eventually finally came

I knew I'd get the flowers planted eventually....






52 weeks of happiness

my little laundry friend

Shortly after we moved into our house, the light over the washing machine and dryer quit working. All the other lights in the basement continued to work, but that one did not.

So I called Dad. He came and took a look. He said it was something to do with shorts or switches or something electrical sounding like that, but that it was easy to fix. Which was good, because laundry is no fun anyway, but laundry in the dark is even less fun.

The next day, Hubby and I went off to work, and Dad came to fix the light. He sent me an email later in the day to say all was well and the light was working again.

When I got home from work, I headed to the basement to throw in a load of laundry, just for the novelty of doing so with the lights on. But when I went to grab the pull chain, something was different. What should I find hanging from the end of the chain but a lovely plastic crystal dolphin. I laughed out loud.

When I called Dad to thank him for his help, I made sure to make a mention of the extra special feature he'd added. He chuckled just slightly and said "Yeah, I picked that one out special, just for you." We have a similar sense of humor, Dad and I.

But now, every time I turn on the light to do laundry, I smile. Every single time.

you capture - pretty

I live in a tiny little town.

We have a few bars, a bank, a mini mart, a lot of train tracks, and a violin repair shop. I sometimes wish I lived somewhere else.

But then I'd miss the sunsets.

***********

see more at Beth's

sundays

I usually feel like the hamster on the wheel; just going all. the. time. Rushing from the moment I wake up in the morning until the moment I lay down at night.

The weekdays are consumed by work, or things related to work, or things required by work, and my silly little biological quirks.

The weekends are consumed by all the things that don't get done during the week, like laundry and grocery shopping and dusting and cleaning the bathroom and stupid, time sucking, un-fun things like that. And, of course, going to work for awhile to make sure everything is ready for the week ahead.

Just going. And busy. And life.

Sundays tend to involve me doing the out-of-town errands to get silly essentials that are usually cheaper at, say, Target than the grocery store. So off I go to buy things like toothpaste and tampons and glass cleaner and cat treats.

But I have a secret.

Before I go do the Necessary Things That Must Be Done On Sunday, I stop at Starbucks. I stop at Starbucks and I get a ventisoyunsweetenedgreentealatte (and sometimes an oatmeal cookie). And I sit in Starbucks. Just because.

I am rarely at Starbucks for more than 10 or 15 minutes, because there is lots that still needs to be done, and life beckons and all. But for those 10 or 15 minutes, I am doing something just for me. Just because I want to.

Don't tell anyone, okay.

you capture - busy

*******
see more at Beth's

(because they never happen to me)

Today at work, five people told me that my hair looked good. Five! And two of them stopped me in the hall to tell me. This never happens.

Of course, my hair is an entity unto itself, with a mind and a will of its own, and it does not care what I think or feel or want it to do. It does what it wants to do, which is to be big and poofy and frizzy and uncontrollable. So it's usually in a ponytail, because at least then it's out of my face.

But today, the hair gods smiled on me, and let my usual Rosanna Roseannadanna do take a day off.

And I am just girly enough to fully appreciate that today was a good hair day.




52 weeks of happiness

caught up with you yesterday

You're standing in the middle of 20,000 people, and Alto Reed hits that first note of Turn the Page, and the roar is deafening. Then all those voices become one voice, note for note, word for word, right along with Bob Seger... "On a long, lonesome highway, east of Omaha...." And,as you sing along, too, you cannot help the goose bumps that rise on your arms.

Then you look to your right, and you see the couple that must be just about Bob Seger's age (but fighting it every step of the way). And they are joined at the mouth, like those sucker fish that clean all the algae out of your fish tank. And you cannot help but throw up in your mouth a little bit.

And you look back to Bob as fast as you can.

*****

Love you, Bob.

you capture - motherhood

My mother is a wonderful person. Really, truly, wonderful.

But... We're kind of different from each other.

She wants to be the life of the party. I don't even want to go to the party.

She likes to share what she's doing with everyone. I just want to do what I do and go home.

She out there, in the mix, for everyone to see. I'm most likely someplace quiet where no one can find me.

And I sometimes get the feeling that she wishes I was.... different. More.... something.

I'm not different, though. I'm just me. Which is fine with her, I know. But still.

So here, Mom, this one's for you....





******

see more at Beth's.

big pictures

So, when I saw the time on the clock as I crossed the finish line, I wasn't happy. For all kinds of reasons.

But then, about five seconds later, I saw the big picture. Or maybe a few of them.

******

One month ago, I ran the longest 5k of my life. My time in that race was one fourth of my total time for Big Race.

Two weeks ago, my twelve mile training run was only five minutes less than my time for Big Race.

That's a whole other mile (point one). With only five minutes more on the clock.

When I look at the month as a whole, I see progress.

I can't be upset about that.

*******

The first ten miles weren't so bad. I ran. I kissed bricks. I saw people clogging to YMCA. (Seriously.)

The next two were, um... tough. So I just kept repeating "dig deep... dig deep..."

The last mile was the single most difficult mile I've ever run. I really and truly did not think I was going to make it. I really and truly thought I was going to have to walk. Or stop. Or cry. But I just kept saying "find your strong... find your strong..."

And I dug deep. And I found my strong.

When I look at Big Race as a whole, I see fight and determination.

I can't be upset about that.

**********

Hubby was waiting at the finish with a cooler full of ice.



I can't be anything but grateful for that.

*******

Today I am sore. More sore than I've been since my early marathon days.

My knees are swollen; just a tiny little bit, though.

Today I am smiling.

Because I am happy.

*******

Stride on.

this is the part where I get scared

I should be packing right now. I'm leaving in the morning, after all.

Big Race weekend is here.

I should really be packing.

But instead I'm sitting here scared.

I know I will make it through the mileage. But I'm scared about how I'll make it though.

I want, so so much, to be someone who runs purely for the joy of it. Because that is what running is to me. Joy. Pure and simple. There are very few people who really, truly get just how deep it is for me. (I mean you, BFF) I run because it brings me joy. Real, true joy.

But I'm also competitive, and a perfectionist. And when I run, I want to run. Fast. Faster than you (whoever you might be). But fast isn't part of my reality right now, and most likely won't be, ever again. And so I'm also scared of what others will say or think about the girl who used to be fast, and now.... isn't.

And I'm scared that regardless of just how hard I've worked and trained and prepared, my knees will act up and that will be that. And I'll wish I had a sandwich board, like boys who sold newspapers in the 20s and 30s, that says "I swear I used to be fast, but now my knees suck and I can't run like I used to even though I want to and you can call my doctor and he'll tell you that's the real truth!"

And every time I think I'm over that fear, that stupid, pointless, self-conscious fear, it just sneaks up and settles right down next to me, and doesn't seem like it plans to leave any time soon.

So, yeah. I'm sitting here sacred.

But I'm also remembering the moment in the movie Without Limits where Bill Bowerman is talking about the Olympic motto, Swifter, Higher, Stronger - "It doesn't say swifter, higher, stronger than the other guy. Just swifter, higher, stronger."

And reminding myself that it really, truly is about the joy.

****

Before I ran Boston, my godmother gave me a necklace (even though I really don't wear jewelry). She told me she wanted me to have something special to mark such an occasion, and when she saw this necklace, she knew it was the perfect thing.

I haven't worn it since Boston. But I think I'll take it out for the weekend ahead.





Stride on.

you capture - outside

The first wedding anniversary is the "paper anniversary." So Hubby got me a gift certificate for a local nursery, as we had been having many discussions about the bare-ness of our yard, and I had made a mention or two about wanting a big, shady tree to sit beneath.
The gift certificate came along with a great deal of information about various types of trees. Hubby had looked in to all kinds of factors and details and information trying to figure out what tree would be just the right tree for our yard.
He decided, in the end, that a Crimson King Maple would be the perfect choice. It grows quickly (by tree standards). It provides a significant amount of shade. It doesn't attract a lot of bugs. (Because bugs aren't cool. At all.)
So, when spring came (our anniversary is in November, after all...) we took the gift certificate to the nursery and told them to show us all of their Crimson King Maple trees. In among all the twisting, turning, trees there was one Crimson King standing up perfectly straight and tall. It was the most perfect looking tree we'd ever seen. So we said "that one" and the nursery people brought it to our house and planted it in our yard.

Five years later, it's still perfectly straight. Just a little taller now.

********

see more at Beth's

just kinda (or really)

It's somehow becoming really clear to me lately that I'm kinda different than most of the people I know.

I have a different routine.

I have different ideas.

I have different necessities.

Different things are important to me.

I do things differently than others I know.

I'm very solitary. Probably to a fault.

I like warm beverages and quiet places.

And I'm beginning to think that a lot of people around me just don't quite understand these things about me.

I'm not sure how to feel about that.

I guess I usually just think that they can think whatever they want, because they really don't know the whole deal anyway.

But sometimes I wonder if I'm really just that unimportant to the people around me that no one even cares to know the whole deal. (I mean, am I just supposed to unload my life on people, all uninvited, if they don't want to know?? I don't think it works that way.)

But then I just feel thankful for the few who do know, and understand, and accept, and support.

Or maybe it's just one of those days.