This weekend was a chance to help. Myself. Saturday was all about carving a pumpkin to make me happy. Sunday was walking 5 miles for Baystate’s Rays of Hope Breast Cancer Charity Walk then having good girl time (as opposed to bad?)…
I am making a vow to walk the Rays of Hope every year. I may not walk as part of a team again (too much pressure to want to stay together), but I will definitely make this an annual thing. I will never, ever call attention to myself for the hurts I have faced but I am proud of the healing just the same. This walk was just what I needed. Maybe a certain someone will want to join me next year (what do you say, Smiley?)… So, anyway, this is a picture of me waiting for the rest of the team to arrive. I sat on my car and watched the others roll in. I won’t admit to how ridiculously early I really was, but it gave me a chance to watch walkers unite, hug, cry. Out came the pink ribbons, the pink balloons, the pink hats, the pink face paint (yes, yours truly smudged hers within moments of application), pink pink pink. Everywhere. I own so much black I actually had to go out and buy the pink shirt in the pic!
This was a day of coming together for the cause. Coming together period. I didn’t think of anything me, myself or moi. I wore no name except for that of my Team. I was not one person but an army of ones walking. I think that’s what knocked me silly on this Sunday. Running, you run for yourself. You lose the crowd. Everyone spreads out and becomes their own warrior. Walking binds you to the footsteps in front of you. Makes you move as a group. We were pretty in pink, proud in pink, perfect in pink.
S~ Thanks for hanging out later. While we didn’t talk about this walk all that much, it was nice to have that gabby, girly time. After the day I just had, it was perfect.









I sent in my registration today. It’s in the mail which means there is no turning back now…unless I want to commit a federal offense. I’m committed alright! Committed to the run. Bill, your challenge will be my first even though it’s your third. No. That’s not entirely true. I’ve run one other 5K in my life. Just as I’ve only run one other race besides that. So, come to think of it, your third annual challenge is technically my third race ever. Go figure.
Over the vacation I received another prayer flag garland from the International Campaign for Tibet with another letter from the Dalai Lama. It reminded me that the Dalai Lama was in my town not that long ago. Someone I know actually bumped into him on the street and, knowing her friends would never believe her, snapped a picture of him with her cell phone (she even stalked the poor man while he was trying to have lunch, but that’s another story entirely). In the Dalai Lama’s letter he mentions coming to the United States and how he enjoys these visits. I’d like to ask him how he liked my friend nearly knocking him over!
Here’s a new one. I’ve never been contacted by the Women for Women International charity before. I think their slogan is “see what you can do” because it was plastered on every piece of paper possible. Here’s what I got from the mailing: the ever-popular “Dear Friend” letter (four pages long), a strip of yellow paper outlining the critical situation of women in Southern Sudan, the ever-present donation card & envelope, and what looks to be a Women for Women International newsletter.
My first exposure to Clear Path was through Natalie. She provided a song on a benefit cd (Too Many Years) which was released in the spring of 2005. Even before that I knew Natalie was involved in the project. She would talk about CPI’s mission during her shows. She called such conversations (when she wasn’t singing) “patter”. I called it education for she was always talking about charities near and dear to her. CPU caught my attention when it broke my heart. So I donated. When I ordered the cd I asked to be put CPI’s mailing list for their biannual newletter and discovered I went to school with the vice president and the Cambodia advisor. Small world. They don’t know I subscribe to their newsletter, nor would they recognize my name when I donate. I’m a different person, literally and figuratively, since high school. But aren’t we all? 