Eleven

Today is Riley's 11th birthday.  Eleven.  ELEVEN?!! I'm not quite certain how that happened?  Because she was only just eight:  The Ides of March

Or, maybe nine: Nine

Well, I know ten was just yesterday: Double Digits

Yes, it's time once again for me to marvel at how quickly the time passes and how much my little girl is growing up.  She's arrived in full-on tweendom -- and we'll be shopping later today to mark the occasion accordingly.  Of course, the number one item on her list is an American Girl Doll, so I guess I cannot complain that she is too grown up just yet.  

One of my most favorite things about her is her kindness.  And watching her do the right thing, even when she doesn't know I'm watching.  Not long ago, we went to a movie and, after arriving home, realized that she had left her hat in the theater.  (This was the little brown bear hat with the pink rose on it which I'd gotten her for Christmas, and which makes me grin every time I watch her trot off to the bus stop sporting it, the little ears sort of flip flopping as she goes.)  In a panic, I called the theater and asked about the hat.  Sure enough, they had it.  And, conveniently enough, we were heading back that way for dinner.  So, we drove back by the theater, and I encouraged Riley to get out of the car and run in to retrieve the hat herself.  I wasn't certain she'd be okay with that, but I like to nudge her towards independence when I can.  She hopped out and trotted into the the theater.  (She trots a lot -- it's rather cute, actually.)  A few moments later, she emerged, hat in hand and then, as I watched with pride, stood there patiently holding the door for an older gentleman who was making his way slowly into the theater. I've seen her do the same thing at school on mornings when I drop her off.  I don't recall ever specifically teaching her about holding doors (perhaps others have), but it always makes me smile. It's nice to know I'm raising a child who does think of others and minds her manners even when she's not aware she's being observed. 

Again, while I'm happy to take a smidge of credit for that, mostly I know she is just as God made her. And I am so very blessed to be her mom. Happy Birthday, my sweet Riley Jayne!!

Of Happy Places

Good thing I didn't make my last blog a vow about posting daily (or weekly) blogs....But, hey, hi! I'm back again. Realizing I've been back from Florida over a week already -- not sure how that happened?! Regardless, I cannot let any more time pass without recounting what a wonderful, amazing time I had on my trip.  We went to celebrate the birthday of my dear friend Jacque, who happens to own a lovely home in Naples.  Thankfully, the stars aligned nicely enough to afford me the opportunity to accept her invitation.

So, off we flew, Jacque, Michele, Diane and I, for four blissful days in Florida.  I highly recommend such a thing -- especially in early February.  Nothing like a few days of sunny, 80 degree weather, to help banish the winter doldrums! The flight there was uneventful (my neverending nerves notwithstanding), and we were greeted at the airport by Jacque's parents, who were so warm and gracious -- though, frankly, I'm not surprised, knowing Jacque as I do.  They helped transport us (and our luggage) back to the house and get us settled, and we spent a nice, relaxing evening there.

In fact, it was so very relaxing and peaceful there, I found myself sleeping for 8 and 9 hours a night -- which is unheard of in my world!  And it was lovely to wake each morning and spend an hour or so lazing by the pool, enjoying the warm, morning air, listening to the birds chirping...

It took us a little while to get all packed up and beach-ready Friday morning. Diane was ready to go before the rest of us...

But we did finally make our way to Vanderbilt Beach, and enjoyed a nice afternoon there - the sudden attack of Red Tide and consequent nasal waterworks notwithstanding.  Thank goodness Jacque brought hankies (of a sort)!! We also had a delightful lunch at the Ritz, complete with crab meat nachos and a nummy margarita. Or two. 

After prettying-up for the evening, we ventured back out into downtown Naples and had a delicious dinner at Yabba's, a neat little restaurant/night club place, that had its own pet alligator out front.  At least...I think that was an alligator...

The drink of choice was a "Marga-Jito," I believe -- some combination of Margarita and Mojito. It was delightful! 

And I was feeling so in-the-Florida-moment that I (Ms. Non-Seafood-Eater) actually ordered Grouper.  And it was amazingly good!

After dinner, we went for a stroll through Naples, and I befriended some flora.

We returned to Yabba's after they'd converted from restaurant to nightclub and kicked off our heels to dance.  Until management advised that was frowned upon.  Shoes back on, we took our leave and headed home, where the celebrating continued...

The next morning, we took it easy, then eventually made our way to Naples Beach for another leisurely afternoon in the sun and sand, and a full and thorough celebration of Jacque's actual natal day!

Saturday night's dinner was at an Hibatchi place called "DaRuMa."  Their Manager's snotty attitude about honoring a promotional deal notwithstanding, the food was very good, and we made/adopted some new Swiss friends. Was happy my blogger friend Donlyn was able to join us for dinner and our evening out!

Sunday morning we were slated for brunch with Jacque's parents and her cousin Andrea's family.  We dined at Baleen, at LaPlaya Beach and Golf Resort, which afforded us an amazing view of the ocean during our meal.

For the rest of Sunday, we took it easy, lounging around the pool, picking up some pizza, and quietly enjoying our last evening in Florida. 

Alas, Monday dawned, and it was time for us to pack up and say goodbye to our happy place. Not entirely, mind you -- life's been very kind to me of late and given me some extra doses of happy back here at home, as well.  But there is a peace and serenity I find when I am truly able to "get away," and to spend time in or near the water, in the warmth of the sun, and in the embrace of dear friends.  I'm so very grateful for that!

I Haven't Forgotten the Smiles

Two years ago, in an effort to spur myself to regularly blog, I started posting quasi-daily blogs about things that made me smile.  Mostly little things.  Often silly things.  But always, reminders of the many blessings I've been granted in this life.  

As with most of my grand ideas and projects, however, I've allowed sloth and distraction to knock me out of that practice.  I'll freely confess: I'm not posting this to reaffirm my commitment to daily smiley blogs.  I know better than that. And I hate making promises I won't ultimately keep.  Honestly, I'm just posting it because I have had more cause to smile of late, and I don't want to just take that for granted. 

So, before the causes fade and I forget to acknowledge them and simply be thankful, here are a few of the more recent smile-inducers:

• Riley in her panda hat.
• Texts from Riley on the phone I bought her for Christmas. (She's still 10 and mostly sweet, and there's nothing like getting an, "I <3 you mommy!" from the light of your life.)
• The fact that I have friends who genuinely smile back when they see me sporting a grin.
• The nudge I gave myself to abandon my comfort zone and the fact that it hasn't been catastrophic.  So far. 
• Being a co-host on the radio with my friend Josh -- I absolutely love that this opportunity was offered to me, and I've had so very much fun being part of it.
• I'm going to Florida in a few weeks - whee!!
• I get to celebrate the birthdays of two very dear friends both this weekend and next.
• I may or may not have a rodent residing in my car, but I definitely have an imaginary gopher friend named Sid. I'm somewhat fond of him. And the one person who'll get that joke. 
• Lunches and dinners and drinks with good friends.
• I've actually run twice in one week.
• I recently learned what the "T" in "James T. Kirk" stands for. 
• I'm blogging again.  

:) 

Momeries

Today is my Mom's 80th birthday. I'm still trying to wrap my brain around how that's possible, because she neither acts, nor looks, like an 80 year old.  I suppose in my mind's eye, she'll always be somewhere in her late 40's or early 50's -- just as my 26 year old nephew will somehow always be 4.  

The people we know and love longest -- our family -- take up residence not just in our hearts but also in our memories.  It's funny, the things that stand out when we look back on the times we've shared with them.  I'm fortunate that most of my memories involving my Mom (and my entire family) are pleasant ones!  

This past weekend, we celebrated Mom's birthday with a luncheon at a winery.  My siblings and I wanted to do something special to show our love and appreciation for her, so we each sat down and came up with several special memories to share.  I thought I'd include my "Momeries" here in honor of her actual birthday:

• Some of my earliest and fondest memories of Mom are of planting irises and tending to the garden in the backyard with her. 
• Though I was only 3 years old at the time, I vividly recall the day I cracked my head open, and the comfort I took from Mom sitting in the back seat of the car with me with my head in her lap while Dad drove us to the hospital.
• It was always nice to have Mom as one of my Girl Scout leaders, but I particularly remember the time we were camping and it got so cold she agreed to move the entire troop back to our house to complete the “camp out”.
• Mom’s always been creative – one year for Halloween, I was supposed to be a clown. I somehow wound up with mosquito bites or something of that nature on my face, and Mom figured out a way to cover them up with little patches of some sort and make them look appropriately clown-like.
• We had a blizzard one year when I was little, and I remember Mom bundling up and trudging off down the road with one of our sleds to get to the grocery store.
• I can’t remember if it was our trip to Virginia and North Carolina or the one the following year to Florida, but we hadn’t gotten too far from home the first morning out when Mom got pulled over for speeding.  She handled it calmly as I recall. Grandma, on the other hand, wanted to give the Trooper a piece of her mind!  Speaking of speeding, Mom tends to have a lead foot.  Or, actually, feet, since she drives with both of them.  It got me used to quick starts and stops!
• Regarding Mom’s love of genealogy – some of my happier childhood memories are of accompanying her to the library to look through old microfiche records of birth, death and marriage certificates – also, traipsing through graveyards to find headstones of long-dead ancestors.
• Mom’s a great cook and she makes the best pies. One of my favorite things to do when I was little was watch her roll out the dough and then trim off the excess and turn it into yummy pie crust, sprinkled with sugar and cinnamon.
• Also with the great cooking – Mom makes amazing fried chicken.  (And I don’t even like chicken that much.)  I remember the time I was in law school attempting to make a fried chicken dinner for friends, and Mom did her best to coach me through it over the phone.  (Mine was nowhere near as good as hers!)
• When I tell other people about my love of sports – football and baseball in particular – I can’t help but smile at all the times we’d have a game on the TV and I’d know what was happening by how loud Mom was yelling at it.
• It’s actually hard to pick out isolated memories of Mom because she’s simply always been there for me – whether it was to tend to my injuries or make delicious meals or mend my clothes or dry my tears or cheer me on or pick Riley up or chat with me on the phone – I can never adequately express how blessed I am to have her as my Mom. 

I love you, Mom.  Thank you for giving me a life filled with such happy memories.  Happy Birthday!!!

There Are Limits

As has become a semi-regular occurrence for me in recent months, I had another work-related road trip today.  This time, it was to Louisville, Kentucky, for a deposition.  It was a pretty day, and not a bad drive, except for the fact that cell reception along I-64 is ridiculously spotty.  At best.  Even in Louisville, it was sporadic.  I'm not certain if that's an AT&T thing -- I've had an inordinate number of dropped calls lately, as has my sister, who also uses AT&T.  

Anyway, it was a good day for a drive, and I spent much of it listening to 9/11 coverage -- remembering, reflecting.  There got to be so many thoughts bouncing around my head, that I realized I simply must start blogging again, and quit letting my perfectionism and seeming need to write a novel each time I blog get in the way.  My thoughts ranged from the serious and somber to the silly.  Here's one of the sillier observations:

As a frequent road-tripper, I'm also a frequent fast food consumer.  (Sometimes -- okay, often -- it has nothing to do with road-tripping, and everything to do with convenience. And laziness.)  While I would never contend that McDonald's is quality food, it certainly qualifies as relatively-easy-to-consume-while-driving-food.  So the #3 Combo (QPWC meal) is a staple of my travels, and, in fact, served as my lunch today.  That was at around 11:15 this morning.  (The deposition was set to start at noon, so necessitated an earlier lunch.  Plus, I'd been up since 5:00 a.m.)  

Come 5:30 p.m., I was tired of driving, and hungry again.  I stopped off in Mt. Vernon, Illinois, to fill up the tank again, and pondered my various food options.  I couldn't bring myself to go the burger route again.  And then...I saw it: Fazoli's!  I used to have Fazoli's all the time, but haven't in years, since there isn't one near my house anymore.  Baked spaghetti and garlic bread sticks suddenly sounded like the most heavenly kind of dinner!  Briefly, I questioned whether it constituted a driving-appropriate meal, but I immediately dismissed the thought. I'm a veteran multi-task driver.  (I know. I really shouldn't admit to that.) 

Soon, I had my yummy-smelling dinner in hand, and set off westward to St. Louis.  The first bread stick was gone in under five seconds.  I then began contemplating how best to open up the tin of baked spaghetti, and suddenly pictured myself attempting to shovel it into my mouth with a plastic fork, with spaghetti and sauce slithering and slopping everywhere, while I attempted to steer with a knee.  "No," I thought.  "No.  There are limits."  Aren't you relieved? :)  

Post Script: I did finally enjoy the spaghetti after arriving home.  Good stuff! 

The Measure of One's Success

I started to post a little post about this to Twitter and Facebook, then realized I couldn't quite fit all I wanted to say into 140 characters.  Thank goodness for blogs!  

So, here's what I wanted to say (with apologies to those who've heard this from me before):  "It's A Wonderful Life" is my all-time favorite movie.  (Stop rolling your eyes -- how can you not love Jimmy Stewart as George Bailey?!)  At the end, George looks down and finds that his angel, Clarence, has left him a copy of "Tom Sawyer."  Inscribed in it are these words: "Dear George, remember no man is a failure who has friends. Thanks for the wings, Love Clarence."

The best thing to me about my birthday is that it reminds me that my life is a smashing success.  I am so very blessed to call each and every one of you "friend."  Thank you.  

Diary of a Success Story

In rather inconsistent fashion, I've been blogging about my efforts to train for the Go! St. Louis! Half Marathon which was held this past Sunday.  Which is fitting, considering my training was also inconsistent (at best).  Rare were the weeks when I got in three runs.  And the longest training run I managed was 6 miles, a week ago Sunday, with a couple brief stops along the way. So, when I felt the sore throat and fever moving in last Tuesday, I began leaning heavily toward the notion of once again bailing on my race.  


I told myself it wasn't that big a deal.  I'm still signed up for one in the Fall.  No use killing myself over it.  Still, the thought of not following through nagged at me.  It got me to feeling pretty down on myself.  And then, something happened last Friday that really knocked me flat. And I wasn't sure I even felt like getting back up.  All I felt was -- tired.  Depleted.  Just...done.  


Still, I'd promised my friend Di that I'd go to the Expo with her on Saturday and pick up our race packets -- this was going to be her first race, and I wanted to be supportive.  Figured I might as well at least pick up my packet in the process.  


It was raining and nasty Saturday morning, and they were predicting storms late into the evening, and rain on Sunday, giving me yet one more excuse not to bother with what was sure to be an exercise in futility. Still, as the day wore on, and I unexpectedly got to spend the bulk of it with Riley (as her camping trip had been canceled), the thought of maybe, possibly, at least giving it a try kept tugging at me.  That night, we went to see The Hunger Games, and, with its focus on such a strong female character, it got me to thinking about what it really means to be strong.  


I think...it means to be resolute. To not let fear and insecurity deter you. Certainly, it means when you get knocked down, you find a way to get back up.  And it requires being true to yourself.  Which requires keeping the promises you make yourself.  Because if you don't respect yourself enough to do that. If you don't love yourself enough...well, how in the hell do you expect others to?  


By Saturday night, I'd resolved that I would run the race.  And, at a minimum, get in a decent run.  If I got to the point where the lack of training and/or sinus infection required me to cut it short, then I would.  But at least I'd know I tried.  


So, Sunday morning, I got up at 5:15, got dressed, said a prayer of thanks that the weather looked to be better than anticipated, and headed downtown.  (Special thanks to Cari and Chris for having Riley spend the night with Avery! I don't think she relished the thought of getting up that early to head up to Grandma and Grandpa's.)  I'd planned to park in my building and walk over to the race, not realizing I was tacking on an extra 15 blocks (in each direction) to my journey.  Still, I made it downtown in good time and trotted over to the Starting line.  Looked for my designated "corral" and then hopped the fence with a number of others to squeeze into the chute.  Me and 10,000+ others....

After a very nice rendition of the National Anthem -- which made me stand a little taller and put a smile on my face -- we were off.  I crossed the Start and began my "official" race at around 7:08.  The first mile was fine.  I quickly ran into my friends Melissa and Carianne, who were walking the race. Was happy to see them and speculated I'd probably see them again before the end of the race -- at that point, I was pretty certain I'd be walking most of it.


I was feeling okay, though.  Seemed like it took awhile to get to the 2 Mile marker, but along the way, I kept finding reasons to smile. As we headed south along Broadway, we started seeing the elite marathoners coming back the other way. Just watching their speed and grace was amazing.  Two women running near me remarked on how awesome it was, and one said it almost made her feel like tearing up.  It did -- in that way that realizing you share the planet with some truly remarkable beings can sometimes do.  As did the father pushing his disabled son in a racing wheel chair. 


And then there were the signs -- so many wonderful signs along the way.  "Run, total stranger! Run!" "Keep calm and run on!"  "Keep going! Keep Going! (That's what she said.)" "Mortuary up ahead -- look alive!!" And the signs were all attached to real live people who, themselves, got up early on a Sunday morning and ventured downtown just to cheer on the runners.  I am always, always, always touched and amazed at the support of people along the race route.  Every race I've ever run, there are people who've stopped and taken time out of their day just to encourage other people to keep going. 


There are little kids who hold their hands out to "high-five" you as you run by --  and who beam ear-to-ear every time a runner reaches out and high-fives them back.  There were the residents of Soulard -- 40 or 50 strong -- standing out in their PJ's with signs and noisemakers and music blasting, cheering loudly as we ran by. There was the older gentleman, standing on the corner by the brewery, yelling, "Keep going! You paid for it -- might as well get your money's worth!" There were the Dean and Vicar of Christ Church Cathedral standing outside sprinkling the runners with holy water as we ran by.  And all the hundreds of volunteers who handed out water and Gatorade along the way, and then cleaned up the mounds of paper cups tossed aside by the runners.  


As I ran by all of these people and soaked all of it in, I couldn't help but reflect on the gift I was being given. I was being reminded of the goodness to be found in our fellow man.  Of the ways in which we help one another be strong.  That's a facet of God's love I think we too often overlook.  


The music played a significant role for me, too. I don't run with music all the time -- usually because I've forgotten to charge my iPod.  But this time, I'd remembered.  And so, as I neared the Mile 5 marker (parked next to the White Castle, which cracked me up for some reason)...

I switched on the tunes and let them carry me along.  Starting with Rupert Wainwright's rendition of "Across the Universe" which alternately haunts and lulls.  Later came "Beloved Wife" by Natalie Merchant, which always pierces my heart with its beauty and sadness.  "Bridge Over Troubled Water" made me think of friends and family who'd wished me luck.  "Change Your Mind" by Sister Hazel helped me strengthen my resolve to adjust my thinking on some things.  


As the music played on, I plodded along.  By now, I was walking every uphill. And I'd made a point to walk through every water station, take both a Gatorade and a water, and finish both before starting back to the running. It seemed to be working.  Because pretty soon, I found myself passing under the giant American flag hanging across Tucker Blvd., and, in addition to feeling pride for my country, taking heart in the fact that I'd actually made it to the half-way mark.  


At that point, I told myself I would finish -- even if it meant walking the rest of the way.  But strangely, after I'd walk for a bit, I'd find myself wanting to run some more.  Soon, I'd survived the nasty hills up Olive and angled over Vandeventer to Forest Park Parkway.  I couldn't help but smile at the fact that "Homeward Bound" came on just as we were rounding the turn at the 10 mile mark and heading back east toward the Finish.  


Shortly after that, I looked across the median and spied Di and another friend, Denise.  I hopped across the median and ran over to them to hug them both and let them know I was so proud of them!  Then back to my side to keep shuffling eastward.  By now, the elite marathoners were passing me.  Yes, they'd run twice as far, twice as fast, and were closing in on 26.2 miles while I was slogging toward 13.1.  

And in my ears, the Indigo Girls were singing, "If the world is night....shine my life like a light..."  Not sure how bright a beacon my beleaguered self was at that point, but I took a measure of inspiration from it anyway.  Along with the following lines, "In the kind word you speak, in the turn of your cheek.  When your vision stays clear in the face of your fear..."   Those are nice little words to have running through your head when you're striving to find your footing and move convincingly forward. 


I kept telling myself if I could just make it to Mile 12, I'd run the last mile in.  But there was a lot of hill to cover in between, and I was flagging.  Kind of like my phone which was down to about 3% battery.  I saved my Runkeeper progress and Tweeted/Facebooked it because I knew I was about to go incommunicado for a bit: "Phone's gonna die before I make it to 13 - but I'm gonna make it. ."   I'd slowed back down to a walk, but "Return to the House at Pooh Corner" (the version I have of me actually singing along with Kenny Loggins) was playing in my ear and reached the last Chorus: "Believe me if you can, I've finally come back to the House at Pooh Corner by one..."  I slowly picked my feet up and made them start running again.  A gentleman standing alongside the course shouted out, "There you go! You can do it! You've GOT this!"  


And I knew that I did.  I was going to finish.  And not only that, I was going to finish in well under 3 hours  (which I'd had in the back of my mind as my modified goal).  Most of all, I'd kept that promise to myself after all.  And that was something I'd really needed. A reminder to myself that I am worth it.  


It wasn't pretty.  2:44 for a half isn't exactly speedy.  But I did it.  And now have my sights on knocking that down to 2:20 for the Rock 'n Roll half in October.  I have faith in me. I can do it.