I'm running a half-marathon this Sunday, September 6. 2009 in Disneyland, Anaheim, California, at 6am in the morning. I know it sounds crazy. At least it has always sounded crazy. Like, why? I like my knees just the way they are!
Most people I tell say "oh. That's cool." My mom said "You're running what?" She didn't say the why, but I saw it there on her tongue. And she's not reserved in sharing her thoughts, but for some reason she let the letters dangle just on the other side of her vocal chords and then she swallowed and said something encouraging.
I took notes. I'll need them in the future I'm sure, when Ezra tells me he's hiking the Appalachian Mountain Trail in a week's time.
Anyway, this whole half marathon business wasn't my idea. It was Chryss Yost who put a little spell on me (must be all that time she's spending in Haiti learning about Haitian culture and Santeria.
Anyway, for some reason I said yes. I don't remember if I said it casually, or with an upturn at the end, but regardless, this Sunday I'm doing it. 13.1 miles of one foot in front of the other in Disneyland. I'm sure many have accomplished this feat in Disneyland, but at a pace that makes me look FAST!
Okay, on a less silly note, I am rather excited about it. Not nervous yet. But when I see the other 17,999 people in the race, I think it'll kick in.
Barry Miller, Chryss and I have been training for a few months now, so I actually feel prepared. I saw Dr. Brown, my favorite naturopath who teaches the Morter Health System, on Thursday for a preventative tune up.
I feel like I'm ready and I'll let you know how it feels to run 13.1 miles. I'm sure it is in our biology to do this, just as I am sure my human ancestors were also impatient. We must have run this far in the past, before cars and wagons and domesticating horses and inventing rollerblades. There must have been something a few hours away that we felt a desperate need to run to and see within a short period of time.
Perhaps I will have a distant memory and connect with my ancestral roots--wanting to visit my Jondular in a neighboring tribe. I'm thinking I had a Jondular in a few tribes, why else would I run so far?
If you don't get the Jondular reference, that's probably a good thing.
I'm publishing this without re-reading because I've got a little boy calling my name!
Friday, September 4, 2009
Sunday, August 30, 2009
If Toddler's Could Write: Advice Column #1
If something doesn't go your way, roll your lower lip down as foreshadowing.
If possible, eek out a few crocodile tears to make your eyes look dewy.
Then, take a deep breath and give it your best howl.
Chances are, once you start howling, your tears will start flowing more naturally, which adds to the drama and can increase effectiveness.
Someone will come give you attention.
Success rate of getting your way with this technique: 37% (42% with extra tears)
If possible, eek out a few crocodile tears to make your eyes look dewy.
Then, take a deep breath and give it your best howl.
Chances are, once you start howling, your tears will start flowing more naturally, which adds to the drama and can increase effectiveness.
Someone will come give you attention.
Success rate of getting your way with this technique: 37% (42% with extra tears)
Saturday, August 29, 2009
Safety Joe
I am really into safety, especially since Ezra came into the world. I wouldn't drive over San Marcos pass the first 3 months of his life as it seemed so unsafe and he was such a fragile little thing. Now that he is approaching 3, I have lightened up considerably, but I can't help but hold his hand extra tight when we are walking along a busy street.
Last week, I saw a mom at a busy intersection holding a baby with a toddler boy about Ezra's age playing wildly. She didn't hold his hand and he ran in circles, flapping his hands wildly with glee. From inside my 2 ton metal box zipping by them, I was terrified that the little boy would chase the imaginary thoughts in his mind right into the street. I shared some version of my concern with my husband and he thought it was good that this little boy was wild and free. Obviously, he seemed to know the boundaries of where the sidewalk ended and live frogger began, but why on earth would you take such a chance?
At the same time, I see children in my neighborhood not older than 6 or 7 caring for their younger siblings while their parents walk ahead with a baby in the stroller, all attention focused on the new addition. And they get by. They know the rules and they have their wits about them because they have the space to learn on their own.
I can't help but think of the John Prine song Safety Joe. Joe doesn't have any fun as all he can think about is safety. You want to give Joe a shake and shout "live a little!"
I know there is some middle ground. I'm fairly certain Ezra wouldn't step off the curb into the street. But I won't be letting go of his hand with my fierce grip anytime soon.
Last week, I saw a mom at a busy intersection holding a baby with a toddler boy about Ezra's age playing wildly. She didn't hold his hand and he ran in circles, flapping his hands wildly with glee. From inside my 2 ton metal box zipping by them, I was terrified that the little boy would chase the imaginary thoughts in his mind right into the street. I shared some version of my concern with my husband and he thought it was good that this little boy was wild and free. Obviously, he seemed to know the boundaries of where the sidewalk ended and live frogger began, but why on earth would you take such a chance?
At the same time, I see children in my neighborhood not older than 6 or 7 caring for their younger siblings while their parents walk ahead with a baby in the stroller, all attention focused on the new addition. And they get by. They know the rules and they have their wits about them because they have the space to learn on their own.
I can't help but think of the John Prine song Safety Joe. Joe doesn't have any fun as all he can think about is safety. You want to give Joe a shake and shout "live a little!"
I know there is some middle ground. I'm fairly certain Ezra wouldn't step off the curb into the street. But I won't be letting go of his hand with my fierce grip anytime soon.
Sunday, August 23, 2009
Weekly Post
It must be my personal nostalgia of back to school combined with Ezra starting pre-school tomorrow (sigh) that leads me to the decision to make a Fall Years resolution: I will blog weekly! There it is, in print. According to that Harvard study that everyone likes to quote at motivational seminars and business meetings, if you put it in writing, you have a much higher chance of achieving your goals.
Yeah, but how does that apply to a blog, which is all in writing? I mean, every time I write here I'm putting it in writing.
Okay, I do get it. No need to clarify for me.
So here's the official post.
Today I talked to two strangers at the beach. The first was a woman with a cast on her arm in a tiny bikini, who conveyed by her movements that she was not the least bit shy about being in so little material in such a public place. I, on the other hand, had to make an effort not to think of my two piece on the same stretch of beach as the swank 15 year olds with tight and smooth lines I had mistakenly assumed would always be with me.
The fact that this was even a subtle undercurrent tugging at my thoughts annoyed me. Yet it was there. The woman with the cast on her arm, seemed to be about my age. I decided she was from a foreign country--Italy, perhaps, or someplace where people are simply comfortable with their bodies for what they are.
She waded into the ocean, her arm lifted above her head to keep the cast dry as I played with my friend Lyske and her three year old daughter Nina, who balanced on a little mermaid boogie board.
As I swam out of the water, I was standing next to the woman.
"I bet you want to go swimming. It must be hard to stay out of the water on such a beautiful day." She smiled, but clearly did not understand all of my words.
"Do you speak English?" I asked.
"A little bit." she said.
""Where are you from?"
"Spain."
Aha. I was right about the foreigner part. Turns out she is here on vacation for two weeks doing an English language course and broke her arm the first week. What a bummer of a vacation. She was from Madrid, a city I never made it to during my week in Spain five years ago. Her sense of calm made sense, and I wanted to pry the secret from this stranger, who's body reminded me of my own, except the cast.
And yet, the answers appeared of its own accord. Had I broken my arm in a foreign country, would I wade into the ocean in my bikini, my broken arm held gently above my arm, or would I stay in the cafes and walk gingerly around the museums? Or, stay in, reading books and feeling sorry for myself.
I'd like to think I would be in the ocean by myself. I'll try on that thought for today and see if it fits. And maybe next time I'm on the beach in my bikini, I'll forget to think about anything except the ocean, my son screeching in joy as the waves crash at his feet and the conversations at hand.
Yeah, but how does that apply to a blog, which is all in writing? I mean, every time I write here I'm putting it in writing.
Okay, I do get it. No need to clarify for me.
So here's the official post.
Today I talked to two strangers at the beach. The first was a woman with a cast on her arm in a tiny bikini, who conveyed by her movements that she was not the least bit shy about being in so little material in such a public place. I, on the other hand, had to make an effort not to think of my two piece on the same stretch of beach as the swank 15 year olds with tight and smooth lines I had mistakenly assumed would always be with me.
The fact that this was even a subtle undercurrent tugging at my thoughts annoyed me. Yet it was there. The woman with the cast on her arm, seemed to be about my age. I decided she was from a foreign country--Italy, perhaps, or someplace where people are simply comfortable with their bodies for what they are.
She waded into the ocean, her arm lifted above her head to keep the cast dry as I played with my friend Lyske and her three year old daughter Nina, who balanced on a little mermaid boogie board.
As I swam out of the water, I was standing next to the woman.
"I bet you want to go swimming. It must be hard to stay out of the water on such a beautiful day." She smiled, but clearly did not understand all of my words.
"Do you speak English?" I asked.
"A little bit." she said.
""Where are you from?"
"Spain."
Aha. I was right about the foreigner part. Turns out she is here on vacation for two weeks doing an English language course and broke her arm the first week. What a bummer of a vacation. She was from Madrid, a city I never made it to during my week in Spain five years ago. Her sense of calm made sense, and I wanted to pry the secret from this stranger, who's body reminded me of my own, except the cast.
And yet, the answers appeared of its own accord. Had I broken my arm in a foreign country, would I wade into the ocean in my bikini, my broken arm held gently above my arm, or would I stay in the cafes and walk gingerly around the museums? Or, stay in, reading books and feeling sorry for myself.
I'd like to think I would be in the ocean by myself. I'll try on that thought for today and see if it fits. And maybe next time I'm on the beach in my bikini, I'll forget to think about anything except the ocean, my son screeching in joy as the waves crash at his feet and the conversations at hand.
Saturday, August 15, 2009
Ezra From the West Side
Our friends Olin and Delice have taught their sons Remi and Lino to call our son "Ezra from the West Side." Well, here he is, in his EJ glasses, flipping some attitude in his poor yuppy-ghetto backyard. If you can calculate carbon cap and trade, then certainly, you can calculate ghetto offset. Does our organic garden and cloth diapers hanging on the line offset our dilapidated metal fence and the neighbor's moss covered trailer?
Talent as Derailment /Talent as Motivation
When I read something so well crafted and unpredictable, "Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close" for example, I find myself thinking I missed the literary boat a long time ago--like right after I finished my BA in English Literature and then moved to Idaho to be with a boy man.
Perhaps I missed the boat before then, when I was playing in three bands and exploring the many faces of Jaegermeister rather than the intricacies of Beowulf or Canterbury Tales, leaving my education to the illusionary genius of cramming and late night epiphanies.
Now, in the stillness of a Saturday afternoon, my son and husband at the zoo, the chocolate eaten, I come back here to my blog and ask why? What draws me here?
I've heard a handful of times that accomplished writers combine their talent with diligence. They create space in their lives to write--even when it turns out badly. Its the perserverance that pulls them through.
So, in honor of all those dollars mom and dad spent on my undergrad education, and in honor of the happiness that sometimes comes to me when I write, I will continue to spend time here and in other places where words align themselves--sometimes into meaningful verse.
Speaking of which, I am very impressed with Michelle Howard's recent column on the Huffington Post about the nature words we are losing in the junior dictionary.
Check it out here:
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/michelle-howard/dictionary-removes-beaver_b_259331.html
I won't say I'll try to write more often, because that sounds like a trap!
Perhaps I missed the boat before then, when I was playing in three bands and exploring the many faces of Jaegermeister rather than the intricacies of Beowulf or Canterbury Tales, leaving my education to the illusionary genius of cramming and late night epiphanies.
Now, in the stillness of a Saturday afternoon, my son and husband at the zoo, the chocolate eaten, I come back here to my blog and ask why? What draws me here?
I've heard a handful of times that accomplished writers combine their talent with diligence. They create space in their lives to write--even when it turns out badly. Its the perserverance that pulls them through.
So, in honor of all those dollars mom and dad spent on my undergrad education, and in honor of the happiness that sometimes comes to me when I write, I will continue to spend time here and in other places where words align themselves--sometimes into meaningful verse.
Speaking of which, I am very impressed with Michelle Howard's recent column on the Huffington Post about the nature words we are losing in the junior dictionary.
Check it out here:
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/michelle-howard/dictionary-removes-beaver_b_259331.html
I won't say I'll try to write more often, because that sounds like a trap!
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
The American Dream Then and Now
"The American Dream is that dream of a land in which life should be better and richer and fuller for everyone, with opportunity for each according to ability or achievement. It is a difficult dream for the European upper classes to interpret adequately, and too many of us ourselves have grown weary and mistrustful of it. It is not a dream of motor cars and high wages merely, but a dream of social order in which each man and each woman shall be able to attain to the fullest stature of which they are innately capable, and be recognized by others for what they are, regardless of the fortuitous circumstances of birth or position."
The Epic of America, James Truslow Adams,1931
How does that dream hold up today? I like the idealism, I understand the mistrust. I have read countless stories of upward mobility and America's wayward friendliness to entrepreneurs compared to other countries. Yet, has our society cracked to a point that can not be healed? I suppose that is too broad of a question, because there are so many issues facing us. The highest incarceration rates and depression rates in the world, not to mention our nation's place in the domino effect of economic collapse worldwide.
Yet, our roads are still being repaired, the electricity is consistently on, water comes out when you turn the tap, and people still start businesses, buy homes and graduate from college, "regardless of the fortuitous circumstances of birth or position.
To be continued . . .
The Epic of America, James Truslow Adams,1931
How does that dream hold up today? I like the idealism, I understand the mistrust. I have read countless stories of upward mobility and America's wayward friendliness to entrepreneurs compared to other countries. Yet, has our society cracked to a point that can not be healed? I suppose that is too broad of a question, because there are so many issues facing us. The highest incarceration rates and depression rates in the world, not to mention our nation's place in the domino effect of economic collapse worldwide.
Yet, our roads are still being repaired, the electricity is consistently on, water comes out when you turn the tap, and people still start businesses, buy homes and graduate from college, "regardless of the fortuitous circumstances of birth or position.
To be continued . . .
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