I am runner hear me roar, or gag, sputter or cough...

I have an obsession.

Running.

In writing that it may seem that I am some elite runner with a marathon PR of 2:14 or something insanely incredible like that...No. I am a runner with a mere history of 2 weeks of solid running. No PR, no race under my elastic waistband, minimal miles and maximum gasping.

I used to torment my body with the things important to young twenty somethings...alcohol namely. Now I torment it with running. And all in the name of health (though losing a pound or thirty would be nice). You see, I have the big 4-0 looming in the not too distant future. I have the husband, 2.5 kids (o.k., really 3), the dog and the white picket fence which is really cedar and covered with moss in spots. I want to LIVE to see these important people in my life grow old(er) and to see just how much moss can grow on the fence.

So I started to run.

Now that you might no longer be impressed with my running stats, or lack thereof, let me go on to say that I am, ahem, able to run 1 1/2 miles without stopping. YES! with.out.stopping. Mere months ago I could not run more than 30 seconds with.out.gasping. and coughing and sputtering and feeling like IWASGOINGTODIE.

There are events and occurrences in life which can only be answered with a run. Unless you are a runner, a true runner like I am (although I am certain elitist runners might feel this way on occasion, if they remember why they picked up running in the first place) you just.won't.get.that.

I'm so grateful that I do.

Genes

I sit, watching my youngest daughter working on her artwork at the kitchen table. She is 3 1/2 so her art consists of jumbled crayons, various coloring books, markers, glue sticks here and there and a school box to house all of her 'things'.

As her head turns, it is my mother looking towards me.

"Are you finished coloring?"

"Yes."

"Do you want to watch Tom and Jerry or Toot and Puddle?"

"Mmmm..how does eenie meenie miney moe go?"

How does one do it?

I have a vivid memory of old commercials and was just thinking of one. Amuse me and see if this rings a bell:

I can bring home the bacon. Fry it up in a pan. And never ever let you forget your a man 'cause I'm a wooooman, Enjouli.

Now what the heck Enjouli is or whether or not I have it spelled correctly is not the point. The image this commercial drummed up back then still rings true today.

How do women do it?

I had no doubt in my mind that there was some woman out there. somewhere. And she was the epitome of success.

I do know how to fry bacon and must say that on the extremely rare occasion we have bacon in the house it is quite good, but bringing it home too?

Now this one is in my schema as well. I will never, ever lose it. Don't know it's relevance but here you go:

Now you see it. Now you don't. Here you have it. Here you won't. Oh, Diet Pepsi, one small calorie. Now you see it. Now you don't.

Wow!

So it is really happening. A relative of mine is officially a published author and I am beyond excited!

I've always felt passionate about reading, especially the kinds of novels where mystery and intrigue are involved. And a romance or two thrown in for good measure.

This story has all of those elements and takes place during the Salem witch trials as well as the early 90s in Massachussetts.

I cannot wait to get my hands on it and I know I will read it in its entirety very quickly and will want more.

I love books like that!

May 2009 can't come quickly enough...

Man.O.Man

Why is it that when you are a little girl, living in a suburb of Dallas, growing up seems like such a grand time, and once you are all grown up, being a little girl in the suburb of Dallas seems like such a grand time?
Life is funny. I watch my children play and constantly hear them say things like, "Look, I'm getting bigger!" or, "Am I 5 1/2 yet?" and think, Man.O.Man, if you only knew what adulthood was like, you wouldn't be rushing to grow so quickly!
Now, my kids aren't growing up in a suburb of Dallas. They have the luxury of growing up in a suburb outside of Portland. I don't cram them into a Chevy hatchback and we don't go chasing hot air balloons at every chance we get (though there is one heck of a balloon festival each summer which I'm thrilled to be able to experience and share with them). They don't have a Linda Dacus to come home to after third grade lets out. I am married so they are in a house with both parents. All these differences, though, don't change that fact of (I guess) every childhood. When will I grow up?
Man.O.Man.

Waste Not

I am a writer! At least, I used to be one. I think I am one. I don't know...I always loved to write and remember some of my favorite classes, both in high school and as an undergrad and grad student involving writing. Creative writing, research based writing, numerous papers, you get the point.

Now I find myself writing for the first time in ages. I would like to think that I'm still a college student, or even a relatively new graduate, but I'm not. My master's degree has collected dust and my current focus is on raising my children in a very scary, very technological world.

So I'm re-entering the world of writing and am anticipating that wonderful feeling of 'writer's block' that used to frequent my thoughts so often back then.

Tonight I found myself thinking about waste. You see, I ate a wonderful bowl (although she claims it really isn't a bowl, it's more of a cornstarch mixture) of Annie Chung's Miso Soup. Delicious! But the marvelous taste in my mouth was bittersweet as I thought about my single bowl of soup. What a waste it will be! Not the contents, you see. No, the noodles are wonderfully nutritious, as is the protein rich tofu and the veggies. The waste is in the bowl itself.

I recycle, but even recycling doesn't banish all waste. Who's to say that the new individual who gets the satisfaction of getting something out of my freshly recycled bowl won't just litter on the highway, or throw their item right into the trash? So my recycled cornstarch bowl will still contribute 'something' to the waste problem our generation is ensconsed with. And then I think about 'waste' in another fashion and begin to think about the many, many times I've wasted when I could be doing something constructive. Writing? Cooking? Reading? Playing with the kids? Volunteering? But I digress!!