run on sentences

Christmas was good as it always is, except for no snow which I have grown accustomed to associating with Christmas for so many years.  All kids were here - Scarlett and Des too. We missed Carol Ann but we had a stocking for her.   We had a great Christmas Eve party and the biggest attendance, probably related to the sending of the first ever invite - type set and letter pressed -  and maybe the good weather.  We had lots of food and lots to drink...so much so that at one point when I was feeling a little more "through the door" than I wanted, I did dishes to prove that I wasn't drunk because drunks cannot do dishes.  Having successfully navigating all the dirty glasses, I was convinced I was pretty sober and very clever indeed.    A few cups of coffee later and I was really okay.  I like our Christmas Eve party because it is a good way to share what we have with friends and family and to be what we are.  There are no expectations other than to come and be happy and eat

As I write this, I am about to retire in a few weeks from my job. I don't like that word "retire".  It sounds like changing tires on a car  -  re tire.  It implies getting new tires because the old ones are not good....therefore I like the word - retread.  I am going to just get the tread replaced on the existing tires - not replace them.  The old ones are still good but just need to be....reinvented?  If I had a dime for everyone who said "Maybe you can reinvent yourself" I would be rich.  I  don't plan on reinventing myself (dressing differently all of a sudden, new hairstyle, and color, boob job, or in some other way, changing who I am).  I just plan of following my bliss and doing what I want for a while - more running, more appreciating, organizing, paying attention, spending time with family and friends and less worrying about the things at work I worried about for 35 plus years.  I will try not to worry about how we will live on less than 1/2 of the

The year was somewhere in the 1960s.  I was about 14 and my sister Barbara was 18.  My little brother was 11.   Barb was a senior in high school and had a job.  I also had a job at a restaurant making a whopping .75 per hour.  It was Christmas time and my sister and I had conspired to help my parents and have a nice Christmas for my brother.  My dad had been in a bad accident so money was scarce that year.  Barb and I had saved our money and were planning to surprise our parents by going to a really big grocery store and buying lots of food.  Between us, we had about $60.  In my small town, there wasn’t a grocery store that we could really go crazy in.  If we had spent $60.00 in Erickson’s groceries, it would have depleted the store.  So on Christmas Eve, we drove to the biggest store we knew of in Hurley, WI about an hour away – the Super Value.  We went into the store feeling like we were rich.  Actually $60.00 was a lot of money 40 some years ago.  We went up and down the aisles th

We got Jack in June of 2000 when he was about 7 months old.  Our previous dog, Bailey had died in April of that year and I couldn't stand to be without a dog for any longer.  Kseniya and I went to the Humane Society where we were faced with what seemed to be an endless number of dogs all saying "Take ME home!".  Jack  (His name was Sunny then) was in a kennel with a big doberman and we took him outside to see what he was like.  When we brought him back in and Kseniya put him back in the cage, he stood in front of the door and would not let her out.  I said, "I guess he is coming home with us." Jack jumped in the car and sat in the backseat very nicely - he didn't jump around or act nervous...it was as if he knew he was in the right place and his life suddenly had changed for the better.  When we got to our house, he ran into the living room and looked at Bruce as if to say "Here I am - I'm your new dog.  What do you think? " Then he ran aroun

There are some things that come and kick you in your once perfect, but still shapely ass - like the cold I have right now that is causing me to want to drink hot toddies but we have no whiskey, so red wine it is.  There are things that keep you awake at night - so much so that you get up and lay in front of the fireplace wishing for some codeine cough medicine or at least some sleep.  These things make you think deep thoughts - here were a few of mine: 1.  I will never ever be sorry for keeping anyone's self esteem intact despite what it cost me. 2.  People without introspection will not go far in the world.  It is necessary to be able to see our faults and even look for them so we can fix them.  3.  Imitation may be the most sincere form of flattery but too much trying to be someone else will cost you who you really are. 4.  I won't be sorry for not tooting my own horn.  I don't need that for my self esteem, tattered and trampled on as it may be. 5.  Being sick mak

The older you get the more you end up letting go of things that you  loved - people you once loved  and even the parts of you that maybe you loved when you weren't being critical of yourself.  You begin to notice things that weren't there before - such as wrinkles where your ear attaches to your head, and around your eyes.  Things start to sag that didn't used to and sometimes your hair gets gray.  You feel like the Velveteen Rabbit - well loved but kind of worn out. I loved that book "The Velveteen Rabbit".  Especially this part: What is REAl" asked the rabbit one day, when they were lying side by side near the nursery fender, before Nana came to tidy the room.  "does it mean having things that buzz inside you and a stick-out handle?"  "Real isn't how you are made, " said the Skin Horse.  "It's a thing that happens to you .  When a child loves you for a long, long time not just to play with but REALLY loves you, then you

Thanksgiving day was a good one, as most have been, for which I am grateful.  For some reason, though, I have never documented any of them for posterity.  I have two old diaries from 1968 and 1969.  I have running calendars logging daily events and runs since about 1996.   The only thing I mentioned in the diary from 1968 was that "we went to Ada's for dinner".  I have no memories of that one, but Ada was my mom and sister's friend when I was growing up.  She and her husband John, lived on a farm out in the country and had three boys and one daughter.  For a while, I babysat for them.  For some reason, as it happens sometimes, we lost contact with them.  I haven't seen Ada in years.  I wish I remembered her dinner. Most of my growing up memories of Thanksgiving are the ones I spent at Grandma Maxfield's house.  I don't remember ever going to grandma Ojanen's house.  I must have pictures to document our dinners with Grandma and Grandpa Maxfield somewh

Since I have had this blog, my goal has always been to write more posts each year than the year before.  If I am to do that, I need to do at least 15 more.  But I have a problem.  I can't just write stuff to write stuff.  I want it to have a point or a message or both.  Maybe my expectations of myself are way too high. To quote the late Harry Niilsen "A point in every direction is the same as no point at all...dig?"  So what is the point.  I write something, then let it simmer for a bit, and then rewrite, post or kill it.  Maybe I am too picky but I don't want to write about how bad my life is...it really isn't - I have a lot to be grateful for.  I won't write about work.  I like to write about running but sometimes I find myself repeating things - or at least I think I am repeating things...maybe that is okay though.  It's not like this blog has 1000 followers or is clever or has a theme to it.  Mostly it is about stuff that no one probably cares about bu

Well I got my hair cut short today.  I usually avoid short hair because in my mind, it makes me look stubby and square.  But it was time for something different - reinventing myself maybe?  I don't know but something possessed me to say to Joni "what would you do if I told you to do anything you wanted".  She laughed an excited laugh and told me - and I said "go for it".  She was so excited.  As for me, I am not yet so sure. I think I like it.  It makes me look perky...it is not the "helmet hair" or the pageboy of many women my age. I had enough of a perm left that it doesn't look flat and stuck to my head.  But I will miss my "pony hair" as Kseniya used to call pony tails. My imaginary friend Jennifer, when she saw it, flicked back her long blond, natural curly hair against her creamy shoulders and said "my husband likes me with long hair.  He thinks it is more feminine.  He thinks short hair is butch".  She flicked her per

Well another birthday rolls around.  I don't mind, like some people do.  Everyone eventually gets to the same place.  The only thing I mind about getting older is that I am sending out more sympathy cards than any other kind of cards.  I don't have my parents to call and wish me a happy birthday anymore - my mom and dad who are responsible for me being here and some of my good and bad habits.  I got my blue eyes from my dad and I see  him there some mornings when I look in the mirror.  I have good legs like my mama  had at one time and luckily enough I have a mixture of my dad's white blond Finnish hair and my mom's red - and I am so proud that it is not yet gray and I have never colored it.  As for the less than desirable things...I don't put stuff away always and I have their high blood pressure.  My dad gave me a love for old people and animals and my mom made me appreciate the little things - she always said "people come to see you and not your house"

Today as I was walking to my all day downtown meeting, after parking my car in the winding parking garage and getting disoriented when I came out on the street,  after going down four flights of stairs that  smelled of a recent fart, I noticed a young lad in sweatpants running towards me on the sidewalk.  He glanced my way and I said, "Good for you, I've already done that this morning too". Still running he  looked back, smiled the knowing smile of us smug runners, and said "How far djew go?" "About Five miles" I said.  Shortly after those words exited my mouth I realized I had lied.  My friend Becky was late so we had to cut it short to 3 and one half.  Oh well.  "I did 6" he said.  "We both did good already today". He ran off and I walked out of the nice morning and into my meeting. Somehow I felt better about the day and all day as I sat in my meeting I thought about it.  No matter what else happens in a day, the memory o

A few weeks ago when I visited Kseniya, we decided one day was  "Take your mom to work day.   I went with her to her shop - she is a letterpress printer - has her own successful business Thomas Printers .  She makes beautiful invitations for weddings, business cards and any other very unique printed stuff that people want - and can afford.  She learned this all in Germany while working at the Gutenberg museum.  She even founded her own organization - Ladies of Letterpress Kseniya at her shop, mixing colors I really didn't appreciate what goes into making something via letterpress until  she helped me create some invitations to our annual Christmas Eve open house.  We have never sent invitations to this event before - it was always just by word of mouth.  Even though we have had the open house for 17 years! In the course of an afternoon (with only a break to go to Starbucks for coffee and some sweet stuff that we called lunch) we made about 50 invites - with the imprint

I probably go to church 2 or 3 times each month.  I used to go more but some mornings I just want to read the paper and drink coffee.  When Dan was home, he went with me and it was easier when someone else was going.  But that's not an excuse. Well, yes, it is my excuse, maybe not a good one but like Don Williams "I don't believe that heaven waits for only those who congregate" and Garrison Keillor's "You can no more become a Christian by going to church than you can become an automobile by sleeping in your garage." The original Church Girls:  Mary Alice, Velda, and Thelma - about 5 years ago When I do go to church, it is mostly because of my church girls - the older ladies there who inspire me and have made me realize that inside all older women, there's still a young girl - not necessarily trying to get out, but trying to be heard. I have learned that as I get older, I get a sense of being invisible.  Maybe I am paranoid but already I feel the

My sister Barb and my mama Siggie have always had special dogs - and cats too for that matter.  Poo was definitely one of the best (of many "bests") and lovable (as they all are in their own way) dogs.  She was a Pomeranian who they rescued after she had been starved on a farm - tied up and only able to go around in circles.  She was found with some starving horses - some of them dead - with her sibling.  They had maybe even had to eat some of the dead horses to stay alive.  My sister and Siggie, after they heard about this, and being the kind people that they are, took both of the poms - but later one of their friends took one of them. Poo's original name was Chance.  She was pretty timid at first which is why Siggie wanted to keep her as opposed to her sister Trixie - Siggie could relate because she was a shy kid and rumor has it that she had to repeat kindergarten cause she wouldn't talk!  She got over her shyness pretty much I think.   I am not sure where the na

These three dogs lived about a mile from my house. Wishbone, on the left, is the Rottweiler , Zazou is the springer spaniel and I never did know the little guy's name. Ron, my running buddy is trying to get them to sit so he can give them a treat. The little dog wasn't often around because he could slip through the fence and often did, wandering the neighborhood. I was always grateful when I didn't see him squashed in the road. He didn't seem to be afraid of anything - I guess living with these two big guys, taught him a thing or two about not being afraid. Wishbone and Zazou weren't very friendly at first. I guess according to their human, they had been tied up a lot at first. We talked to the lady who owned them a few times when we stopped to greet the dogs. I don't think she was very happy from what she told us - sometimes too much for not knowing us at all. It took us a while to get these dogs not to not snarl at us. After they learned we had treat

All the dogs that I am writing about are not dead. I really don't want my dog blogs to turn into obituaries. In all probability, Kelty, the dog in this picture, has gone over that rainbow bridge, but I don't know for sure so this one doesn't have to end with me in tears, talking to his human - who I only saw once in all the years I visited Kelty. Kelty was a Chow or else part husky. He was a big boy (a couch of a dog, as my daughter would have called him) and when my friend Ron and I knew him, he was already 14 years old. He lived along our morning 6 mile route, in a nice big house, with a friendly gold kitty (you can see her in the background) who I never got to know mainly because she didn't have a tag around her neck (which is how we got to know the dog names) but also because cats don't want to be known like dogs do. Cats don't really seem to need the social interaction of random runners passing by. And they have no use for milkbones. As was our hab

On Saturday when I was slogging through the first 6 miles of a long run, I saw Squirt's mom out in the yard. I wasn't sure if her name was Linda or Lori, but I knew her dog's name and I knew that I hadn't seen Squirt for a while. A little golden retriever puppy was running around in the yard and I didn't see Squirt, my friend of at least ten years and maybe more. I stopped in front of her fence. I had chatted with her before so she at least knew who I was. "Did Squirt die, Linda?" I asked, already knowing the inevitable but surprisingly painful answer. "Yes" she said. "But my name is Lori". I burst into tears. I didn't expect this reaction from myself even though I often cry over commercials on TV. I felt stupid and she got teary too. I think it may have made her happy to know her dog had such an impact on people she didn't even know very well. Squirt was one of many dogs I got to know on my running route over the past almost

We became grandparents to this sweet little boy named Desmond 5 weeks ago. In this picture he looks like he is memorizing his grandpa's face - because this grandpa will be an important part of his life. As a new grandma, everyone asks me "what is it like?"I can gush and mush and kiss him, put pictures on Facebook and talk about him all I want because it is expected. I can tell everyone how cute he is and the things I want to do with him - run a 5k, or maybe a 10k, take him to the cookie store on Fridays, and make him watch "It's a Wonderful Life" and "The Christmas Story" with me every Christmas Eve. I won't however, ever make him watch "Bambi" or "Old Yeller ". I will overlook any faults he might have - although I am sure he will be perfect. Grandpas however, go about being grandpas a lot more quietly. It doesn't mean that they love their grandchildren any less, they just leave the gushing to the grandma. Despit

During my usual run through the neighborhood in the early morning, when I approach other runners, I usually say "hi" just to acknowledge the bond we share or at least that I feel, with these fellow humans, toiling away like me. I irrationally, I suppose get offended when they don't answer. When this happens, I usually say, sometimes loud enough for them to hear "....or not!". Like me, these anonymous and non communicating runners probably have their I pods on and didn't hear me - "Turned on and tuned out" was what we called it in the 60's - but then it meant turned on by some mind altering substance. Now it is "Tuned in and tuned out" I guess. Why should I get offended by this lack of a greeting? I don't even know these people and they don't know me. Maybe I yearn for the simple "hi" which sometimes is enough to give me encouragement to make it the rest of the way. Or maybe my sometimes iffy self esteem needs the &qu

Today my friend Becky and I ran at our usual 5:40 AM time. It was destined to be an F - bomb run where we threw the word around like it was something we always said (we don't). I hadn't felt the best because I have my first urinary tract infection since I was pregnant (a common event during pregnancy). I knew I would not run on my own but called her the night before and she wanted to go...that's what friends are for....to keep each other running. I woke up and didn't feel that sense of urgency to pee like I did the day before so off we went, Jack, Becky and I. It is darker in the morning than it used to be so I even put on my reflective vest. The cool thing about an F bomb rant run is that since one or the other is bitching about something, we don't have time to notice if we feel crappy or have to pee, or whatever. Oh we know we both have it good - good job, good spouses, good kids, but sometimes a person just has to bitch about stuff - work, spouses, kids -

I am sitting in the waiting room at the University Hospital. My son Billy and his fiance Scarlett are off in some other room down the hall and behind two sets of double doors, working to give birth to our first grandchild - sex unknown which is cool. I always thought knowing what you were going to have was like opening presents before Christmas. Bruce left to feed the dogs but he will be back. This room is stinky with the smell of tired waiting men but now no one is in here but me and the popcorn scraps and newspapers from three days ago. I am tempted to eat some M. and M. Peanuts sitting on the couch in an open wrinkled pack, abandoned by someone who left them to go see a new baby I suppose. I can't leave even though there's nothing I can do here but wait. And think about stuff. I am hungry a little but I must not leave this chair and the 5:00 news to keep me company while I wait. Weird having your kid having a kid. Then you have to really admit that he has had sex - probably

Last week I decided at the last minute to complete a 3/4 complete shawl for my future daughter in law, Scarlett, who will make me a grandma (with my son Billy's help) in a few weeks. I belong to a group that knits prayer shawls for people that need comforting and have thus far, only contributed one to church people for whom they are intended. One completed shawl went to my sweet father in law and one, knitted from my mom's old yarns, went to her. When she died, it went to my sister. (This is the last picture I have of me, my mom, and my daughter). I had decided to make one with my mom's old yarn and give it away to some deserving and needing person, who was not related to me. But then we bought Scarlett and Bill a rocking chair and as I ran last Saturday, I thought how nice that multicolored shawl, made of yarn from a now not existing Ben Franklin store ($1.69 per skein, back in the day) would look on the back of that Rocking Chair. So I came home from a great 8 mi

"When a person thinks of a 56 year old woman, they usually don't think of someone who looks as good as you", my sweet spouse since I was way less than these years said to me one day. I thought it was a pretty nice thing to say except it did remind me that I am, indeed, a 56 year old woman (and almost 57). When I was in my 20's, I could not imagine being 50 anything. That was old. I did not appreciate my smooth unsaggy skin or my flat (well sort of) stomach. Of course, like most woman, I wanted to lose 5 more pounds....just 5 more and I would feel perfect. My mom was in her 50's when her first grandchild, my sweet daughter was born. I thought she was old and certainly grandma material. Now I am there - and about to be a grandma but inside I feel young. The wrapping paper has just gotten a little, well, crinkly. Can any of us ever appreciate how good we look wearing this very moment? I think not. Why is it that women, myself included, always find fault with ever

There are people who make a difference to others without knowing it. Many of them are not rich, famous, or involved in work that others might consider meaningful. It isn't the work they do, but how they go about doing their job. We have had a housekeeper at work who is Chinese. Her last day was Friday and I will miss her. She had to do a lot of menial tasks and probably made minimum wages. But she always had a big bright eyed smile on her face and every time I walked by her, no matter how busy I was, I made a point to say "hi" to her because she made me feel better about life. Her smile made me smile back and slow down a little. I just could not ever walk by her without at least smiling and saying "hi". Sometimes I would stop and chat with her. She always had something nice to say to me "I like your sweater, it is so bright" she would say. Her English wasn't perfect but it was sure way better than my Chinese. I noticed she talked to