwards - the time when Paula dropped the F -bomb. Paula and I qualified for our first Boston that year. I have to be realistic that I probably will never do this time again but I will not give up hope in improving and coming in under 4 hours. And part of me believes I still have a sub 3:40 marathon in me. Hope springs eternal and keeps me planning on what I will do differently "next time".

Boston 2000 - Paula and I looking good.

My most memorable marathon was the slowest one I have ever done, with my friend Bob, who died from ALS, and my friends Tom and Paula. It was Boston and it took us 6:12 to complete. But it was his last and I have written about it elsewhere so won't go into it here. Suffice it to say, it was a testament to the power of the mind and the human spirit (I guess that sounds a little like a cliche but it is true).

Boston 2007 - Bob's last marathon

Running has remained a constant on my life for the past 33 years. I refuse to believe that I have to quit despite my age and despite my aches and pains. My best running buddy Jack the dog is slowing down (just like I am) but today I promised him that I would be there for him even if he could only go for a mile. He is always there for me no matter how cold, hot or wet, it is or how early in the morning. I owe him a lot. He has run as much as 13 miles with me and he is still eager to go but he does get tired quicker. He is almost 12 years old. He listens to my conversation without judgement and every once in a while licks my hand in thanks. He is so happy to get out there that he makes me run even on days like today when I didn't want to because I had already run 13 with Suzanne the day before.

Jack and I last winter sometime

I have run in many different states even if it is just around parking lots at hotels. There are friends that I only saw at conferences that I would meet and run with in different places - like in New Orleans, stepping over drunks on Bourbon street and with the smell of urine and other excrement stinging my nose. I have run in Florida where it was so humid it felt like running in a warm shower. I had to through away my running shoes after that trip because they never dried out. I love running in the humidity of my little town where I grew up, when I can see wildlife and sometimes run with friends that I have grown up with. The simple shorter runs are usually the best.

some Michigan running buddies

I love running with my kids and have run several marathons with Bill and two 1/2 marathons with Kseniya and a few 10ks with all my kids. I have run a 5k with baby Des.

Kseniya and I finishing the Austin 1/2 marathon in 2011

Bill's first marathon 1996? He was 14. Dan and Kseniya were there to be athletic supporters

Today I did need to go despite my sore legs. I had a mammogram a week ago and got a call saying they saw something and I needed additional views of the right "girl". I wasn't worried at all because it sounded like it was just a lymph node but still....running today with Jack helped keep it all in perspective. I knew I would accept whatever I had because what else could I do.

I was humbled to get to the waiting room in the mammogram area and see women like me, some younger and some older, all in their over sized hospital gowns with "everything from the waist up" removed. Some of them, I could tell, already had bad news - they had the cancer haircut and the pale color of not enough red blood cells - destroyed from the chemotherapy.

The tech was kind and showed me what they were concerned about on the previous film. I was ready to protest if they told me that I would have to wait for the results until the doctor read them and did a report (the typical scenario). As it turned out, she consulted with the radiologist, while I sat there with my possibly defective right girl, and "put in a few good words". She came back and said it was just a lymph node and all was well.

I dodged another bullet although I felt more vulnerable and realized, yes it could happen to me.

Tomorrow I will once again run and be thankful. I will continue to run until I can't. And I will be there for Jack the dog.

alegría

2011-07-26T10:54:00.037-06:00

There are many words that can describe joy or happiness. "Alegría" in Spanish, "Ilo" in Finnish, and "freude" in German for example. Babies show joy in their expression and it is so pure and honest that no words are necessary - in any language. They use their entire body and it is hard to fake that. Babies don't know how to fake emotion but unfortunately, like we all do, they will learn it eventually.


baby joy...my sweet grandson Desmond enjoying life

My grandson Desmond sometimes seems so overcome with joy at many, sometimes unexpected things (like shaking a lamp and playing patty cake). He just about erupts with baby happiness, alegría, ilo, freude - whatever you want to call it. It spills out of him - all you need to do is make a funny face at him or say a word like "pow" or "yakabuski" and he laughs hysterically.

Sometimes his joy is not as loud but still apparent in his little face. He smiles happily when we take him outside to touch all of the solar lights figures - hummingbirds, butterflies and a sunflower.

Look at those eyes. Who could fake a look like this?

having fun in the kitchen sink

Spending time with a happy baby can't help but make a person happy as well. Seeing smiling babies was one of the best parts of my 35 year career and it always made a bad day better. It is one of the things I miss about my job. Being around Des has helped me to put that behind me - mostly.

It is sad that we have to grow up and lose our ability to find joy and happiness in the little things and we get weighed down by the problems of the world and the sadness that comes as a part of living. We all struggle harder to see the real joy that is always there and that babies see. Maybe we just need to try harder and shake a lamp once in a while or ask someone to throw us up in the air!

I got to spend a lot of time with Desmond this past week. I took him running in the baby jogger - 7 miles was enough to make me realize how hard it would be to push a grown person for an entire marathon like some people have done. Des loved it though and every time I slowed down to take a drink, he protested...he wanted to be on the move! It was a great run and I look forward to a day when he can run that 10K with me that I talked to him about a few days after he was born.


Des loves the baby jogger. I enjoyed having him along as a running buddy

Having a grandbaby makes me feel like Bruce and I were good parents after all. I see how our son has become such a good daddy. I see the love in Auntie Kseniya and uncle Dan's eyes when they are around him. I see a little bit of us and also Scarlett's family in him and he will carry those bits of all of us throughout life - good and bad - and carry on when we are gone.

I understand more of what my mama went through when she didn't get to see her grandkids very often - she was a good grandma and I know she loved my kids and I know she was sad that she didn't get to see them much. I also believe somehow she sent Desmond down here after kissing him on the forehead and giving him a little instruction about life and how to live. I feel her presence when I am around him.

I am lucky to not have to work right now and to be able to spend time with my own kids and their families, and my grandson. In some ways, being a grandma allows you to make up for all the time you did not get to spend with your own kids. You get to take what you learned and apply it in a different way - and you are much calmer and relaxed. You also learn to forgive yourself for the things you did not do right as a parent and realize that most of the time you did the best you knew how. The best part is that a grandma's job is to just play with her grandchildren.

random thoughts while wandering O'Hare airport

2011-07-16T20:14:00.000-06:00

A few days ago I spent several hours at O'Hare airport. As far as airports go, it is one of the biggest. b I prefer Minneapolis for friendliness and shops and walking around, but O'Hare is a great place to observe people and invent stories about their lives. I must have walked about three miles (since I didn't get my morning run in Rockland that day) and here's a few things I observed/made up/hallucinated:

1. People being pushed in wheelchairs or being driven in those little carts always smile apologetically at you when you look at them - unless they really NEED the wheelchair/cart. Usually the apologetic smiley ones look pretty damn healthy and maybe just want to get to the head of the line.
2. No one should ever blow their noses into a cloth napkin in a restaurant. This shows a total lack of concern for the poor person that has to clean up and/or do the laundry. Boogers do not come off in the wash and stick to other things. People who do this probably never were wait persons and they probably also would put their cigarette ashes in their cups if they could smoke inside.
3. You can't reason with an alcoholic. This came from some of the conversations I had with my alcoholic brother who does not understand why he should not have to pay his own way (or heat or lights or water bills). Trying to reason with a drunk frustrates you and irritates the drunk.
4. When in Rome, be a Roman.
5. You can easily walk off two pieces of french toast stuffed with some kind of fancy Italian cheese (that closely resembled cream cheese), and berries by walking around the airport and going the length of gates E, F, J, and K.
6.There's a lot of old, unretired guys that look stressed, walking around the airport, making business deals on their blackberry and wearing wrinkled suits - and aloof looking, high healed stressed looking business women with lap tops and Starbucks. Their lives are not happy and they are frustrated and hate their jobs but have to keep up their lifestyle. They are the people that buy their kids or grandkids crappy airport gifts to make up for always being gone.
7. Time spent with Barb and Siggie is always time well spent.
8. Those revolving things on the toilet seat that are supposed to keep them sanitized are probably just one sheet of plastic that goes round and round - and we think we are getting a fresh one each time.
9. People are always in too much of a hurry and too impatient and too cranky at airports.
10. Flying isn't as much fun as it used to be. I long for the days when they gave you two choices of food (usually chicken or pasta) on real dishes.

I was having such a good time, that I offered to be bumped to the next flight. Unfortunately they did not need me to do this after all so I did not get to continue my amazing revelations about the humans surrounding me.

the dead pecker club

2011-07-15T20:45:00.000-06:00

In my hometown, as long as I can remember, people sat on the main street watching cars and talking about the state of affairs in the world, politics, local government, and probably other people in the town. Mostly it was kids just hanging out watching the few cars that went through town, and other times it was people sitting outside the bar. Back in my childhood there were two bars, one on either side of the street, across from each other. The one remaining bar is a gathering place for people in the town and many others who come for the good food that is served there by the good people who work there.

For several years the street gathering was a little more predictable. When my dad was still alive, a friend of his picked him up each night at around 730PM. I can still see him sitting on the steps on their house, waiting for his ride, his hair neatly combed and his best blue t-shirt on and a jacket just in case it got cold. Sometimes his ride didn't show up which was disappointing to my dad, who must have looked forward to this social activity every night. Other times Joe would come get him and they would go sit in front of an old building that is now apartments, but at one time was a drug store and later a teen center. Several other guys of various ages came around and sat there maybe drinking pop and talking until about 930 or so. When I visited, sometimes I would go and sit and talk to my dad and his friends. One of the guys, who was becoming forgetful, kept asking me "whose kid are you?" Often my dad would brag to them about my marathons and that I "was the head of every hospital in Utah".

My dad on the right, and Joe - neither of them are able to attend these get togethers any more.

When you get to a certain age, age doesn't seem to matter so much and there were guys that were younger and maybe a few older than my dad. Despite that some of them may not have been friends earlier in life they were all friends now and all equal - despite their role or standing in the town or which end of town they lived in. They all shared a common bond of growing up in this small town and much of what they talked about was remembering what used to be "the good old days".

this is a picture of what the building looked like a long time ago.

This group of older guys became known as "the dead pecker club". I think the name, although not complementary (and maybe not true at all) was given with good humor. If you mention the name, everyone - or at least the women in the town, know what you are talking about.

My dad is gone, and sadly this year three more members of this social group are missing as well. Two of them have died and Joe, the one who picked my dad up each night, is in long term care. The group has few if any original members in it, and it is now up to the younger guys in the town to carry on the tradition. My brother has taken over for my dad, and goes up there each night around 8 or so just to see who might show up.

Some of the women in the town have talked about taking over where the guys have left off. They could still be the DP club - only the "P" would stand for something else!

The dead pecker club awaiting it's members. My brother has reserved his seat with his jacket!

an afternoon at the cemetary

2011-07-03T09:17:00.066-06:00

Yesterday Barbara Jean and I decided to go visit my mom and dad at the Rockland Cemetary where their ashes are buried and mingling together in this beautiful, well kept place that houses many of our old friends and relatives. Years ago, when my grandma and grandpa were our only close relatives down here, my mom, sister and I would bring some beer and coffee and drink a beer with grandpa and some coffee with grandma. We hadn't yet had a "crabby" with mama even though she has been down here for two years now. Our dad didn't drink (hadn't since he was 38 years old - but did his share beforehand) but I am sure he wouldn't mind if we did.

Crabby juice is just whiskey and pepsi. Barb has "crabby cups" that are nalgene bottles (yes I know they are not supposed to be good for you now) she got from the mill where she worked before she retired and before they closed down the mill. She used to bring my mom one every night when she was alive. We prepared three - one for each of us and one from ma and headed down there with a Chicago Cubs gnome (my mom was a big Cubby fan).

My mom and dad's grave - the gnome and the crabby juice.

We sat in front of my mom and dad's grave and sipped on the crabby, reminiscing about our parents. My sister forgot the ice but it still tasted good in that quiet green cemetary. Al, the caretaker of the cemetary was mowing the grass and we decided, rather than dumping the third crabby on my mom's ashes, we should invite Al to have some with us. I don't really know him as he is way younger than I am and I wasn't sure if he would take us up on our offer. I had spoken to him a few times when my morning run took me to the cemetary and he was there. Even if he didn't want to join us, I knew he would not complain about our drinking with our parents.

Al was more than happy to sit with us for a minute and have a crabby toast to my mom and all the others resting there. He has been mowing the grass for 12 hours already...it's a big cemetary. "I always want to make it look pretty for the fourth of July and on Memorial Day", he said. He told us how he was paid from cemetary donations and he didn't want to take more money for the job than he needed to - so he tried to be very efficient with his time.

As Al sat there and sipped the lukewarm crabby juice with us, he told us about the cemetary and how it used to be part of the Lake Superior shoreline for Lake. As the water receded, the cemetary was extended. The ground is mostly sandy and rocky he said, because it was lake front at one time. He pointed out several trees that he had been trying to save but that would have to come down soon. He really did his best to save the old trees as long as he could but some were on their last limbs. He explained how they would cut the tree down bit by bit and use ropes to be sure it didn't crash down on any of the tombstones.

"I tried to move away from Rockland several times", he said. "But I always had to come back. I love it here. My wife and I don't need a lot of things". We knew that Al's wife is a pharmacist and on several occasions she would deliver medications to my sister's house on her way home from work - like him, she is a down to earth, kind person who is willing to go out of her way to help.

Al sat with us for a while and we asked him to take our picture - it's cool how his shadow appears in it too. Symbolic of something I am sure. Maybe how we are all a part of each other and something bigger?

Al talked with us for a while longer, but needed to get back to his work - he still will need another day - about 6 hours, to finish his job, making the cemetary look good for the people who will come to visit their loved ones. So many will never know how much time and care went in to making this cemetary look great. Too often we don't think of those who do these seemingly menial jobs and take them for granted. There's not much glamor in mowing a cemetary but Al, took such pride and care in his work and it showed. Before he got back on his mower, we took his picture.

Al taking a break with us

I love how small town people are so accepting. Al didn't think it weird that we were drinking crabby juice with our dead mom. He just accepted this without comment and joined us on this beautiful day in a beautiful place that is home to a lot of people who made us what we are before they left us. God bless people like him for what they do behind the scenes.

father's day is never fatherless

2011-06-19T21:33:00.066-06:00

For about the last 5 years I have always talked about my fatherless father's day and was sad that I had no living dad to call. My dad died almost 5 years ago and I have missed him each year on father's day and always - and my mom on mother's day as well. However, this year, I realized that there is no such thing as a fatherless father's day. New fathers are always being born and then there are people in our lives who are more than willing to fill in that empty space that is left by those fathers who are no longer here. Older people like my friend Les and his wife Olive, who have "adopted" me and have no children of their own - and my friend Sid who is exactly the same age as my dad would have been.

While enjoying having my children home this weekend and most of us on father's day, I realized how lucky I was to have kids who get along with each other (even like each other) - and kids that seem to like spending time with their parents. We had a great father's day, making a frittata, drinking mimosas and bourbon punch and just watching Desmond and his seemingly limitlessness energy.

Auntie Kseniya and Desmond - his hair color looks like hers.

It's neat to look at Desmond and see the hint of so many of us in him. He has hair almost the color of Kseniya's. He looks a lot like Billy, his daddy, but he has eyes the color of his mama Scarlett. Sometimes when I look at Des, I see Scarlett's mom and sometimes I see the little grin of my own dad. I see myself as a baby when he wrinkles his forehead in a certain way. Scarlett sees glimpses of her dad.

It is amazing to me to think of all that has been contributed to Desmond from so many people and how he will carry on for us when we are no longer here. I wonder what he will become and what he will take from all of us. Bruce has his dad's sense of humor and optimism. My kids have their dad's sense of organization, wit, and independence in taking care of themselves. I have my dad's eyes and a love for old people. All I can hope for him is that he is kind and caring, leads a happy life and finds a way to contribute to the world.

All a person can really hope is that their children grow up happy and make a difference somehow. We can't live their lives for them after they grow up and we have to let them go. But they carry part of us with them forever and will pass that on - either through children of their own or through their good deeds and accomplishments.

Everyone will end up spending father's day without their own father (and mother's day without their moms). But what they give us lives on without them and this is what we need to celebrate - what we have been given, not what has been taken away. And we need to pay it forward as we go.

...you looked better before my cataract surgery

2011-06-13T09:58:00.056-06:00

Yesterday Jack the dog and I met my friend Sid, who is 86, and his dog Curly for our usual Sunday morning run. He gave me his usual Drakker Noir infused hug, looked at me and said, "You look good.....but you looked better before I had my cataract surgery".

Sid, Curly and Jack.

I laughed about that because he had already told me how he looked in the mirror and screamed when he saw what he really looked like. He thought he had aged 10 years. But still, I don't want to admit that I look like a 57 year old grandma even though that is what I am. That is only my outside. Inside I am brand spanking new - I saw my colonoscopy pictures a few years ago....pink and unblemished.

We all view ourselves differently than other people do I think. That is not always so bad. You see what you want to see, and you hear what you want to hear - Dig?

I remembered once when I was at an aerobics class 20 some years ago when the in exercise was aerobics and wearing leotards and legwarmers (the Jane Fonda era) were cool.


Jane Fonda in her younger, pre-augmentation years.

I was looking in the mirror that was strategically placed in the front of the exercise room (or studio, as Jane used to call it). I saw an image of what I thought was me and thought "Wow, I really look good - even taller and slim". A bit later when I noticed that the movements in the mirror were not coordinated with my movements, I realized that the image in the mirror was a girl who was standing in front of me.

Another heartfelt complement, akin to my friend Sid's, was offered to me by a crazy person when I was in nursing school. I was doing my psychiatric nursing rotation on a unit in the local hospital. I hated psychiatric nursing because I didn't know how to help people whose minds were messed up. Also, I didn't like the instructor and it was the only class in my entire nursing career (or even high school career) that I ever got a C grade in.

The "zine" drugs were in then. Thorazine, Stelazine and many others that are not used as much now. They were given out like candy and the patients walked with what we called the "Thorazine shuffle". Anyway I was assigned to a little old man who didn't trust me because he thought I worked for the FBA - whatever that is. He barricaded me in his room by placing a dresser in front of the door. Hell I didn't know what to do so I just went along with it. He seemed somewhat harmless if I agreed with him and just listened.

He asked me to sit so I did. Then he said to me "You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen".

Nice complement right? The problem with that was that he was blind. Maybe he saw into my soul or something. Since I really hadn't been told that by any one else at that point I was touched.

He finally let me out of the room. I never forgot that experience. Beauty is in the eyes of the beholder, even if the beholder is blind.

I'm so done feeling bad about my neck or any other body part

2011-06-06T13:39:00.047-06:00

No offense to Nora Ephron, the author of "I feel bad about my neck". What she writes about is true...we women are obsessed with parts of us that refuse to stay 20 years old. I mean just because our brain thinks we are still 20 doesn't mean the rest of our body will follow suit and look that way.   We spend a lot of time and money trying to fix things instead of just accepting them. Or we make fun of them - something I am good about. What if we just accepted ourselves for once?

Up until a few days ago, I was still in the "feeling bad about this or that part" stage but I am giving it up. Oh I have noticed my neck and it's dry wrinkly skin that I could spend a lot of money on different products to firm up - stuff like amniotic fluid infused Clinique products or stem cells or the latest Oil of Olay potion.   And what I am sad about, as I think about it, is how Oil of Olay has morphed into all kinds of fancy stuff that is expensive, comes in fancy applicators, and promises many things that I bet it can't deliver. And women buy it. I used to love the stuff when I was growing up - it was pink and came in a glass bottle and it smelled nice. That was it. No age defying anything added.

Anyway, what made me decide to quit feeling bad about my aging parts (other than all the self help books I have been reading since I have been retreaded) happened when I was in my basement, lifting weights on my bosu ball.    No one was home but me and the dogs and it was hot in the basement so I took off my shirt and was lifting in my running bra.   I was admiring my arms as I did my curl repetitions and my legs as I did my squats. All was good until I started doing pushups.

I happened to look down at my stomach while I was on the up part of the pushup. I think I expected to see a washboard abdomen, like all the (20 something) women on the cover of my Runner's World magazine. Instead, I was horrified to see what looked like all of my internal abdominal organs suspended in a sack (a wrinkly one at that) and gathered in the middle of my torso - hanging down towards that Bosu ball.    Then I started laughing. What the hell did I expect? This is why most women my age only do exercises in a sports bra in the privacy of their basement and not in public.

I then thought about how I could pay a plastic surgeon $10,000 to fix it - tighten up my abdominal muscles and fix the one (the rectus abdominus muscle I think) that splits apart when you are pregnant to accommodate the growing baby.   I could get rid of my pending apron. So okay, even if I did have the money and was willing to risk anesthesia that sometimes indiscriminately kills people when they are not expecting it, what about the rest of me? Would I all of a sudden hate my neck and my ear wrinkles? Would I want perky boobs with unwrinkled cleavage and to have the skin on my inner thighs removed so that I could have that gap at the top of my legs like models and my old Barbie dolls had?

I will still complain about other things I am sure. But for now I am going to be happy with my abdomen and proud that it housed three now grown successful beautiful children who I love and who love me, and who are making their mark in the world and influencing many other people in the world in good ways. I have a husband who loves me and tells me I look good.

It is pretty amazing how a woman's skin can stretch to such girth and your body can take care of a baby (the safest place it will ever be) inside a usually fist sized uterus (RIP my poor uterus, you did good work) and grow it until it is ready to emerge into the world - won't go into that though - even though I am a nurse I still was kinda worried if it could really happen that way when I had Kseniya - the emerging part I mean. My stomach did a great job of putting itself back together and I did not even get stretch marks. I have helped it along by running, eating well and doing sit ups - but these can only do so much - no matter what products any of us use, or what surgery we will have, aging is inevitable but decaying is not (that sentence I am quoting from a great book called "younger next year").

We women have got to quit feeling like we are not good enough. I get sick watching the tot beauty shows on TV and am a little sad that the cool thing is to take a bunch of 8 year old girls to get manicures and pedicures and makeovers for a birthday celebration.   I wish somehow I could start a revolution of us older girls and we could help each other be proud of how we look and not try to keep achieving something else. Maybe we could change things for the younger ones. Maybe we could get fashion and athletic clothing catalogs to feature fit 50 and above women instead of all those 20 year olds.    Nothing is wrong with 20 year olds - none of us ever appreciate how good we look at that age, nor do we fully believe we won't always look that way.

I am not perfect - parts of me are though. The rest of the parts are just as they should be. As long as they keep working, I will be happy with them.

a message from my mom

2011-06-03T19:35:00.001-06:00

Yesterday I got a facebook message from a woman who I babysat for when she was a little girl. This is what it said:

Donna, this may sound weird but your mom came to me in a dream last night. She was young and beautiful, her skin like porcelain. she told me to tell you something and then she started to sing a song. I cannot remember the exact words, and it was only like 4 lines but the message was this...you may think something looks impossible but don't give up you can accomplish it, it will happen with courage on your part....i am sorry if this is weird but I felt compelled to tell you, I think it is rather fun that your mom and I had a visit and you were the reason. Barbie.

My sweet mom and her porcelain skin. This is a picture I had never seen before but my sister sent it to me.

My mom has been dead for over two years and I got teary and goosebumps from reading this email. I am not exactly sure what it means, at least not consciously. I know it will become clear if I don't try to think about it too much. I wonder why my mom didn't come to me and tell me herself? I do dream about her but she usually doesn't talk to me in my dreams and neither does my dad. Maybe I am not receptive enough?

I think it is cool that she choose Barbie. She loved Barbie's mom, Sharon (Sharon used to babysit for us when we were kids). Sharon died before my mom did - so maybe Sharon thought her daughter Barbie would be a good messenger.

Thanks for the message mamma. I will have the courage to first admit I know what you are talking about - and then I will make it happen.

a good day

2011-05-31T20:31:00.056-06:00

Yesterday on May 30th, Memorial Day 2011, I awoke to "powdered Sugar" snow coating the back yard. I went running anyway and my friend Craig and I did 14 miles - the tough Devonshire run. It was cold enough to have long sleeves, a jacket, and light gloves on. But I was damned if I was going to wear tights on May 30th. It was a great run and it was a great day - but not as good as this day was.

Just to show that there was really snow out there

Today was one of those rare days of clarity. I think I actually stayed in the "now" (Just read "The Power of Now). I got up at 630, read the paper, did laundry and hung sheets and towels on the line. Jack and I went for four mile run even though my legs were a little whiney from yesterday's hills. Still the sun was shining, it was 45 degrees or so and we had to go. We saw our friend Teton (the dog) and his human whose name is either Lori or Linda - I can never remember. I always remember the dog's names but not the humans! We saw a lot of other runners who, like me, had to be out there because it was just so damn nice.

I came home and did some yoga with Rodney Yee in my basement - hip openers to be specific. I also did a few other retreaded housewifey things and went out to get the clothes off the line. I stood for a moment, in between the sheets and the towels and just inhaled that fresh scent of clothes dried by the sun - I swear I got high for a while - no I think I was high for the rest of the day. I thought of my mom and how she never had a dryer. I do have one but there is nothing that smells as good as crawling into bed at night on sheets that smell of the great outdoors, my childhood, and all things good for a person - and a simpler time when things weren't so complicated by technology. I remembered the stiff blue jeans and socks and how you got exfoliated by the towels because they were so hard. I still like that towel exfoliation and how towels fresh off the line make the bathroom smell better than any scrubbing bubbles or other bathroom cleaners - and hang the shower curtain on the line and it is intoxicating when you put it back in the bathroom.

Me hanging clothes on the clothes line.

My mom also had to hang clothes in the house in the winter because she never had a dryer until the last four or five years of her life. She had a rack that went around our wood stove and all the clothes were placed there to dry - which took a long time and they ended up smelling like wood smoke. This clothes rack, placed around my sister's and my bed with a sheet over it, also served as a steam tent when we both had whooping cough when we were kids. Yes we were immunized - not sure why we had pertussis.

My mom had a wringer washing machine that all the moms had in those days and there were a lot of injuries from little kids getting their hand stuck in the wringer. I can still hear the noise it made and I remember coming down stairs to piles of laundry sorted on the kitchen floor. Sometimes when I was older, we went to the laundromat and spent hours (twenty five cents to wash and 10 cents for ten minutes to dry) there. We could leave our clothes and run over to Wagar's restaurant for a while and get something to eat and no one would take them.


This is what a wringer washing machine looked like - this isn't my mom though.

Our moms really worked hard when we were kids and my mom thought Bruce and I were crazy to hang stuff out when we have a dryer. Bruce's mom had a dryer but hung her stuff out all summer because she too, loved the smell. I am not as good as Bruce in that I don't like to hang the socks and underwear out (too tedious - not because I don't want people to see my undies).

This is the kind of clothesline my mom had and they are the best ones!

Our clothesline now - its work was done for the day. Hanzo waiting to Pee on it.

Anyway, I carried that good smell and the memories with me the rest of the day and felt ambitious. I had coffee with a friend. I framed a poem and picture that my daughter had given me that she had done on her press. I sewed some pillow shams that have been ripped for years.

Just like it is hard to explain what makes a run really great, it is hard to adequately explain what makes a day especially good. I think it is just a day where you feel grateful for being able to do ordinary things. You feel connected to but not encumbered by your past and hopeful for your future. But you are truly in the moment - even if it is for one brief, shining day. Today I feel lucky to enjoy the spring mornings at my own pace and really smell the world and know how lucky I am to be part of it. Nothing out of the ordinary but just the way it should be.

gmail chats and my future job convincing people to run marathons

2011-05-29T20:14:00.032-06:00

Oprah said it on her last show: "Everyone has some sort of talent. Your job right now is to figure out what yours is and to work on getting out there and making it happen (or something like that)". I have also read this in some form or another in the many self help books I have read over the years. Many of these books suggest that you making a list of your talents - here's my view of my talents. I am sure I have more talents - funny that it is so easy to write down your bad characteristics but talents? I came up with 10.

1. Being nice - sometimes too nice.
2. Good with babies and old people (and most in between)
3. Good at encouraging others and giving advice that I don't often take myself.
4. Mentoring people to do things they don't think they can (sort of related to encouragement).
5. Writing
6. Disciplined - in staying healthy and a hell of a good runner for my age (about 35 marathons).
6. Sense of humor and positive outlook even in the face of getting screwed (and by that I don't mean in a sexual sense).
7. Good at faking the above (and I don't mean that in a sexual sense either).
8. Good at being a nurse and caring about people.
9. Good leadership skills even though I have been told otherwise by people who themselves didn't always practice good leadership skills.
10. Being myself and sticking to my own values despite what it costs me and keeping other people's self esteem intact.

Okay so not many of these will make me rich on their own but maybe in combination I could be on to something. I thought of this after Kseniya and I had one of our almost daily daily Gmail chats - The slightly edited version is below

me: good morning sis. Is today a better day?

Kseniya: I think so! It is always better in the morning, much as I hate to admit it.

http://cumberlink.com/news/local/article_47c2ec20-87ca-11e0-9849-001cc4c002e0.html?mode=image

(she sent me this link describing a tornado in her town)

me: holy cow! When you said the sky was green I thought about a tornado. I guess my advice to go the basement wasn't just joking

Kseniya: No, it probably would have been smart, but I'd have had to carry two scared dogs down there with me!

me: I bet the dogs were scared a lot.

Kseniya: They almost drove me nuts barking every time it thundered

me: it is funny jack (my dog) never got scared of the thunder

Kseniya: Not even in his old age

me: nope not even - fire crackers don't seem to bother him either

Kseniya: Wul . . . how would you feel if Liz ran Austin (the 1/2 marathon) with us next year?

me: that would be great! The more the merrier.

Kseniya: She wrote yesterday and said she wished we could train for something, so I thought I'd offer to train with her long-distance, like you and I do!

me: I think that is great. Always good to have someone else even if it is long distance. Maybe we can get her at some point and by that I mean in 2012, to train for the NYC marathon with us:)

Kseniya: woah.

She's moving to VT in August to do some pre-med stuff--she wants to go to med school in 2013!

me: Wow...then we better do one in 2012 cause she won't have time after....maybe we could do a fall one in VT - that would be beautiful and easier to get into

Kseniya: I bet they have some nice ones--halfs too.

me: ya but you might want to (I almost said "must") conquer a whole one at some point

Kseniya: Maybe when I have to push you in a little chair in front of me

me: forget about that damn chair....you will need to keep up with my old ass!

Kseniya: I know it! That's why 13.1 is about all I feel I can chew!

me: well right now it is but - you can always do more than you think....the marathon is a metaphor for life in general (she said, philosophically)

Kseniya: scratching her chin

trew I spose

After I loose 10 lbs, go to fitness training, do yoga 3x a week

etc

me: not scratching chin...just looking over the top of my glasses, and then taking them off and chewing on one of the bows

Kseniya: That's extra philosophical

me: oh yes. It's part of my new job plan as a philosopher. They will make a statue of me sitting there in the pose I just described someday and you will live off the royalties of my philosophizing.

Kseniya: hahaha!

or they will make a little finger puppet of you, the Unemployed Philosophers Guild folks

me: ha ha. Well it would make babies happy and incite their very first smiles.

So what I gather from this conversation is that I could, with my list of talents become a coach, mentor and encourager for getting people to run marathons, by writing a book of philosophy equating running to life - using terms like "life is not a sprint, it's a marathon, etc". To use my talents even further, I could get old people and babies to run marathons too since I am good with both age groups. Furthermore I would be very disciplined about getting this book written and it would be funny and positive - I would take examples of my own life and running and how running got me through rough times at work and in my personal life and how you too can do this and become a better person and have all the endorphins you need without taking drugs. I would also touch on how you can improve your leadership skills by making time before work to take care of yourself instead of whining about how busy you are and that your job is making you fat because it is stressful and you are excreting too much cortisol, when, lets face it, you've been fat your entire life and not just before you took your stressful job.

And, after winning the Nobel Peace Prize for encouraging literature, I would get a statue made in my honor with me and my fine legs (and my once perfect ass) in mid stride - wearing my "life is good cap". and of course, the finger puppets for babies might also draw nice royalties and allow me my weekly spending sprees at T.J. Maxx.

I will get right on it! Let me know if you want to join my marathon team - you'll get a free copy of my book - signed of course.

PS: I am posting this without letting it simmer! Sometimes I just have to be more spontaneous.

windows

2011-05-23T17:46:00.011-06:00

One of my friends, mixing her metaphors while trying to comfort me said, "When a door closes, a window opens". I knew what she meant anyway...but couldn't help but think "Gee does that mean I have to climb through a window instead of just walking through another door that might open up for me on it's own? Why does stuff have to be so hard? What if the window is stuck because someone painted it shut, or it's a tiny window and I won't fit through it?

Another friend sometimes will text me in the evening, about running the next day, saying "Should we try to run in the morning? We might just get the window." What she means is that it is supposed to rain/snow in the am but maybe we can get out there just before it happens - and get the window of opportunity before the day or at least the weather, goes to hell. Most of the time, we do get the window. And because of this, the day never goes to hell because we ran.

It rained most of last week, and was supposed to be raining this morning. Luckily Jack and I got the window and had a nice run before it started. It was such a pleasant and somewhat humid morning and everything was green and smelled good and lots of people and dogs were out there enjoying it. I was so glad the window was open for me and I got through it. I was grateful that I could go for a run at 830 AM on a Monday because I had nowhere I needed to be. Money won't buy happiness, but getting through a window and finding something good on the other side works for me.

I think it was Yogi Berra who said, "If you come to a fork in the road, take it". I say, "If you get a window, climb through it before it closes on you".

the art of (not) running in the rain

2011-05-19T13:44:00.062-06:00

It has rained here for the past four days. Pouring rain. I don't mind it even though it is May and on Tuesday the rain turned into snow for a few hours. I had the fireplace on and me, Jack and the two grand dogs enjoyed the warmth and atmosphere created by the gas fireplace. I don't have to go to work and I have no place that I have to be so rain is okay and home is great. However, the rain "dampens" my morning running. And a fireplace where you just have to flip a switch to turn on would cause my father, a woodsman his entire life, to roll over in his grave - or maybe make his ashes stir up and rearrange themselves - bumping into my mother's ashes and she will say "Jesus Christ Ray, stay on your own side".

I am not a "fair weather" runner only. However, part of running for me - a big part- is the enjoyment in doing it. If it is work, then it is not fun. I don't care if it rains once I am out there and my shoes get squishy and my shirt sticks to me and my socks are wet. Usually I have had some part of the run before it started to rain so I am not running entirely in the soggy conditions. Since I usually run anywhere between 5:30 and 8, it's not warm when it rains - unless it is July or August. Cold rain isn't much fun - and much worse than cold days when it is snowing. Why does rain feel "wetter" than snow? Jack the dog is better than me and he would go no matter what the weather. Sure wish I could be more like him.

Also I am not one of those girls who looks pretty when I am all wet with my shirt sticking to my boobs and my hair plastered to my head - but let's face it - how many "girls" on the back side of 50 do? And why do I still call myself a girl when I am as old as I am? Because in our older heads we are all girls no matter the age - it is just the mirror and the things it shows that say otherwise. I don't look pretty when I cry so I try not to do that too much either. Of course the only person who looks good when they cry probably is Julia Roberts and my imaginary friend Jennifer - but you wouldn't see either of them out in the rain - especially not Jennifer - she is such a pansy ass. So that, and the lack of any GORE - TEX running apparel (even when I was employed I couldn't afford it) keeps me inside on the very rainy mornings - which luckily are rare. Instead of running, I go to the basement and do yoga or lift weights. Who needs a gym anyway? I have Rodney Yee, a Bosu ball, weights and a stationary bike and an I POD with a lot of Johnny Cash and other good music on it. Ah, the life of a retreaded person.

Today we were going to go. But it was pouring again and 38 degrees. So instead I read the newspaper, drank coffee, and gave three reluctant dogs a shower.

dogs relaxing (and pouting, except for Jack) after their morning shower

Maybe tomorrow. If not, a few days off won't kill me. If the world doesn't end on Saturday I will definitely be out there, rain or shine.

the end is coming

2011-05-14T11:43:00.000-06:00

All of the hype about the world ending next Saturday the 21st doesn't have me worried at all. I had a great 14 mile run today. One of my friends who ran with me will do a marathon next week and we talked about how he might come back to SLC and find that it is gone - a smoking mess of destruction (or is it mass?). Everything will be gone, except of course, the LDS Temple. The rest of us heathens will burn and we will rue the day when we didn't invite those missionaries into our house and start taking lessons. I used to invite missionaries in but only to offer them my telephone to call their moms. Missionaries can only call their mom's on Mother's day and Christmas and I felt sorry for those moms. Besides, I promised them I would never tell anyone and the moms would secretly thank me. So embedded is their training that not one of them has ever taken me up on my offer. And if they did, I am sure Brigham Young would come back from the grave and make me become another of his wives or something. After living here so long, the missionaries have given up on us and usually skip our house, looking for more promising prospects.

I don't mean to make fun of my LDS friends (and even family members). They are great people even if they believe coffee is evil.

The whole end of the world thing made me think of the reason why I moved to Salt Lake City in the first place - after graduating from college and never having been west of Minneapolis. It was only my second plane ride too. It was back in the day where you dressed up for a plane ride and you were served real food (Chicken or Lasagna usually were the choices) and sometimes free wine.

It all probably began when my college room mate at Northern Michigan University and I started taking mail order lessons from a group in California. For about $17/month we received instruction on self awareness, and realizing that we had all the power we would ever have....heady stuff for college students in the early 70's but maybe not...the 70's were big on self-actualization. It also involved coloring tarot cards (really) and sacrificing irritating people in the dorm (not really). Actually I enjoyed the lessons and they are not much different in many ways, to modern self help programs I believe....it was a lot about loving yourself....as Whitney Houston sang (wish she would straighten herself up) "Learning to love yourself...it's the greatest love of all". The company still exists, but I don't want to use their name for fear of ....something.

Sue and I, drinking beer and riding on the railroad tracks somewhere in Marquette in the 70's. Don't we look self-aware? And don't ask what is in the bag.

I am not sure how the end of the world got tied into these lessons, but it seems like it may have been related. The world was supposed to end in August of 1975 and the safest place to be was Provo, Utah (see maybe I am right about the Mormons...or maybe they are right).

I jokingly told people I was going to move to Utah. Then I started thinking "What the hey?" I had broken up with a boyfriend. I wanted to do something daring (never had done anything really daring beyond riding a car on railroad tracks). And there were a few other reasons why I decided to do it:

1. My mom said "You will never move that far away". Of course at 21 if your mom says that, you have to do it to prove to her you are serious.
2. The ex boyfriend said something similar and added "I hope you break your leg skiing there". I did break my leg, but not skiing and it took me 35 years to do it.

Anyway I moved to Utah (but not Provo) despite warnings that I would never have a job because I wasn't Mormon, and that I would end up being married to a guy with a few other sister wives. Both ended up being untrue. I got a job, and after all this time, the missionaries even gave up on us. One of the things that kept me from considering converting to being a Mormon was that no one could adequately explain the ban on drinking coffee "Hot caffeine" is out, I was told. But yet they drink hot chocolate. "Caffeine is out" I was told. But it is okay to drink coke and diet coke by the gallons. I can't believe that I would be a bad person for drinking coffee, so I remain a Methodist, where we have coffee in the Fellowship Hall after each church service! The only rules in my church are to be good and do good for others.

So here I remain and it's a beautiful place. August 1975 came and went, just as I assume May 21, 2011 will. I will plan an "End of the World" run just in case. Might as well be doing something I love during the Apocalypse.

don't let them take your flowers

2011-05-10T07:41:00.022-06:00

I woke up at 4:40 am and couldn't go back to sleep. I wondered why I had tears on my face and then remembered the dream that woke me up. I was at work and had purchased three big arrangements of flowers for my friend Mary Alice. But when I went to get them from my office all the flowers had been taken and only the green leafy parts of the arrangements were left. Everything that made the arrangement pretty was gone.

I was angry and went out to the desk to ask about my flowers. "We needed them for patients" I was told. "They were for the kids". Someone from another department even took some for another employee telling me "You can just get reimbursed". No one seemed to think it was a big deal that I had bought them to make someone else happy.

"They were for Mary Alice" I kept saying. But no one listened.

Why was this such a disturbing dream - I guess because for me it offered an epiphany. I had to look up the definition of this word because even though I knew I wanted to use it, I wanted to make sure it fit.

"a usually sudden manifestation or perception of the essential nature or meaning of something (2) : an intuitive grasp of reality through something (as an event) usually simple and striking (3) : an illuminating discovery, realization, or disclosure"

It's probably not a secret that I left my job before I really planned to. I meant it when I told people it was the right thing to do - and I still believe it. However, my policy of "never let them see you bleed" may not have been a good one. A person can only play Polyanna for so long. Obviously I still have some work to do if my dreams are any indication - this was not the first of my "work dreams" but it was the most disturbing to me.

Along with my "never let 'em see you bleed" rule, I have a rule about not discussing work stuff or bitching about my life on this blog. My life is good. I blame no one. OK maybe I blame myself a little for letting people take all my flowers. But I am ready to plant new ones.

yours till the statue of liberty has twins

2011-05-08T18:01:00.000-06:00

On this mother's day I was looking through and old autograph book that was my mother's - Georgetta Maxfield. Autograph books were very popular in those days. Her book is dated 1940 although there were entries up to 1946. There's a lot of sentiments from many of her friends then - some are still living and some, like her, are gone. Some of the writing, in pencil and in perfect cursive writing, is faded and barely legible - maybe like the people who wrote them. Below is the first page of the book.

It's fun to think of my mom in 1940 at a time when the second world war was about to start - a turbulent time for sure. She was 12 years old then. I don't really have a picture of her that I know for sure was taken then, but the one below is one of my favorites. She told me she made the dress she was wearing. I figure she was maybe somewhere between 14-16. I think she was beautiful and I wish this was in color. I am sure her hair was a beautiful auburn color. I wonder what she hoped for in her life in those days. I know she, at one time wanted to be a hairdresser and she always wanted to see Venice.

Many of the entries are the usual "Roses are Red, Violets are Blue", but there are some are pretty unique. There seemed to be a theme of comments that began with "Yours Till..... Here's a few examples.

Yours till the statue of liberty has twins

Yours till the table legs wear stockings

Yours till snowballs melt in hell

Yours till chairs walk

Yours till I die

Yours till we eat turkey fried in Greece

Yours till they make toothpicks out of the board of education

Yours till the river hangs on the roof to dry

Here's a few of my favorites.

April 30, 1941

You can may write all you wish

You may write all you please.

But please, as you write, don't tear out the leaves....Georgetta Maxfield

December 18, 1941

Georgetta now

Georgetta forever

Maxfield now

But not foreverr Donald Maxfield

December 19th, 1941

I love you little, I love you mighty

I wish your pajamas were against my nightie

Now don't get shocked

Don't get red

I mean on the clothesline

Not in the bed

February 16th, 1942.

First comes love

Then comes marriage

Then comes Georgetta

With a baby carriage

Hi Sugar

What's cooking

Chicken, wanna neck?

Policeman! Policeman!

Get on your duty!

Here comes Geogetta

The American Beauty

December 12, 1940.

Dear Georgetta:

No matter where you wander

No matter where you be

You'll always be a daughter to me.

Love your dad

Forever yours.

Dear Georgetta:

When you grow up and go away

Think of me

Every day. Mother

Can't write

Born dumb

Inspiration won't come

Can't write bum pen

Think of me, now and then

When the golden sun is setting

and the earth no more your trod

May your name in gold

Be written

In the autograph of God

My sister and I found this book at different times and wrote in it as well:

Best wishes

To the greatest mom in the world

Your daughter, Barbara (1961).

I guess I wasn't all that creative:

To the best mom in the world

Love, your daughter Donna (1963).

On this second motherless mother's day, I am happy to be a mom and a grand mom and carry on - but I sure miss you. Every day.

georgetta legs

2011-05-06T13:56:00.000-06:00

My sister and Siggie, over the years, have had many many cats - TNTC (too numerous to count, as they used to say on lab reports to indicate large numbers of white cells, red cells, or bacteria usually in urine). All of them have had interesting names, one of which isn't Georgetta legs. Currently though they only have four. And two dogs - Hanna and Willi.

"Georgetta Legs" is the nickname I have given to one of the cats who is formally known as Mama Meese. Mama, like many of the other cats who have found my sister and Siggie, just kept showing up at her house, until finally she lived there. Barb has a magnet on her refrigerator that reads "there's a sucker born every minute, and stray cats know where we all live". Very true. Many of their cats were either dropped off or got the word from the cat network that the food was good and the people were nice and they came from all over. Over the years, my sister and Siggie must have given hundreds of cats the best life ever.

Mama Meese, AKA Georgetta legs

Georgetta legs got that nickname after I saw her standing on her back legs and noted that they looked exactly like my dear mama's legs - skinny at the bottom and wider on top (also like my legs by the way). My mom was not heavy except for a few years during her life. But she always had great, shapely legs, so I don't really mean this as an insult - right before mother's day and all. In fact, I defended my mom's shape even when I was a little girl. Once one of my little neighbor friends told me that my mom looked like a balloon on two toothpicks. I was so infuriated by that comment that I pulled a big pole out of the ground where it was placed next to a fire hydrant (so you could find the fire hydrants in the winter) and smacked her over the head with it - no one talked about my mom that way and got away with it! Luckily she wasn't hurt, but we didn't stay friends after that. Maybe it was also because I peed in her hammock? I thought only little boys peed on things (and dogs and cats) but I guess little girls could use pee as a weapon as well.

It's weird how much those cat legs remind me of my mom. Mama Meese is 20 some years old and clearly the boss in the house. She also has no hair on her legs and a floppy belly, like an old lady (no not like my mom's). She is deaf but her sense of smell makes up for it. She smells everything that is being cooked especially bacon and must have some - even if she doesn't have teeth. She still likes to play a bit, still grooms herself impeccably and has the worst smelling cat farts ever. She talks in her sleep and makes a noise that sounds like blrrrrrrt. She is the only cat allowed on the table and likes mostly people food - things like Cheetos and bacon. If you try to put her food on the chair, she will look at you, insulted - it must go on the table so she can lord it over the other cats. A few days ago my sister called and said Mama Meese had eaten Siggie's bowl of cheerios when she got up to get something. Mama also likes cream of wheat, ice cream and oatmeal too. Maybe that is the secret to a long cat life. She likes to give Catholic Kisses - that is, she kisses your face in the sign of the cross. It took her a long time to actually kiss me (I think it is her way of blessing you) but she does now and seems to remember me when I come to visit. If you put your arms on the table in a certain way, she will come and lay inside them. She likes it best if you have big bosoms that can also sit on the table top and she can snuggle into those - sadly that leaves me out! She favors my sisters arms and belly rubs over mine.

Mama doesn't do much socializing with the other cats. She won't let them on the bed at night and she gets the best place on the couch. They don't mess with her at all and respect her authority. She does love Willi the big lab though and often can be found sleeping next to him - if she feels particularly friendly.

Mama Meese is lucky to have spent so many years in a good home, being a queen. She has been allowed to age gracefully and is enjoying all that she has left. What more could a cat nicknamed Georgetta Legs hope for? What more could any of us want?

Mama Meese and Willi, just before she booted him off the couch

frogs in your underpants

2011-04-30T13:42:00.002-06:00

A friend of mine has a blog about underpants. You can take a peek at it here. I don't mean to steal her ideas, but it started me thinking about the one defining moment in my life that had anything to do with my underpants or my underwear in general. Of course I also started thinking of other defining moments like how I moved to Utah and why I stayed. That's yet another blog post that I am actually surprised as hell that I haven't written about yet, but the gist of it is that I moved to Utah because my mom said I wouldn’t do it, and also because I read that the world would end in August of 1978, and the safest place to be would be Provo, Utah. The world didn't end and I didn't move to Provo either - I chose Salt Lake City instead.

Okay, here's another one (we aren't to the underpants story yet). When I was 13, I lied about my age so I could get a job as a waitress at Wager’s cafe. I made 75 cents/hour and got fired when I asked for a raise. “You are just like your mother” Anna, the owner of the restaurant said. I never found out what she meant by that, but since then, I have chosen to view it as a complement. Although my mom also worked at this restaurant, I am pretty sure that she never asked for a raise. Working at the restaurant helped me realize what I already knew: that I liked working with people. It wasn’t my most memorable defining moment either since I already knew I wanted to be a nurse since I was four years old. But this experience got me working in a hospital as I found another job in the kitchen in the local hospital. I’m not especially proud that I got fired, but at least I asked for what I thought I deserved. And, my hospital job paid almost twice as much as the restaurant.

And now for the underwear story. This happened to me when I was in kindergarten and only 4 1/2 years old. It is the one that I am most proud of, because it taught me the importance of keeping a person's self esteem intact no matter what the situation. Of course, I didn't realize this was the lesson until years later but it has guided my actions in dealing with people in my role as a department director. You can do just about anything to anyone in any situation (reprimand, fire, etc) and have them thank you for it later, if you do it in a way that allows them to keep their pride and their self esteem.

Me in kindergarten or at least close to it!

My Kindergarten class in 1958 consisted of about 12 other children, all who lived in my small town of about 500 people. The school was a wooden building with beautiful hardwood floors. The grade school was downstairs, and the high school was upstairs. There were usually two grades per classroom but the Kindergarten had its own room. My teacher was Mrs. Hokans, and I remember her as being really kind and pretty. She was like the good witch in the Wizard of oz and it probably was her first year of teaching.

As it turns out, she was very wise as well, as her actions (or lack of) probably saved a little girl much embarrassment and maybe prevented me from a lifetime of shame and expensive psychiatric therapy.

This is the story. My class, like most kindergarten classes in those days, did a lot of singing songs and often formed circles to sing or play games. I don’t remember the exact game (maybe ring around a rosy?), but we were in a circle, holding hands, and singing. All was going well for me until I felt something happening beneath my dress - some slippage of my clothing. Since I was holding hands with some other kids in the circle, I couldn't rectify the situation. I looked down and saw my underpants around my ankles - must have been a faulty elastic in the waistband. Remember in “those days” we had to wear dresses and of course, this would never have happened if I were wearing jeans. Anyway, I simply stepped out of those underpants without a word and kept going around in the circle with the other kids. Pretty much I disavowed any knowledge of those sad little white underwear with faulty elastic, on the floor and was able to act as nonchalant about it as a 4 year old could. The underpants stayed on the floor or maybe the teacher removed them. I don’t remember that part of the story. Thankfully Miss Hokans didn’t ask any questions and none of the other kids seemed to notice. I believe that the sweet Miss Hokans picked them up and quietly removed them, saving me the embarrassment and public scorn of my colleagues. I can't help but wonder what my mom thought when I came home without underpants? Or was I smart enough just to find another pair of them?

I guess I remember this because it was a pretty brave thing for a small town girl to do, especially at 4. I am not sure what it means or if it is connected to being flexible, and getting out of a tough spot. Or does it mean I don’t want to take accountability for my actions? I like to think that I learned to make the best of a bad situation. Whatever the meaning, it is clear that defining moments can be good or bad, depending on how we respond to them when they are our moments and also when they are someone else’s.

Over the years I have realized what that teacher did for me. I have thought about it often. It is always good to let someone save face where you can, no matter what you need to do. Take the higher road and you won't be sorry. I believe I was a good leader because above all else in my interactions, I wanted to leave people with their dignity. Sometimes it cost me, but it was always worth it.

I will leave you with that thought and the following poem, which seems appropriate. It was written by some middle aged Norwegian who wishes to remain anonymous:

May the light always find you

On a dreary day

When you need to be home

May you find a way

May you always have courage to take a chance

And never find frogs

In your underpants

God Bless you Miss Hokans, wherever you are.

the little church on the hill

2011-04-28T08:22:00.000-06:00

Last week on one of the days when it was not winter in my little town, despite my sister's warning about wolves, I ran up to the little church on the hill. This was after running about a mile which took me a little ways out of town on US 45 - as far as I dared go, past the Michigan Dam and the site of now closed mines, back past the current Methodist church, and up Price's hill where we used to sleigh ride during the long winter months which stretched from October through May. The road to the little church begins at the top of Price's hill and only snowmobilers go there in the winter time.

A few days before I ran up there, the road to the little church looked like this.

On the day I decided to run up there, most of the snow was gone, but replaced with mud and the usual deep ruts kept me watchful. It's a rocky terrain for anyone but especially one like me who broke a leg the year before so I was careful to watch where I stepped. I didn't really care if I got my running shoes muddy but I didn't want to twist an ankle. It was peaceful running up there and I wasn't scared at all. At the beginning of the road, there's an old cemetery called "the Rose cemetery". Unfortunately it is not kept up and many of the tombstones are tipped over and the entire area is overgrown. There's a lot of nice tombstones with names of people who have died many years ago, but whose ancestors probably still are around - some of the names are familiar. There are interesting comments on the tombstones such as "He is not dead but in a deep sleep". When I wander through the ancient gravestones, I am always amazed at how many children are buried here - it was dangerous being born 100 years ago without vaccines, or antibiotic - childbirth was often dangerous and fatal to the mothers as well.

The replica of the little Methodist church (pictured below) is up this road and to the left and up another even more primitive rutted road. It is not as far as it seemed when I was a kid and I have run up here many times over the years, usually with my friends "the Kimmies" who are a family of sisters whose names all begin with "K". When Kseniya was little she couldn't keep them all straight so she called them the Kimmies. If you go farther down the road and don't go up to the little church, you go to an area where my dad used to cut wood for us to burn in the winter time and an area where a reclusive old man named "Sixty-Nine" had a shack - never met him but he was a legend we all knew about. His real name, I found out, was Joe Anich. Wish I knew his story.

The little church is a replica of the original church built in 1854 that was blown over in a windstorm in 1947.


This is what the replica looks like

I took this picture on Easter Sunday, a few days after I had done the run by myself and didn't have my camera except for the one on my cell phone - which is not a smart phone. I took a picture with my phone and sent it to my sister who immediately responded " What are you doing way up there". "Sightseeing" I replied. Get out of there!" she said. Apparently there are wolves around but I have not seen one - and bears too. When I was a wayward teen, we often had parties involving beer kegs, up there as well. When snowmobiling wasn't as big as it is now (and as dangerous) we could ride our Skidoo up here and through the woods "to grandmother's house we'd go". On Easter Sunday, my brother and I walked with my sister's dogs and took this picture and then went through the woods to the site of my grandma's old house.

The day I ran up here, I hung out for a few minutes, looking at the little church and thinking about it's history.

Apparently there used to be sidewalks and houses all the way to this little church a long time ago. Rockland was a booming town with a lot of mines. The first telephone in Michigan was in Rockland - and Rockland had an opera house, a bank, and many other businesses to keep it flourishing. Now the population is only about 228 - it was about 500 when I was a kid and even more when these ladies were out picking berries - in 1859 2500 people lived here. Rockland was really a combination of three villages - Rosendale, Webster, and Williamsburg.


You can see the original church in the background.

I don't know who these women are in this picture but it looks like they are picking berries - probably thimbleberries but maybe blackberries. You can see the wooden sidewalk that led into town.

Above is another picture of the original church, with some history. The original bell is still in the Methodist Church that exists. The original church in town burned down about 10 years ago, but they managed to salvage the bell.

The current Methodist Church with the old bell from the little church on the hill.

Everyone who has ever lived in Rockland knows about the little church on the hill. Poems have even been written about it. I wish I knew more about it's history, and my little town at that time and the people in it.

I don't know who John Sullivan was but next time I am in the Rose Cemetery, I will look for the tombstone of Aline I wonder what he would think of the town now? All I know is that it is a special place for many of us who were lucky enough to grow up there. And it still welcomes me back each time I visit.

The last tupsi

2011-04-18T18:20:00.095-06:00

Today in my little town, it was 18 degrees outside and I ran about 4 miles at about 930 AM. My Ipod kept me entertained with songs from the early and late 60's and many Johnny Cash songs that were a favorite of my daddy.

I am pretty much the only person that ever runs in this town. At least, when I am here running I never see anyone else. People ask my brother "Is your sister home?" They see me running and figure it has to be me. It is nice, cold, and quiet and my mind can roam freely in my memories of this town that I grew up in. I thought about days and people gone by and Tupsi the cat at my sister's house who today would join those no longer here. I take pictures a lot of times - like I did on this day.

This is on the top of the National Hill - Duchies dam - we used to go on picnics here when we were in grade school.

the Michigan Dam - a lot of mine shafts in this are where we used to play - and collect copper. My mom admits to climbing in them (the mines) but I never did. We sold copper to the tourists who would come up each summer.

Heading back into town. It's a pretty view but certainly changed over the years.

A view from the back street.

Cows at Davy's farm coming to greet me. They also think it is weird to see someone running.

The road to the little church on the hill - just a replica of the original that has burnt down. The town used to extend all the way up to this church.

The old homestead where I grew up, still standing, still leaning slightly to the right.

I ran along thinking about growing up and all the things that the town was and is no longer. One thing that remains is the feeling of acceptance - probably I feel more accepted now than I did as a kid. Running in this town on these quiet streets is probably the most peaceful of all my runs even thought I don't go far.

When I got back to my sister's house, Tupsi, the cat, was well on her way to cat Heaven. She was nothing but skin and bones and whined pitifully. Each time she would whine, Willi the big lab mix dog, would give a sympathetic whimper. He knew her time was coming. Animals seem to know this.

My sister had many cats named Tupsi - there was Mama Tupsi and crabby Tupsi and a bunch of other feral Tupsis that lived up in my Grandma's old yard. My sister fed these cats for many many years until she sold the property, and despite promising to wait till spring till my sister found them a new home, the new owner "got rid" of the cats somehow. Tupsi is just a name they came up with - it sounds Finnish but is just a made up name. This dying Tupsi came from the feral cats "on the hill". Her mama who was "crabby Tupsi" tried to hide her from Barb and Siggie but they rescued her and she had a great life with them for more than 20 years. When my daughter was a little girl, she used to see all of my sister's cats and say "another Tupsi and another Tupsi". Barb and Siggie had many great names for their cats - usually named after something or someone. She has four left - Mama Meese who is really old and has legs like my mothers so I call her "Georgetta legs", DeeDee, Trollie (because she was found under the Victoria bridge - and people who live below the Mackinac bridge are called "trolls"), Mama Harold. I am not always sure where the names come from but I am sure that Barb and Siggie have given hundreds of cats a good life and a decent burial.

I was stricken by how animals die sort like people do - not the fact that they die, but how they die. I practiced my hospice skills and patted her and told her softly to go towards the light or the other Tupsis. I tried to make her comfortable but animals seem to want to be left alone. I just wanted somehow to comfort her in her last moments. Actually I felt so bad for her suffering that I wanted to be an "angel of mercy" and help her on her way but had no humane way to do this.

As I watched her throughout the afternoon, I noted that she seemed to have left before she stopped breathing. She no longer saw us - I thought she had probably herniated - or at least she was comatose. She developed cheyne stokes respirations and the time between each breath was longer and longer until finally she had a seizure and stopped breathing all together.

We said goodbye to her and wrapped her in a blanket and readied her for a burial outside. My sister dug the grave and we said our silent prayers and farewells. The rest of the animals were respectfully silent. A few of the cats are also over 20 so maybe they figured they could be next.

Tomorrow when I run, I will run for Tupsi and all the other Tupsi's that went before her.

Tupsi, in better days

the octopus sees the light

2011-04-14T18:07:00.001-06:00

I am spending a few weeks in my little town visiting my sister and Siggie. Just for the hell of it I brought my brother a book on how to cure yourself of alcoholism. I haven't seen him sober since he was maybe 13 or 14 - at least not for any amount of measurable time. My parents, and my sis and I both have served as enablers over the years. My mom and dad are both dead (yeah I could have said "gone" but some smart ass would have said "gone where?"). Maybe out of a sense of guilt, my sister and I have allowed him to live in the house we bought for our parents a while back - we justify it by having to keep the place heated anyway. And we both talk about how our mother would come back and get us if we didn't take care of her baby boy. Even when our parents were alive, we would ask him to help out and he would say "What do you think I am, and Octopus? I am always on the job, 24-7.
Anyway I have adopted the attitude and words of the addiction series on TV. I am practicing the statement "I will continue to do anything I can do to help you get better, but I will no longer do anything to support your lifestyle the way it is". Last night I placed the book prominently at my mom's house (or more accurately, mine and Barb's house) on the sticky counter in the neglected kitchen whose floor hasn't been swept since I was there last May and the sink hasn't been cleaned since probably before that and in the cupboard there's a bottle of kesslers with mold on it....probably kept for emergencies. I don't know why he can't be like most alcoholics and just drink mouthwash, NyQuil or nail polish remover instead of moldy booze he must have found somewhere...who knew booze even got moldy?

The next morning, about 730, my teary, clean shaven, showered brother was knocking at my sister's door with a bunch of trilliums he had picked from the woods behind our old childhood house. "I am so sorry, for all that I have put you and Barb through all these years", he began. "I read that book you left for me and it has changed my life. I stayed up all night and cleaned up that house to make up all the times I was supposed to do it for ma and I didn't. I washed walls and scrubbed the toilet and cleaned the sink. I fixed both doors that I broke. I am going to the library to use the computer while the bread I mixed up is rising, and look for a job. I want to start paying my own way. I don't know how to thank you for all you have done for me....I am such a shit...I mean I remember that time I was late for a family dinner and Bruce offered to grill me some chicken and I got in his face and shook my fist at him and then drove off on the riding lawnmower and....I can't even think about what I put mom and dad through all those years. It's time for me to grow up and act like a man and make amends with my higher being - and all my old girlfriends. I think I will go find a Catholic priest and go to confession ....wait, we are Methodist aren't we? - well I think I will go find that curly headed Methodist minister who was in love with me and he will listen to me. I promise I will never drink again. Remember when I got the infection in my balls and I went to a cave and promised Johnny Cash and God I would give up smoking in exchange for not destroying the captain and the twins?" Well this book has had the same effect on me without having to go to a cave. Can you ever forgive me? I am also going to make enough money to buy you Christmas and Birthday presents for all the years I have missed. I am going to shovel your snow and not charge you and will tear down the rest of ma's old house tonight. I will fix all your snow blowers and lawn mowers I have broken and will go clean out your old garage after I visit the curly headed minister. And then I want to have you over for dinner.

My sister and I looked at him, stunned.

.....and then I woke up.

a first drink out of very old glasses.

2011-04-10T17:50:00.001-06:00

As long as I can remember, my mom had a box of 6 glasses sitting in a glassed built in cabinet in the old house. We never used them and my mom was even reluctant to let us handle them. They were never used on any "special occasions" at our house and they sat for a long time, unnoticed in their pretty box.

Because my parents burned wood in that house, we always lived in fear that it would burn down. My mom was very depressed I think and was drinking heavily before she moved (and for a time afterward) before she moved over to the new place my sister and I got for her and my dad. It seemed she had given up on the house and it became an increasing hazard - she seemed oblivious and it was sad. There wasn't too much of value in that house but there were a few items of sentimental value. I told my sister to take those glasses home with her for safekeeping and she did.

The glasses were in a beautiful old fashioned box. On the back of the box in barely visible pencil, it says, "From Grace Maxfield" the year of 1924. If anything happens to me give them back to her"

If you look closely you can make out some writing

I am not sure but I think my grandma Maxfield brought these for her mother and father in law. I will have to ask my mom's brother if he knows anything about them. If she purchased them in 1924, they are at least 87 years old. I believe my grandma gave them to my mom because I know we had them for a long time.

The last time I was home, my sister gave them to me. I had them sitting on a bookshelf for a while, and last night, I decided to wash one out and have a glass of wine in it. I guess I was feeling nostalgic and a little sad because many of my old people friends are not doing so well. Life is short and someone, after all these years, should use these pretty glasses.

There were ancient dead flies in the glass I carefully took out and washed. They are beautiful and thin and fragile. Below is a picture of the glass on top of the box, which has a Christmas design so I guess my grandma must have given them to her mother in law during Christmas of 1925. My mom was not even born yet.

As I held this glass and drank my wine, I wished the glasses could talk and tell me their story. Grandma Grace "amazing Grace" Maxfield was only 19 years old in 1925 and just married to my Grandpa, James Valentine, in April of that same year. I imagine her, a thin teenager, with red hair, married to my grandpa an older man at 28. She probably was so excited to buy these - maybe at the Ben Franklin store in Ontonagon - for her mother in law. Her mother in law, thinking she would use them for special occasions only, put them away, but not before penciling a note on the bottom of the box. I wish my mama was around so I could ask her more. I wish I could ask my grandma about them too.

I raised a silent toast to my grandma Maxfield, and the great grand parents I had never met. Somehow it made me happy to put the glasses to use - for the first time. I wrote this down so that if one of my children gets them when "something happens to me" they will know the story...and I hope they will drink out of them and not stash them away.

RIP back shed

2011-04-01T17:40:00.119-06:00

My sister sent me these pictures a few days ago:


The back door of our old house. There used to be a shed on it that my brother recently tore down. The back door was way above the ground at one time. We used to pile wood under the steps.

My dad, lying in a wheelbarrow probably after chopping a lot of wood for us to pile in the back shed. This picture says 1956 so I was only about 3 years old. Look how much higher the door was here than in the picture below.

This is before it got torn down. Just a few years ago - the little door is where we used to throw the wood in and pile it. No one had lived here for several years when I took this and it was on it's way to dying.

That back shed was such a big part of my childhood. I remember my dad bringing home huge loads of wood and dumping it in the backyard. He would then split it with my sister and my brother's help - I wasn't good at it. There was a wedge that you put in the wood and then you would hit the wedge with a hammer like thing and split the wood in half. I couldn't even hit the wedge with my puny arms. And when I used an axe I could never hit it in the same place twice I was also afraid to swing with all my strength because I thought I would miss the wood and then chop my foot off. And besides, my arms were puny and they still are - but getting better cause I have been lifting weights.

After the wood would get chopped up, we would throw it in the door and then pile it in the shed - under the steps as well. We would pretty much fill up the entire shed and also have wood piled outside a bit. I will try to find more pictures when I am back there in a few weeks. We did not have another source of heat so we depended on this wood to keep us warm all winter. My dad would start getting the wood in the summertime. He didn't buy it from anyone....just went out in the woods and chopped down trees. I remember many mornings when it was so cold in the house you could see your breath - and the floors were like ice. After my dad got the fire going, I would lay on the end of my bed and put my feet on the chimney to warm them. I can still hear him poking around the wood to get the fire going - and hear the snow popping on the big pieces he put in the stove at night that were supposed to burn all night.

My sister had names for different kinds of woods. Everyone knows about kindling or the thin fast burning wood that would start the fire with newspaper added. When it was going good, you threw in a different kind of wood that would burn slow, hot and longer. Barb and Siggie burned wood for a lot of years and they had these kinds of wood.

Now wood - the kind that you wanted to use to get the place warm sooner
Mary Wood - the kind that they would bring to the older neighbor, Mary
Casino wood - wood that would burn the entire time they were away at the casino
Good night wood - wood that would burn all night or most of it.

Barb feel free to add more cause I know you probably have other ones too!

While I didn't much like piling wood I remember how good it felt to look at all that wood stacked in the back shed. Sometimes we would pile some on the top part that was just outside the kitchen. I can still see my dad coming in with his arms full of wood to put in the kitchen stove and also the stove in the "room by the stove" which is where we all huddled on cold mornings.

My mom's old wringer washer was on the top part of the shed. She dragged it into the house and hooked it up to the kitchen sink probably once/week to wash clothes. I can still hear the noise it made. We never had a clothes dryer in the summer; she hung our clothes outside to dry and in the winter they went on a rack around the heater stove in the "room by the stove". This same rack made a tent for us when we had whooping cough, my sister and I. I thought the tent was pretty cool.

I remember how that back shed smelled too - like wet wood and a hint of decay. We had a lot of cats and they would rattle the doorknob to get in the house. At the bottom of the stairs, there was a few more steps that led into a cellar - it was a scary place with a dirt floor and it smelled like potatoes and I was always scared to go in it. I had bad dreams of nuclear war and having to live down there. My sister said there was an old still for making moonshine there when my parents moved in.

The area outside the back shed always had a nice cushion of wood chips, as did the bottom part of the back shed. It always looked so bare in the summer after the wood was gone - but not for long.

My dad loved the woods and getting the wood. He chopped wood and kept the fires going as long as he was able. When he knew he couldn't manage any longer, he finally moved over to live with my mom in the home my sister and I brought for them. He really hated to leave the place that was his home most all of his married life. He threatened to run away into the woods and to disown me. Later he apologized and said "It is hard for old people to leave their home. And I have already lost one home". The people who bought his childhood home simply burned it to the ground and built another one on the site. That bothered him a lot.

This is a picture of my dad when he was still able to chop wood and "keep the home fires burning" maybe a few years before he moved over to the new place. He sure loved the woods, chopping it and keeping the house warm. He was always happy when he could be outside puttering around, chopping or piling wood, or talking to someone who happened to drive by the house and stop to chat.

It is funny how everything seems so big when you are a kid. Part of that is because we were smaller but also I think a house, when people abandon it, shrinks inside itself and dies because what made it a home is gone. And be it ever so humble...it was my home and where I grew up and where there were lots of good memories - more good than bad.

my tribute to Velda at her funeral

2011-03-30T20:01:00.000-06:00

My friend Velda's funeral was today. Her son asked me to speak at it, and below are my comments.

My friend Velda was part of a group of women I lovingly called my “Church girls”. We all sat together each Sunday and got to know each other over several years. My “girls” became one of the main reasons I went to Church regularly.

Velda was the oldest of the three Church girls. She was born in 1914.   The year she was born was the beginning of World War 1.   Woodrow Wilson was president and in May he signed a proclamation for the first Mother's day. Joseph and Rose Kennedy got married. The first stainless steel items were invented. Many important people including Jack LaLanne, Dylan Thomas and Joe Dimaggio were born that year and Velda outlived most of them. My father in law, who is still living, was also born this year. The cost of a stamp was 2 cents. Edger Rice Burroughs published Tarzan of the Apes. Velda's long life spanned many other events including the great depression, another world war, at least 17 more presidents and many important inventions that probably contributed to her longevity.

I don't remember how I began sitting in the second to the last row next to my church girls but it was my good fortune to do so. Usually Thelma sat next to me, then Velda, then Mary Alice.   At first we didn't talk much but then we just started chatting. They made me feel so welcome and their optimism and great sense of humor always made me feel good no matter what was going on in my life. One day I happened to ask if they would all like to go out to lunch some Saturday and they all agreed – but not before looking at each other quizically as if to say, “Why would she want to go out with us old ladies?” They thought it was funny that I called them “girls”.

We started going out to lunch occasionally. We talked about many things – but mostly their growing up years, how they missed their husbands, travels, grown children, grandchildren, how hard it was to buy a bathing suit when you got old and how Thelma and Velda always laughed at themselves when they went to water aerobics.   Some things that we talked about I will keep secret. One year, I invited them all to my neighbor's 99th birthday. It was great because Velda actually could talk to some one who was older than she was – we planned to get together for his 100th but he died about 6 months after his party.

We all supported each other when Thelma became ill. Velda and I went to see her just a few days before she died and Velda helped me to see that death wasn't always the worse thing that could happen to a person. When my own father was dying, Velda told me “You go back there and just deal with whatever it is that happens. That's what you have to do!”. It was good advice and she,who already had lost her own husband, parents and siblings as well as most of her friends, was wise enough to know that death is a part of life and we have to go on living. She was there to offer her support when my own mother died – she and Mary Alice were like mothers to me and made that loss easier to bear.

Velda was one of the most independent women I have ever known, right up until the end. Although she was 97 years old and while parts of her didn't work so well, her mind was sharp. When she was still coming to church she would refuse my offers of walking her back to her car. She didn't want to bring her walker to church because I think to her that was too much of a sign of being an invalid. She would, however insist on walking up to communion and would take my arm. She and Thelma used to get back to the Pew after making it up to the alter and back and high five each other “Whew, we made it!” they would triumphantly say.

I never once heard Velda complain about anything – even when she had cancer on her scalp. She just wore hats. She was always dressed perfectly with matching scarfs and nice suits. I guess if you could call it a complaint, she did once say that she sure wished she could wear cute shoes. But she was wisely aware of the dangers of falling and sacrificed style for common sense.

Velda called me from time to time. Sometimes she would just call and say “I think about you every day and I love you”. This meant so much to me. She also called me when she heard I broke my leg. She felt bad I would not be able to run for a while. She was always interested in my running and for each marathon she chose mile 17. It was a good year for her, she said.

Mary Alice and I visited her last just before Christmas. We had a good time talking about the good old days – I wish I had recorded these conversations. I was content to just sit and listen – I was and am amazed at the memories and am glad she had them till the end I am sure all memories weren't good but she only dwelled on the good ones. When we visited, I often would bring one bottle of beer which we would share – like me, she liked dark beer. For this last visit, I brought some Baileys Irish crème to put in our coffee and we also ate red velvet cake with cream cheese frosting.

Mary Alice and I planned to visit her the week after her birthday but that was not to be as she went into the hospital the night before. While I was saddened by her death, I was glad for her long life and for knowing her. She added more than she will ever know and gave me so much and I am grateful for her friendship. We loved her a lot and her friendship was a treasure.

I know that Velda loved her sons and their families and felt well cared for and loved by them. She talked about how family got together each Sunday and how she babysat one of her great grandchildren once per week. She proudly showed us a book that her grandson's wife had written and gave us copies to put in the church library.   She felt honored to attend one of her grandchildren's wedding back East and described how loving and helpful everyone was and she was never made to feel like a burden. She loved to travel but I think she knew that might be her last trip.

I feel so honored to have had friends who have lived through so much and so long with such grace and dignity and no complaints. I think Velda's family had a lot to do with her longevity and her good life...she felt loved and connected and included. I am grateful to my dad, who when I was a little girl taught me to respect the elderly and appreciate their stories and their wisdom. My dad often took me visiting with him as he visited the elderly Finnish people that were friends of his parents. The only downside I can see in having elderly friends is that they often die too soon it seems, but what they teach you about living more than makes up for it.

One of the gifts I got from my Church girls is the knowledge that inside we are still boys and girls, despite how worn out our outsides are.   We all never lose the need to feel like we matter and we all have stories to tell if someone takes the time to listen.

To honor Velda's memory, we all can seek out our elderly friends, family and neighbors and realize what they have to give us – and just listen. I am reminded of a song by John Prine, one of my favorite folk singers. The song is called “Hello in there”. If I could sing it I would – I noticed that Velda and I often just mouthed the words to hymns sometimes – neither of us thinking highly of our musical talents. Mary Alice was always the good singer in our pew.

The song goes like this:

Ya know that old trees just grow stronger.
And old rivers grow wilder every day.
Old people just grow lonesome
Waiting for someone to say,
Hello in there, Hello
So if you're walking down the street sometime
And spot some hollow ancient eyes.
Please don't just pass em by and stare
As if you didn't care
Say “Hello in there”
Hello

Goodbye my sweet friend Velda. I hope you get some red velvet cake and some dark beer – and mile 17 is always and forever yours. You were loved and gave us all so much more than you know. May God hold you in the palm of his hands.

sometimes the hardest runs end up being the best

2011-03-28T20:34:00.000-06:00

Today I didn't want to run. I got up plenty early enough but felt nauseous and headachy and besides it was threatening rain or snow outside, not that this usually stops me. I was just looking for an excuse. I have sore shins from running aggressively down Millcreek canyon on Saturday in a 5k race for Colon Cancer. I ran like I was a 16 year old boy or something! The race was 1.5 miles uphill and than 1.5 miles back and I am much better at going down. I passed many of the runners who passed me on the way up - men and women, I might (don't mind if I do) add. It was the first time since my broken leg that I could fly downhill without feeling a weakness in my Achilles tendon. And I was first in my age group. So I was somewhat proud of the shinsplints in a sadistic way.

Jack the dog followed me around the house all morning, looking hopeful. So I said "Okay Jack" give me 30 more minutes. I unenthusiastically got all my stuff together (milk bones, Ipod, gatorade) and his leash and we were out the door. I was sure glad I had worn long pants, and gloves. It was colder and windier than I thought.

Oh yes, the shins complained to me of the pain and suffering that I inflicted on Saturday. I took it slow and they quieted down a bit and then shut up and we settled into a run with no expectations other than to get 'er done. I saw no one else out running - but a few walkers. I was "free associating" in my head - whatever came in was pondered, rejected or expanded upon. I started organizing what I would say at Velda's funeral on Wednesday. I usually have a hard time being in "in the moment" - usually if I am there it is by accident - and I am happy to realize I am actually doing it. I didn't really think much about my shins or that I didn't feel all that great - my mind wondered noticing all the black garbage cans and blue recycled garbage cans lined up and down the streets like people waiting for a bus. I noticed some houses had 3 recycling bins and 2 regular bins and wondered how they had so much "stuff" that they needed that many garbage cans. It was good that they were recycling though. I let Jack sniff and pee wherever he wanted and talked to him about the impending rain or snow and the wind - he just looked at me and seemed to just be happy we were out there - he could care less about the weather. We both ignored the light snow when it started falling but it did add a nice touch to the run.

I didn't try to figure out what I was going to be when I grew up - what my second career would be - and I didn't feel regretful about not having my first career that I had for 35 years. I didn't have any worries or anxiety. Instead I wondered where one of the dogs who lived by the post office had moved to. I hadn't seen him in a while nor heard his greeting and then I noticed a "For sale" sign at his house. I was amazed at the number of people who eat at Taco Bell or Kentucky Fried Chicken over their lunch hour. I wondered how often a person has to scrub a kitchen floor and realized that I got what I wished for when I often told Bruce I wanted to be able to stay home and do laundry. I thought it weird that a person was walking her dog while talking on her cell phone. I also noticed I don't pick my knees up much when I run. For most of the run I just put one foot in front of the other and repeated till I got home. I was just out there with no expectations. My Ipod played good music, on shuffle it seems to favor Johnny Cash and Finnish songs. I made the decision that now, my main job was to stay healthy.

By the time we got home it was snowing hard. I got in the house gave Jack his milk bone and turned on the fireplace. My dad's ashes would really get stirred up if he realized that I just flipped a switch to get a fire.

This run wasn't my best effort but it was not my worse either. It ended up way better and more satisfying than I thought - maybe because I just let it happen and had no expectations. Sometimes you gotta run when you least want to. Just like sometimes you have to hug people when they least deserve it.

a life well lived

2011-03-25T15:07:00.000-06:00

Last night my friend Velda quietly "passed away" as her son told me when he called this morning. She was 97. We had planned to visit her on Wednesday, one week after her 97th birthday but she was hospitalized instead for pneumonia. I think she was tired and was ready. While I am saddened by her death part of me understands that it was her time and this is what happens. I remember when older friends of my mom died I often wondered why she didn't seem sad. She probably was on the inside but I think you come to a point where you are more accepting of death as inevitable and just another experience in life - because yes, death is a part of life, just as birth is.

Velda was one of my "church girls". Now there is only one left - Mary Alice who is 87. Thelma died several years ago - she and Velda became good friends after both of their husbands died in the early 90's. They both took water aerobic and made jokes about old ladies in swimsuits. When Thelma got colon cancer, Velda and I would visit her after church sometimes. I never once heard either of these ladies complain about any of their infirmities - the closest thing to complaining was Velda feeling bad cause she could no longer wear cute shoes!

The Church Girls. Mary Alice (L) Velda in the middle, Thelma

Velda didn't attend church the last few years because she didn't want to haul her oxygen tank with her and didn't want to drive, but she sure missed it. Mary Alice and I visited her - not as often as we would have liked, but enough I think. Our last visit was at Christmas time when we brought a cake and she made coffee. I loved to sit and listen to the two of them talk about what they remembered of their childhood and early married days. Velda's husband had died about 20 years ago but was an engineer and they traveled a lot. I wish I would have taped some of our conversations over the years. It was a treasure listening to her recollections. Velda had a lot of family around and even babysat a great grandchild well into her 90's. A few years ago she went to another great grand child's wedding back East. She was loved by her children, grand and great grand children and unlike many old people, wasn't alone in the world. And she loved football games.

When Velda could still get around, she, Thelma, Mary Alice and Enid and I would go out to lunch. They always seemed so amazed that I wanted to hang out with "old ladies", but I felt lucky to be in their company. They were so much fun and inside, still girls. They brought pictures of themselves when they were younger and talked about growing up. Usually Velda and I would have a beer - like me I remember that Velda liked dark beer.

Once we all got together for my friend Vic's (Enid's husband) 99th birthday in March. It was great because at a certain age you don't have many friends who are your contemporaries. Vic at 99 had a lot to talk about with Velda who was probably in her early 90's at the time. Everyone had a good time and Vic died the following September - we had planned to get together again on his 100th but nothing can be guaranteed - especially when you are 99.

Vic's 99th birthday. Velda is in the right corner, Vic is at the head of the table, Mary Alice on the left, Sid and Sid's wife Ruthie on the opposite end of the table from Vic. I should have taped this too - I may never go to anyone's 99th birthday again!

Velda was so independent. She never would let me walk her to her car when she came to church. She did however, hold my arm when we went up for communion. She didn't want to take her walker to church so depended on her cane, which made me nervous. She also used a hearing aid and sometimes it would make high pitched squeals in church and people would turn around trying to figure out what it was. She was a classy dresser - always looked so nice in her suits and scarves and her pretty wavy gray hair. She had a bout of skin cancer on her scalp and lost the hair for a while but that didn't faze her either - she just wore cute hats.

When we would visit Velda I usually brought her a beer and she would happily drink a glass with me. At Christmas I brought Baileys to put in our coffee and we all enjoyed that. She was always interested in my running and whenever I ran a marathon - the 17th mile was always hers - she said that was a really good year.

Velda was still going to church when my dad became ill. I was trying to get back to see him before he died. She told me "You just go back there and deal with whatever it is you have to. It's what you have to do.". She was right - you just have to deal with it. And I did, thinking of how many friends and family she had lost in her lifetime. She called me when my mom died too.

Velda called me when I broke my leg to see how I was and then several months ago, out of the blue, she called me and said "I love you and I think of you every day". What a nice thing for her to do. She was not afraid to say "I love you".

How lucky I am to have such great friends who provide good advice, and support me in ways they will never know. They are all like mothers to me but yet they are my friends too. They help me to see that getting older isn't a bad thing. I wish more people valued the elderly - they have so much to offer and a person really misses out if they don't get to know the older people in their lives. Besides, believe it or not, we will all be there someday if we are lucky. I know Velda never wanted to be a burden to anyone or go to a nursing home and she made that all happen by maintaining as much independence as she could, keeping a good attitude, and having a beer once in a while.

God bless you Velda - I imagine a happy reunion with your husband and also with Thelma - who will laugh so hard she will snort when she sees you. Say "hi" to my mom and dad for me and tell them I am okay. The 17th mile will always be yours!

We should all be so lucky to live at home till 97 and go out quietly without much trouble. Yes indeed, a life well lived is a good life.