Author: gr4c5

I write. I read. I cook. I run. That's me, in a nutshell.

Where I Started

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I am sick, sick, sick of the mother question. I’m beginning to hate Mother’s Day just because it somehow gives people license to ask me that mother of all questions, “when are you having a baby?” What’s with the when and why are you asking me? Why on Mother’s Day? If it’s not in the form of a question it’s a statement, “well, when you have kids…” Like it’s a given that experience is definitely going to happen. To Me. I think the parenting question should be right up there with sex, politics and religion. Personally, if I don’t offer the information that should mean I don’t want to talk about it. In simpler terms it’s none of your business.
When faced with the When question I think of all the responses I could give. To say we’re not ready implies something shameful. Like we haven’t grown up enough to hurl ourselves into the act raising a child. Like we haven’t prepared enough and will fail the big parenting exam. We’ve been goofing off in the back row of life.
To say we can’t afford children indicates a poverty level beyond the bank account. We’re bankrupt in love for children and can only think (selfishly) of ourselves. We’re not willing to give up, to sacrifice, the luxuries of travel and concerts and good food for the sake of having a junior to call our own. At least that’s the perception if we say kids are expensive.
To say I’m afraid of the pain only results in smirks and looks of IfIDidItWhyCan’tYou? Can’t even go there with mothers who endured labor for endless hours without meds. It’s not enough to shrug and say, “I’m not you.” Shame on me.
To say we’re afraid of being bad parents implies we didn’t like our own upbringing; that somehow we’re afraid we’ll turn out just like “them” or worse yet, we’ve insulted our elders. The question that inevitably follows is, “what’s wrong with the way you were raised?” Don’t get me started.
There’s only one Shut-Them-Up answer out there. We can’t have kids. Period. I mean, how does one respond to a woman who point blank says “I’m infertile. Thanks for asking…”? The consequence of such a statement is the danger of coming across as damaged goods, a female with faulty wiring. A royal fukc up in another life. “Do not confront me with my failures…I have not forgotten them” ~ Jackson Brown.

Better not mention adoption unless you want your head bitten off.

Mark Your Calendars

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CloserI think I’ve said it before. I don’t set my vcr, time my Tivo, or race home to watch many shows as they air. In the past it was Northern Exposure and Home Front. I can still watch old episodes of NE. Quirky and classic, I loved every one. Home Front…well, it won a People’s Choice award but promptly went off the air. That should tell you something.

With the advent of only watching Tivo’ed programing I have to admit sports, news and weather are the only things I want to watch live-as-it-happens. As for all the rest, why sit through commercials when you can fast forward through most of them? I say most because I still love the car commercial about the tiny legs and big head and the sleep-aid commercial with the meth-making astronaut. We are becoming a segmented society – downloading one or two songs instead of buying the whole album, reading an article instead of subscribing to the whole journal, weeding out what’s on television by DVR…

Having said all that, TNT’s The Closer is the only drama…(read: the only program period) worth watching “live”…when it actually airs. Tivo is strictly for watching it again. And again. Late night with friends. So, mark your calendars. Season III starts June 18th. And for cleaning out Season II from your Tivo directory…the DVD goes on sale May 29th.

The Great Training Lie

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I used to tell people I trained all by myself for the LLS half marathon. All alone. While it was true that I never made it to a training session (45 minutes away), I never met my coach, and I never ran with a group of like-minded individuals to say that I trained alone is a huge lie. It’s my all-time greatest training lie. So, here for the first time I would like to publicly thank the people who pulled me through 13.1 miles exactly one year ago today.

  • My mother. Her story of losing her mom to cancer (at MY age) broke my heart and built resolve in its place. I would not have even considered the venture if it hadn’t been for her. One of my favorite “mom” stories is not only did my mother research hotels with gyms so that I could train on the road, but she diligently tried out every exercise machine in said gym to keep me company while I ran for 90 minutes. One of my favorite mother-daughter conversations came out of that training session.
  • My sister. Race day she brought her whole family to NH stand in the pouring rain while I tackled the thirteen. She has friends who run more important, full marathons yet she made me feel like my run was a big deal to her. Running was that much easier knowing she was waiting at the finish line.
  • My husband. He got donations from coworkers to help with my fund raising efforts. He stuck to my diet better than I did. He stuck to my training schedule better than I did. He became my Miyagi after I got hurt, taping my knee before every run, coming with me to PT appointments, riding along side me when I ran, all the while asking, “how does the knee feel? Talk to me.”
  • Dr. John. Even though my knee was blown, he kept saying “We’ll get you through this.” My weekly sometimes twice weekly visits with him made me feel better about how I was taking care of the patella “issue” (because as John says life is one big issue).
  • Sarah. Her endless enthusiasm for my endeavor was infectious. She remained supportive even after I showed signs of giving up. Her attitude kept me positive every literal step of the way.
  • Gregory. I asked a bunch of people for music advice. I needed driving beats that would carry me through the harder miles (okay, the hills). Greg was the only one to come through. It the end, it was his drumming I heard the loudest and loved the best.
  • Bessie & my dad. Their ghosts were the angels that sat on my shoulder, whispered to me in lucid dreams and fueled my waking imagination.
  • Ruth. Her pragmatic approach to my bellyaching was to say simply, “you can do this.” Nothing more, nothing less. Sometimes, that’s all I needed.
  • Honorable mentions: Nick, Rebecca, Carolyn, George & Joanie. All of them picked up running because of me in some weird way. Rebecca and Carolyn went on to run in some pretty important races and Nick (the guy who hated running) could probably kick my butt in a distance race these days. I am proud those still running. You guys rock! My knee has crippled my ability but not my spirit and I run through your endeavors.

So, while I SAY I trained alone, really I didn’t. I had an army of support. I am proud of what I accomplished one year ago today and I have every person mentioned here to thank. Couldn’t have done it without you.

Hike For Discovery

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Grand CanyonI swear the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society comes up with a different program every six months. This time it’s “Hike for Discovery.” They call it their “new fundraising adventure program.” It’s brilliant, really. Think about it. LLS is known for training people to run marathons, bike hundreds of miles, swim across tons of water. If all that feels a little intimidating here’s something for you – hiking! Sounds simple enough, right? Walking – putting one foot in front of the other. Here’s the event they are recruiting for and you tell me: The Grand Canyon. Yes, the G R A N D C A N Y O N! October 4-8. They cleverly don’t tell you how many miles you hike per day but let this be a potential lesson: you train beforehand. That should tell you something right there. You learn hiking techniques (besides putting one foot in front of the other), you receive a year membership in the American Hiking Society. There are clinics on first aid, hydration, and trail safety. They say nothing about snake bites specifically but that’s the first thing I thought of when I saw the words “Grand Canyon”…but, forget all that – I would have failed with the hydration part alone!

I would love to do this. It sounds hard. It sounds fun. Here’s what’s holding me back – the fund raising. I don’t think I could ask my friends and family for another two grand, despite the fact someone I love dearly is battling a blood related cancer right now. I’m too chick-chick-chicken to go through that again! So, if someone else signs up for this, let me know! I’ll donate something.

Missing You

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I can feel it. It’s starting again, that dull ache called homesick. Is there no cure? This isn’t my computer, but I know the feeling. I want to be there, too. Now. Memorial Day weekend is about remembering and usually I head home for a week to forget. Forget how to drive a car. Forget how to send an email. Send how to crunch reference statistics. Forget how to be corporate. Forget how to answer the phone. Forget petty squabbles and horn-honkers. It’s when I relearn how to run over roots and rocks. Retrain my eye to soak up sunsets and search for seaglass. Remember how to breathe in salt ladden air and sweet pine. Concentrate on cracking the lobster claw, clinking the wine glass.
Not this time. Not this trip. I am missing you just a little longer this year. Homesick for another month.

When You Win

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I spent three hours sitting in a round table discussion today only we were in a giant rectangle. I was the only academic in a sea of publics and yes, it felt weird. Three hours of WhatAmIDoingHere? and IsThisAWasteOfTime? I couldn’t decide. It was like sleeping with the enemy, or more politely, seeing how the other half lives. But, all the while I felt unproductive as excuse my language.

Maybe it was the three hours wasted. Maybe it was the extra 25 minute drive to work. Maybe sunlight just reached a darkened part of my brain. I don’t know. Whatever the reason, the light came on when I got to work and I came up with a solution to a dilemma from a few weeks ago. I don’t know made me think collaboration but suddenly, there it was in front of my face – the answer to the delivery problem. I had felt like a loser all day until suddenly I won.

NARAL

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NARAL Pro-Choice America came to me in a huge envelope with “priority documents” written all over it. Looking as official as can be they spelled my name wrong. Upon opening the oversized documents the first thing I read was, “No need for women to worry about making personal, private decisions about their bodies. Do YOU want men like these deciding for all women?” and below was a picture of George W. Bush and his cronies. Supposedly, he is caught in the act of signing into the law the first-ever Federal Abortion Ban. He has a smirk on his face.
On the back of the envelope is a fake handwritten note asking me to please help protect reproductive freedom by signing the enclosed petition. I hate that fake, crayon-scrawled, made-to-look-like-my-friend, personal propaganda. They further irritated me by circling my donation bracket, as if I couldn’t decide the dollar amount for myself and could possibly make the wrong choice. Any money I chose to donate should be good enough, but no – they have to tell me what they want me to give. That set the tone for me to ignore the three pre-written petitions to Kennedy, Kerry & Neal on behalf on NARAL. I couldn’t even bear to read the four page “letter” from Nancy Keenan on the matter. NARAL tried to appeal to my sense of womanhood yet they failed to appeal to my sense of intellect. I couldn’t even figure out from the literature I received what NARAL stands for. Going to the website wasn’t that much clearer.

For more information visit NARAL here.

Buddhist Peace Fellowship

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BPFThis is what I get for subscribing to magazines such as Yoga Journal and Tricycle. I start getting literature proclaiming, “wisdom and compassion for social change.” Such is the case with the Buddhist Peace Fellowship. Sent on a baby blue trifold pamphlet, BPF outlined their vision (people from all backgrounds realizing their connection to each other and to the Earth – I’ve paraphrased it). Also included in the literature was information on BASE: Buddhist Alliance for Social Engagement, the Transformative Justice Program, the Young Adult Program, the Prison Program, and Turning Wheel (a spiritual publication). There’s information on how to get involved, how to send money, how to be in contact. The letter startsoff, “Dear Friend…” from Maia Duerr, Executive Director. How she knows I’m a friend I’ll never know, but I’m looking into it.

 For more information on the Buddhist Peace Fellowship, go here.

Together

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I’ve been thinking about relationships as of late. I think it’s because in knitting class we talked about what it means to be married and widowed at the same time. Married for life even through one half’s death. My swan of a mother is still that way, married for life despite walking through it alone.
When kisa and I took a walk today we discussed what exactly was a liveable life. We were talking about careers and work that could take us away from each other for long periods of time. I was firm in my belief that I didn’t get married to be alone. Kisa is my glass half full, my sunshine on a cloudy day, my resuscitator when I want to flat-line, my better half. I couldn’t untangle my heart from his if I tried.
A friend of mine got engaged over the weekend. I’m excited for her. (Can’t wait to see the ring!!!) After hanging up the phone Kisa and I had fun remembering our first years together – the interesting “date” at the bar, moving in together (what is this stuff???), getting engaged (one of my all time embarrassing moments), getting married…all of it including the mistakes we made, all the fun we had finding our way together. Despite all that I still think now is the happiest time of our lives.
I wish my friend well. This is only the beginning. As they say, the best is yet to come.

Capturing the Machine (For Brian)

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(photo by Monica)
Sometimes I think of circumstance as a devilish way of linking what will be. Que sera sera. Almost a year ago I lamented that I needed a road trip. I blogged & begged friends far and wide appealing to their sense of adventure, “…come join me. I want a trip to NY…” No one came. Living was too much of a commitment on the calendar on life. Yet, kisa found a willing adventurer and the adventure began.
Who knew that by introducing a coworker we would be one day making a professional video for Greg?
Rewind to July 2006. On the trip home Rob asked “now…how do you know Greg?” Was he curious because I was having a furious conversation, arms waving widely, tears barely contained? I don’t remember all that I said to Rob, nor all that I didn’t say. I know I finished with “he deserves all the best…” or something like that. Then my Knight took over with an idea. Let’s make a video. We could use the studio late night. Yeah! We could use a couple of cameras, crazy lighting and cool sound. Yes! It would be simple. Back and forth they discussed. I could only sit back and listen in amazement. I only gave birth to an emotion and watched in awe as it went on to greatness. My one and only contribution was giving it life. Such was the conversation between kisa and Rob. They incubated the plan for nearly nine long months, though. Sat on it through downsizing and corporate confusing, just waiting for the perfect moment. They had to keep me at arm’s length when I started to be too impatient. “It’ll happen. It’ll happen” became my mantra. 
April. The plan hatched into reality. I was allowed to invite one friend. Greg and Monica showed up around 9:45pm bringing Mike with them. After the kit was set up we hit an anticipated road block – the news had to be shot live. This is when we went out for coffee and I being the crazy driver I am nearly had everyone wearing their lattes. Still feeling red in the face about that one!
Once the news was finished (11:45pm) we could continue setting up. In rolled five cameras complete with operators for two of them. The other three were stationed strategically, the coolest being an overhead shot (from my last blog). To top it off we had two unexpected hands to help with setup and audio (thanks, Bob & Al!). It was an impressive night. Rob, the original plan-hatcher stayed in the director’s booth, giving direction to the cameramen (kisa & Pez on headsets) while the groupies sat ringside. Can I say I was in heaven? Selfish, selfish heaven. All I could think was “I’m getting a private Greg show! I’m the luckiest drum fanatic in the world!” I was surrounded by great friends and amazing drumming. I couldn’t have been happier. We ended the night sometime after 1:45am. I have a pic of Pez wheeling away a camera and the clock above the studio reads 1:51.54
Late this week we were able to send Greg a copy of the raw footage. My heart races watching it. I can’t wait for the finished product. When Greg decides what parts he likes Rob will edit it down. Then Greg will have a visual resume. But, we’re not done with Mr. Nash yet. Not yet. Everyone involved talked about a “next time” admitting they had not had this much fun in years. They’re talking different lighting, different camera angles, different techniques as if this time was just a practice run for the next time.

But, my mind is blown. No one needs to tell me I take things for granted. My didactic moment is this – I took this night for granted. I didn’t consider what this night might mean to anyone other than myself. Can’t wait to do it again.
Never underestimate the power of doing something for someone else. It might mean more than you’ll ever know.

Happy Birthday

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I have been thinking of you all day. You are 70 today, or you would have been if 9/21/92 didn’t mark another kind of day. Happy Birth Day. But sadday, too. Can I tell you I miss our breakfast table morning talks? There isn’t a day that goes by when I don’t think of something to tell you, something to ask you. Am I living this life right? Where’s the Chilton manual for that? While I question this life, I speak of you often – telling stories of navigation lessons gone awry and near disaster driving lessons. Remember when I almost put the land rover in the ditch? You live on in my fondest, most cherished memories. Just today I told the Clean Your Room Story. My audience laughed and said you were right to throw the bed through the ceiling. As usual, you were proving a point. I was a rebellious, bratty child.
You ran with me today. You were in my head as I tackled five miles. I think that’s the thing that would shock you the most, dad. I’m a runner. Me. The child with her nose in a book, inside on a beautiful sunny summer day. I still can hear you telling me to get my butt outside. I can still remember how “put out” I felt by your insistence of “get some fresh air.” You probably knew that while I begrudgingly obeyed…I brought my book with me. Anything athletic was out of the question for this book worm – slug. But, now I run.
Dad, I need your help with so many things lately. I’m in denial about a friend’s cancer. I’ve just spent three days with like-minded professionals and somehow I can’t put myself in their league. I feel like I’m in the kiddie pool when I know I can swim. I really can’t but that’s neither here nor there. I worry about so many different things to the point of heat blisters and bald spots. I get lost staring at kisa playing Guitar Hero II. It’s distracting. You would not believe this world we live in. Kids have wheels in their shoes. You would want to trip them. There’s a guy on the Internet, his name is Justin and his whole life is on the web…Dad, his whole life. Then there’s Twitter and something called Second Life. So many things I wouldn’t even know how to begin to explain to you.

But, forget all that. If you were here we’d make meatloaf and have angel food cake for dessert. Happy birthday.

I Spy Too Shy

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I wanted to take pictures straight up, head on, face forward, but lost my nerve. When I finally faced face I focused off center. I’m still shy because I still feel groupie. Period. So, I took pictures like a lesson in prepositions – around, behind, along, beside. Never really in front though. Next time will be better. When I breathe.
This is one of my favorite pictures from the night. It’s how I felt the entire time – there but not completely believing it. There but in a surreal state of pleasant surprise. Lurking on the fringe. Who knew it would be that cool? Who knew it would be that elaborate? Five cameras, five professionals. Audio. Director. Cameramen. Groupies. But, that’s not why it’s been almost a week and I’m still talking about it. It was a night filled with a room full of friends.

When I deleted MyThatSpace I went through all the motions of saying yes, I really want this account gone. Yes, I really, really do. Then I realized I left a letter behind. Luckily, they gave me 48 hours to clean out my locker. If I could have gathered all the special notes, the Frankie pics, the sweet things people have said, I would have. Instead, like a crazy lady I ran back into the burning building just to save one thing. Words of sincere friendship. Not the BS you read in lyrics, or the kind of empty gratitude you get in an email because you’ve written a check. Not the double-standard, two-faced, fake-smiling you get because you are constantly trying to bring someone else up. No love for who you are, simply because of you.

I was taught a lesson in kindness last week. It has taken me six days to think it through. Just because you think something isn’t a big deal, no skin off your nose, that doesn’t mean it isn’t to someone else. Does that make sense? Acts of kindness you shrug off could make all the different to someone else.

Needing This

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Such a long day. MLA & running in the same day. Yahoo tells me I have 167 new emails. I don’t have the heart to even look. I have to wonder what Gmail says. Can’t bear to look there either. Not today.

The day started out innocently enough. Fill the tank with gas, fill the wallet with toll money. Directions in hand. Good to go. MLA was a mix of What Am I Doing Here and Here I Am. The Massachusetts Library Association annual conference is geared more towards public libraries and at times I felt sorely out of place, but…But, with things headed the way they are, I’ve needed to tell myself I’m one of them. This conference is called “Branching Out” after all! The coolest part? I got to see The Nancy Pearl! In the flesh! Rock Star Nancy! She’s exactly like I thought she would be. Did I introduce myself? No. Did I even talk to her? No. Too star struck. I won’t be tomorrow, though – Tomorrow I’m bringing both Book Lusts for the geek of all geeks request for autographs. Today, today I didn’t even have a pen. I sat in each presentation knitting. Yes, knitting. More accurately, knit, pearl, knit, pearl, knitting. I drew attention and eventually enjoyed showing off my blossoming scarf (pics coming soon). It’s coming out better than I expected. I really, really like it.
Note to self: Greatest Salesman and Jill Stover.
The best quote of the day: “I enjoy the scenery more when I know where I’m going. Or, the scenery looks better when I don’t know I’m lost.”

Driving is the best way to get psyched for a run. After being cramped in the car I really long to stretch the legs and move them out from under me. Despite a killer headache and a detour to work I surprised myself by still wanting to hit the streets when I got home. I further shocked myself with where I went. For those of you who know the route: Look Park, Get Head Jesus, Jackson Street, Child Park, Killer Hill (by the Porch People), Home. Fun run. I just wish I had someone to run it with me.

It would have been a four mile run, but I inadvertently flirted with a truck driver (thanks to the nonexistent SPB), but that’s a letter for another day. Thanks to uncontrollable giggling and an urge to race away from my embarrassment it turned out to be a 5.2 miler. I felt like I could run forever. I really like running right before the sun sets. I love how my long shadow leads the way. I love how the colors of dusk give off a glow. I want to carry a camera. I want to bottle the smells – someone doing laundry, someone turning soil for a garden, someone mowing a lawn, something on the stove or in the oven – either way, something for dinner. I passed the heady smell of spring, some unidentified bloom that smelled amazing. I almost stopped in my tracks. I have no idea what it was.

Now I need a hot tub. I need a glass of wine. When the red is off my face I’ll remember the man in the truck. For now I need to keep that to myself.

1916 (with spoilers)

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1916Llywelyn, Morgan. 1916: A Novel of the Irish Rebellion. New York:Tom Doherty Assoc., Inc., 1998.

It should tell you something that I read this book in less than two weeks. What it should tell you I’m not exactly sure. I did enjoy myself, though. I think, for starters, it’s about a country I long to visit, a country I have heard much about. I also think this was a clever tale. The truth wrapped in fiction or is it fiction wrapped in the truth?

Right off the bat the story is intriguing. Our hero, Edward “Ned” Halloran survives the sinking of the Titanic. His survival is “lucky” because as a citizen of Clare County, Ireland he should have been in steerage with the other third-class Irish. The only reason why he and his family were in second class is because their passage was arranged by Ned’s sister’s fiancee, a White Star employee. The family was going to her wedding in New York City. After the tragedy, once back in Ireland, a series of events allows Ned to get involved with a group of men calling themselves the Irish Republic. It’s history from here on out. The struggle for Irish independence is painful and poetic.

I liked the characters well enough. Ned seemed to be a bit too good to be true, though. Easily liked, good looking, ambitious, intelligent, poetic, noble, a true gentleman, yadayadayada. I got sick of his self-righteousness off and on throughout the entire story. What was a pleasurable constant, however, was Llywelyn’s writing. Here’s a sampling of my favorite phrases:
“Life had scraped him to the bone.” (p 138)
“It’s the only place my skin fits me.” (p 201) My husband will tell you that sounds like Monhegan….
“An Irish solution for an Irish problem: pretend it does not exist.” (p 268)

Llywelyn also fits in other stories, but not as completely as I would have liked. The reader gets a glimpse into Ned’s sister, Kathleen’s life as a married woman living in America. You get sucked into enough to care about her when her husband gets abusive or when she begins an illicit affair with a priest. Sadly, Kathleen’s chapter is never closed. You get an indication that her true love will return to her but you don’t know if the reunion is successful. Alexander Campbell had a strong hold on his wife…

BookLust Twist: From More Book Lust and the chapter called, “Digging up the past through literature.” (p 79)

O Bailey

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A friend sent me a letter. This one was to me ( and not about me) and there was no mistaking the message. Angry. I read and reread her words but didn’t respond right away. I couldn’t because her anger had a domino effect and suddenly I was just as spit-nails-mad. I didn’t want to lash out at her, the bearer of bad news. Don’t kill the messenger. Not her fault. Not her fault at all.

Thank you for bringing this to my attention. No, thank you for making it clear to me what I had been missing/avoiding all along. I made excuses for the lies. I spun in frantic circles on my own stage of denial. I didn’t think it could be true even when the evidence was mounting. How many times did I have to be lied to before I finally caught on that I was not worthy of the truth? I have a friend who walked away cold and I confessed I admired her for her cutthroat deleting. Do you really want to delete this “friend”? Yes. How hard is that? Unsubscribe. Delete. Done. Damn.

I can understand the lashing out. The hurt has nowhere to go but directly to the Last In Line. But, why include you or the other her? Just because you are who you are to him? It’s so stupid and I’m So Sorry. But, I’m not sorry you told me. Not sorry I stopped spinning. Not sorry I opened my eyes. Delete. Done. Damn.